Page 160 of Just One More Thing

The cast was never the only thing holding me here.

It was just the easiest thing to point at.

Because the other thing?—

The other thing just walked out the door.

CHAPTER 38

EMORY

Isneak downstairs early so I can make the coffee before Granny.

While it drips, I stand in the quiet, looking at the wall of inner tubes, and swear I can still hear Jake and me laughing as we bounced off them. When Granny hung them up, I doubt she imagined she was creating a full-contact sport.

Now she’ll never take them down.

I walk over and run my hand along the wall. The inner tubes sway under my touch, bumping softly against one another. The white one with pink stripes was always my favorite.

Of course it was.

Even as a child, I had the aesthetic instincts of a themed cupcake.

Then I get an idea.

A wonderful, awful idea voiced in my head by the Grinch.

I glance toward the front windows, then around the shop. Still dark. Still quiet. Then I unhook the inner tube and loop it over my arm.

I look around one more time, making sure the coast is clear, then hurry to the back door. I ease it open, careful not to push it past the point where it squeaks. I have to angle the tube out firstlike I’m waving a white flag to the morning, then slip out behind it and pull the door shut.

I run over the bridge and across the lot to the truck, open the back, shove the tube inside, and close the doors as fast as I can.

Then I just stand there, bent over, laughing under my breath. “I stole an inner tube from my grandmother,” I whisper to absolutely no one.

It’s like I just pulled off a heist.

I did, sort of.

A heist of history.

I brace my hands on my knees and catch my breath from the sprint and the adrenaline and the sheer absurdity of being a thirty-year-old woman smuggling inflatable nostalgia before sunrise.

Then I straighten and look out. Blue Crab Bay is still asleep around me. And in the dark, some things appear clearer.

Like the channel marker blinking in the distance. When we were kids, Jake and I used to say it was the mermaid’s heart beating for her prince.

The dock lights making tiny runways across the water. The string lights that crisscrossed over The Point are gone now, but the oaks are still glowing, making everything feel a little enchanted and a little watched, which is basically this town’s entire personality.

Town Hall still has the same burned out bulb it’s had the whole time I’ve been here.

I forgot how special this place is.

I stand there in the quiet and make myself a promise.

I will not forget again.

By the time the day finally slows down, I’m being held together mostly by caffeine and sugar.