Page 10 of Better than Yesterday
“Sounds like he’s done well for himself.” The old prickle skittered through me—something like vindication,then shame. “He was at the marina yesterday, making a delivery.”
“You saw him?” Lila’s eyebrows rose.
“Not really—” I started, then groaned. “I saw him and I fell off the dock.”
She cackled, utterly delighted. “You? Fell in? Classic Tessa move. Never change.”
“I did my best to be dignified.”
“About as dignified as a turtle wriggling on its back.” She reached for mugs and poured two coffees.
From there, we slid into a catching-up that was less like filling gaps and more like placing missing tiles into a mosaic. Lila updated me on new boating license regulations and which local fishermen still trusted electronics versus those who swore by their grandfathers’ methods. She spoke about the community with an intimate, unvarnished knowledge that only comes from belonging to something for a long time.
“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” Lila put a hand on my arm.
“It was great to see you. Let’s get together soon, okay? I might need a friend over the next few months.”
I left Camden Marine Supply with a bag of sample vials in one hand and a feeling of being unexpectedly seen in the other. Lila’s easy laughter and her unwavering belief that I could actually fix things echoed in my head, a stark contrast to my mother’s talk of stepping stones and more prestigious addresses. I’d walked into that shop on a simple errand and walked out feeling like a part of myself I’d packed away a decade ago had been handed back to me.
The sun pressed on my shoulders as I walked under the fragrant hanging baskets of Main Street, the heat radiating up from the sidewalk. The air was thick with the sweet, yeasty smell of baking bread from Sweet Dreams Bakery.For the first time since I’d arrived, I wasn’t just observing Dove Key like a scientist cataloging a foreign ecosystem. I was breathing it in. The familiar crack in the sidewalk still existed in front of Island Market, the one that always used to snag the wheel of my bicycle. The faded mural of a leaping marlin remained on the side of the old hardware store.
A stroller the size of a small vehicle, expertly navigated by a woman with a familiar sweep of chestnut hair, emerged from the shade of the Bookshop in Paradise awning. I recognized Harper Coleridge immediately. She had a baby strapped to her chest in a sling, and another was in the stroller, chubby legs kicking with furious energy. She looked tired and radiant all at once. And Ben stood next to her, the two of them chatting.
There was no avoiding them. I took a breath and walked forward, my professional composure sliding into place like a shield.
Harper saw me first. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a polite yet friendly smile. It was the friendly but reserved acknowledgment of someone with a long and complicated history. Someone like me.
“Tessa,” she said, her smile remaining. “I heard you were in town leading the Scripps project. Welcome back.”
“Hi, Harper. Ben.” I gave a small nod, my gaze taking in the two sleeping infants. “Twins? Congratulations. They’re beautiful.”
“They’re tiny tyrants who run on milk and chaos,” she said, a touch of warmth entering her eyes. “But Chase and I are keeping them.”
My eyes drifted to the patch on Ben’s sleeve. EMT. “Looks like so much has changed. Congrats to you too, Ben. EMT is a big deal.”
“He’s not just an EMT anymore.” Harper’s voiceswelled with unmistakable pride. “He’s in the paramedic program.”
Ben’s neck flushed, but he stood a little straighter. “Still in training. A lot to learn, but I’m working on it.”
“Good for you, Ben.” I understood the dedication required for a demanding, all-consuming field, spending nights wrestling with textbooks and protocols, driven by a passion that most people didn’t grasp. Exhaustion lingered in his eyes, but beneath it burned the steady light of clear purpose.
He met my gaze, and in that moment, a silent acknowledgment passed between us. He wasn’t the angry, slightly frightening guy I’d known before. He was a man fighting for something, just like me.
“So you’re here for a while?” he asked.
“Three months, maybe. Depends on funding, grants, and how many riots the coral wants to stage.”
“Eli told us you’re looking at the bleaching on the north ridge,” he said. “If I weren’t so buried with this program and work, I’d offer to volunteer. Help with the grunt work.”
“I appreciate that,” I replied, touched by the offer. “If you dig yourself out, just let me know.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“Well,” Harper said, her tone shifting back to polite briskness as she rocked the stroller. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around, Tessa. It’s a small island.”
“I’m sure,” I agreed.
I walked away from them, the bag from Camden Marine Supply suddenly heavy in my hand. It was filled with the tools of my trade, symbols of the life I had built for myself. A life of academic rigor, prestigious grants, and a future gleaming with the promise of the Great Barrier Reef.
