I missed this, she realized as they sailed on. Her father’s drinking had worsened in the years following the divorce. After she’d made the mistake of telling her mother about how he’d left the house, drunk, to pick up more beer with her in the car, she’d been forbidden from staying with him for more than a few nights. Even that had been negotiated with tears and solemn oaths from her father. Her Maine summers had ended, replaced with more mundane, if equally fraught, summers at home in the Boston suburbs with her friends.

What if she’d contrived some way to keep coming? Would Morgan have eventually noticed her? Would the pressure of guilt for those lost years with her father weigh any less?

Probably not. Even if she had caught Morgan’s eye, she still would have gone to Tufts for vet school, and she still would have met Hannah. She tried to feel something about her ex’s potential infidelity or about the breakup. The wall that had cut her off from her life still separated her from those emotions. Or, maybe the greater grief had simply eclipsed them. Hannah still lived. Her father did not. Tears, snatched by the wind, added more salt to her cheeks as windblown sea spray—spindrift, her father had called it—flung itself against the hull.

•   •   •

Lillian glanced up at Morgan from the kitchen counter. “You look nice.”

“I showered.”

“No, I mean the outfit.”

Morgan examined herself. Dark jeans. The black work boots she tried to keep cleaner than her other pair. A white button-up rolled at the sleeves. “It’s not fancy.”

“Hang on.” Lillian wiped her hands clean of whatever leafy green vegetable she’d been murdering and rounded the island. “Your collar,” she said as she straightened it.

“Thanks.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Dinner with a friend.”

Lillian gave her a flat look. “Does this friend happen to be named Emilia?”

“I’ll see you later.”

Moving in with her friends had kept her afloat after Kate left. It also saved money, which she needed to do if she ever wanted to pay off her student loans. Sometimes, however, it didn’t seem worth it.

Her small pickup growled to life without offering any complaints about her neglect. She’d started it up a few times over the past months, but since she was always working, it usually made more sense to drive the clinic truck. Peeling out of the driveway without a ton of equipment in the bed made her feel like the vehicle had wings.

She’d told Emilia to meet her at the dock. She hadn’t told her where they were going. Warm, mid-June air blew in through the truck’s open window as she veered around potholes. Hopefully, few tourists would be out. Tuesday nights weren’t exactly rush hour.