“Okay, well, if you change your mind.” He turned to talk to Jackson about some upcoming festival or something I immediately tuned out.

I pivoted to look at my house, barely registering when Jackson left for his own.

Once Joey started up the stairs, I followed, pausing on the piece of plywood I’d cut myself with the new saw she had recommended I purchase this morning from the only hardware store on the island.

Sure, it was a little loose and undeniably imperfect, but it was proof I could do this. I’d be okay when Sam left in a few days. I could repair this house. Repair myself.

Jackson and Finley raced down the stairs of their house with battle cries, and I looked up in time to see Finley hit Jackson square in the chest with a spray from her massive water gun.

“Ha! Got ya!” she shouted.

He fell to his knees in the sand, exaggerating his death for a moment before spraying her legs when she came in for a second shot.

She squealed, taking off through the backyard, and he quickly followed over the dune to the beach.

I smiled at how happy they were. It was as simple as that. Sam was right; here, there were no expectations on how long it took me to recover myself. Here, I could have a moment where I missed Will like hell and still smile a breath later. No one was judging.

Here, I could fix my stair— Wait.

The board didn’t shift those centimeters when I moved my feet like it had this morning. I peered closer and saw that there were a few screws next to the nails I’d hammered in. Screws I knew I hadn’t used, because I didn’t own a drill. Yet.

Maybe Joey had guaranteed my handiwork while I’d gone to see Dr. Circe. It would make sense, seeing as she knew way more about building stuff than I did.

I climbed to the deck and looked out over the beach, past the shadows creeping toward the ocean from the late-afternoon sun.

As Finley sprinted into the water, Jackson ran behind her, grasping her waist and spinning her low enough for her toes to skim the water. I heard her laughter and felt it echo in my chest, somewhere in the vicinity of where I used to think my heart was. I wanted to be that happy, to find joy in…something.

He turned in my direction, and I knew it was impossible—the distance was too great—but I could have sworn our eyes locked and held for a moment.

And as certain as I was that he’d catch Finley when he tossed her up in the air, I knew he’d secured the board.

But it didn’t make me feel infantilized or undermined.

Oh no, it was worse than that.

It made me feel protected, and that scared the crap out of me. But that little spark of yearning I felt as I watched Jackson and Finley play in the ocean? That was terrifying.