Chapter 4: The Causeway

The rain did not stop, and by eleven the road did.

I stood at the window and watched the water come up the gravel track in a slow brown sheet.

"The causeway," Ansel said from the doorway. "It goes under at high tide in a storm like this."

"How long?"

"Until the tide turns. Five, six hours."

I looked at the clock on the stove, then at the single cot.

"Take the cot," he said. "I'll be on the porch."

"It's pouring."

"The porch has a roof."

"You have one chair," I said. "You gave me the chair. You gave me the cot. Where do you sleep when you're not rescuing brides?"

"Usually the cot."

"Then you can sit in the chair. I'll take the cot, and we won't discuss it."

He considered that, and then he shook his head.

"I'd rather you didn't have a man in the room tonight," he said. "You've had enough of them."

It was a kind thing to say, and I didn't want it to be.

"Fine," I said. "Goodnight, Ansel."

"Goodnight, Gen."

He went out and pulled the door until the latch caught.

I lay down in his flannel under a quilt that smelled of woodsmoke and cedar.

I did not sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes I was in the anteroom again, hearing my groom laugh.

She never reads anything she loves.

I had read every word he'd ever texted me, and I had loved all of them.

Around two I gave up and went to the window.

Ansel sat on the top step with his back against the post and his boots crossed, awake.

He had the harbor chart over his knees, and he wasn't reading it.

The rain had thinned to a mist, and the cove was black and shining.

I opened the door and sat down on the step beside him, a careful arm's length away.

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