Chapter 8
The first anniversary of the sabotage, I held a party at the boatyard.
Not a big one. Just the people who'd stood by me.
Eli. Dad. Grandpa. Fallon. Jake, Manny, and Rosa. Karen Pruitt, my lawyer. Detective Hart, who'd become a friend. Maria — no, that was another story. The whole yard was strung with lights. The Lorelei sat in the water, gleaming.
Grandpa sat in his favorite chair on the porch, a piece of cake in his hand, watching everything.
Dad was at the grill. He'd learned to cook. He was terrible at it, but nobody minded.
Fallon was there, too. She'd brought pastries from the bakery. She was nervous. She hovered near the edge of the group, unsure if she belonged.
I walked over to her.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey." She picked at a paper napkin. "Merit, I can leave if this is weird. I don't want to—"
"Fallon." I took her hand. "You're my sister. You belong here. You made mistakes. You've owned them. You're making them right. That's enough for today."
She cried. She hugged me. It was awkward at first — we hadn't hugged in years. But then it felt right.
We stood there, two sisters, holding each other, while the people we loved laughed and talked around us.
"I never told you," Fallon said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "I was jealous of you. My whole life. You were so strong. You didn't need Mom. And I — I needed her so badly. I did everything she said, because I thought if I was good enough, she'd love me. But she never did. She just used me. Like she used you."
I held her tighter.
"She didn't love either of us, Fallon. Not really. She loved what we could give her. But that's over now. We get to choose our own family. We get to love each other, the way she never could."
Fallon pulled back. She wiped her eyes. She smiled — a real smile, not the performative one I'd seen my whole life.
"Thank you," she said.
That night, after everyone left, Grandpa called me over.
He was sitting on the porch, looking out at the water. He patted the chair beside him.
"Merit," he said. "I'm old. I'm not going to be around forever. And I want you to have something."
He pulled an envelope from his flannel shirt pocket. Inside, a deed. The boatyard property. Transferred to me.
"Grandpa —"
"It's yours," he said. "It was always going to be yours. You're the only one who ever loved it. The only one who ever loved me, just for me. I signed it last week. It's done."
I cried. I hugged him. He held me, his thin arms tight around me.
"You're the strongest person I know," he said. "But strength isn't about doing it alone. It's about knowing who to let in. You've learned that. I'm so proud of you."
That night, I lay in bed, Eli beside me, and I thought about the girl who'd walked home in the rain with a blue ribbon. The girl who'd driven north in the dark with nothing but a cash box and a broken heart.
May you like
She'd built something. Not just a boatyard. A family. A life.
And it was hers.
