Page 27 of The Marine's Homecoming

"Hey, shh… You're okay," he coaxes as another round of heaving shakes my body. Lucky for me, the mayor is still busy with her constituents and most other people around me are watching the parade.

When I straighten, Mr. Dorsey produces a napkin from somewhere and hands it to me. I glower in shame and turn away from him, wiping my mouth sullenly as my stomach rolls again. It's embarrassing enough to feel so out of control in my own body, but add to that the shame of someone like him seeing me lose it is humiliating.

"Are you sick?" he asks me, but he doesn't step away like I have the plague or anything.

"Must have been the hot dog," I mumble, wiping my mouth as I bite back the aftertaste of bile and the anger I feel in my chest.

My cheeks burn and I can barely look up at him, but when I do lift my eyes, I see Luke approaching in the distance. I don't think he's seen me yet, and as soon as that red flag starts waving around in the air, I am ready to bolt.

"You know, I think I’m gonna go home," I rush out, backing away from Mr. Dorsey. I don't want Luke walking up seeing me hovering over a trashcan full of my own vomit, then smell that vomit on my breath. He knows I’m not sick, and I won't be sick tomorrow, either. This isn't some flu bug I can dismiss and excuse. This is pregnancy stuff he can't find out about. I don’t even know if I’ve decided to tell him or what to say if I do.

"Yeah, maybe you should go lie down," Mr. Dorsey says, and I continue backing away, keeping my eyes on Luke's head which hangs as he walks closer.

"I'll, uh… We can catch up and chat about the festival soon. I've gotta run," I blurt out, and then I'm gone, weaving through the busy crowds that are starting to disperse as the parade comes to an end.

I sure hope Dorsey doesn't talk to Luke about me at all, especially not that I just threw up and ran off like a lunatic. I was an idiot for having sex with Luke to begin with, but not using protection was even more foolish. This mess I've made for myself is going to blow up in my face sooner or later, but I'm hoping for later.

Right now, I just want to hide from him until I've decided how to handle this, and I want to brush my teeth.

I hate the taste of vomit.

17

LUKE

I've tried. Lord help me how I've tried, but Hannah keeps avoiding me.

Gary has been taking out most of her party boats alone, with the help of a skeleton crew meant to serve Hannah's customers, all while she's been absent. Her office stays dark and her car is never parked in the parking lot for the marina. I know it was something I said—most specifically, what I said about wanting to talk to her about what's going on between us the last time we were together.

When I saw her dart away at the Easter parade, I got the hint loud and clear. Hannah Brooks is not interested in any real relationship with me. We may have explosive chemistry, but she's made her point. She didn't have to avoid me like the plague, and communication would have been much healthier, but I understand. She still blames me for Nick's death, and it doesn't matter how sizzling the passion is between us. She will never humble herself to admit we might be good for each other.

I stand stooped over a coil of nautical rope coiled on the decking ofThePiranha—one of Tank's charter boats. The hot May sun beats down on my skin, and I feel the sheen of sweat as I move and the breeze whips past. I've given up trying to track her down or chase her. I've decided that I need to focus on the reason I stayed here in Bandon to begin with and not get carried away with emotion. She's a distraction and nothing more at this point.

"How's it coming?" Tank asks, scratching his rotund belly as he stands beside me. The old, grey, stained uniform is ringed with sweat under his arms and around his chest. We've been making repairs and improvements toThePiranhafor hours, and with this rope tied off for his anchor, I'm done with my part.

"It's good… I think she's done." I straighten and wipe the sweat from my brow with my wadded-up T-shirt then shove the corner of it in my back pocket to hang there. "When Lucy scrapes the barnacles, this thing'll be good as new."

Tank grunts then chokes out a laugh. "Lucy… Hell, that girl only comes down here ’cause of you, Luke." He winks at me, but Lucy is way too young for me. At eighteen, she's barely legal and she can look all she wants, but I'm not biting. I've had one too many scandals in this town. I don't need to be labeled a cradle robber too.

"Well, whatever reason she comes, she'll get the barnacles scraped up andThe Piranhawill be good as new."

"Thank ya, much," he says, offering his sweaty, callused hand. I shake it and nod at him.

"Anytime… Now pay your rent." Chuckling, I leave him to finish up his work as I traipse across his gangway up to the pier and start toward my office.

I'm dying of thirst, and the only thing Tank had on hand was beer. In the warm weather we're having, I need to hydrate, not get drunk. And my mind is fixed on getting to my mini-fridge for a bottle of water when I pass byThe Mariahwhere Hannah stands looking dazed on her passerelle. She's pale, staring off into the distance like she's stuck mid-thought, and her hand hovers in midair, as if trying to brace herself on something that doesn’t exist.

"You okay?" I ask, standing on the pier not three feet away. She doesn't look good. She looks confused or faint, and she doesn’t answer when I speak. 'Hannah?" I call, snapping my fingers in front of her face a few times. She blinks slowly and turns toward me, but I watch her start to tilt and know she's gonna topple.

My body moves on instinct, darting onto the passerelle to wrap both of my arms around her body as she almost passes out. Her arms curl around my shoulders, and she clings to me as I steady her.

"Hey, whoa…" I hold her upright until I feel her body grow rigid and she gets her footing, but even then, I don't let go. "You okay?" I ask, backing her across the passerelle and down the step to her boat's deck.

"Uh, oh, gosh… I'm so sorry," she mumbles, seeming embarrassed. "I just got so dizzy and…"

I guide her to the stern seating where I lower her and then sit beside her, pressing my hand to her forehead. She doesn't feel warm. She feels clammy and her hands are shaking.

"You sure that's all?" This isn't like her. I know she had a few bouts of sickness this winter, but Hannah is so put together. She takes care of herself, and she works hard. Maybe too hard.