Project "Lavender" - Chapter Four

Below is the first draft of the fourth chapter of my work in progress novel "Lavender."

Author’s Note:

This is a rough draft. It has not been edited properly. Nothing is set in stone yet, and things may change as the draft develops. Thank you to anyone who reads and leaves feedback.

Read the rest, here:

• Chapter One

• Chapter Two

• Chapter Three

Seven Years Ago:

Sam’s marriage is over before it even really begins. The ink has barely dried on the marriage license before they’re filing for divorce. Impressive, considering Ontario’s one year mandatory separation.

It’s embarrassing. Humiliating, really. There were so many expectations on Sam. On who he was supposed to be. He’s met none of them. All he’s done in his entire life is fail everyone, over and over and over. And the worst thing is, the best person he knows tried to warn him. He tried to warn him, and Sam lashed out with anger. He sent him away. It’s been over a year since Sam and Carey have spoken, and now Sam needs him more than ever, but it’s his own damn fault he’s not here.

It’s funny. On the day of his divorce papers being filed, Sam would have expected to be moping around thinking about Blair. Hating her. Wanting her. Missing her. Regretting how things went with her. And, sure, he has the latter in spades. So much fucking regret. But he can’t help but notice that every time he tries to center all his heaps of self-loathing at memories surrounding Blair, hers isn’t the face that keeps bubbling to the top of his mind.

It’s Carey’s.

It’s always Carey’s.

Maybe that was part of the problem with their marriage, Sam decides, laying on the tiny double bed in his room of a shared house he rents with other single income, quiet hospital staff. It’s certainly not the only problem. There were a lot of problems; many of which could be summed up to Blair expecting Sam to be someone he couldn’t be, all because he’d promised her he would. A devoted, loving husband who wanted to build a future with her. But in doing so, he’d made a choice. He gave up Carey. He exiled him, in a way. And how could he build a relationship on the ashen foundations of that loss?

Sam squeezes his eyes shut. He remembers all of it like a badly written movie playing out behind his eyes. He remembers Carey’s face when he told him it didn’t matter what he said, he was going to marry Blair. He’d watched Carey crack in two, like a cold stone someone dumped scalding water on. Sam had felt sick. But he’d married her anyway. That’s what he was supposed to do.

And the guilt has gnawed away at him like little bugs ever since. He can feel them crawling around inside his psyche, reshaping his brain into the form of a complex.

He’s lying on his bed, on top of the comforter, and he’s cold. There’s a draft through the basement room, which is all he can afford at the moment, after imploding his life. He’s cold, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He just sits there, vaguely shivering. All it would take is moving. Shifting his legs, rolling a little, and pulling the blanket over himself. He could move. He could feel better. But he just lays there.

He’s been doing this lately. Punishing himself. Always in small ways. Small, stupid, meaningless ways. Avoiding buying anything but the necessary foods when he shops; nothing he thinks will taste really good or bring him any extra enjoyment. Not wearing the requisite winter clothes during his walk to work, so he can really feel the cold. He’ll arrive with his face stinging and his lungs angry with him. He’s not sure why he’s doing it. He thinks he keeps expecting karma or God or something to do it for him, but it won’t. Where’s the falling icicle or sudden onset blizzard or something that he deserves?

With a huff, and a continued refusal to slide his body under the blankets, Sam reaches for his phone. This is another way he’s been punishing himself lately; social media. He’s never been big on it. He just never found most of it too interesting. But ever since his marriage got stamped with a big red F? It’s like he can’t stop scrolling. Looking at other people. Watching their performative happiness and pretending it’s all authentic. Look at them and look at you. You are so much worse.

He scrolls for a few minutes, fingers stiff with cold, before it happens. His Instagram feed refreshes, and what’s there? A new story from none other than Carey. They never unfollowed each other. It wasn’t that sort of fight. Sam just went silent on him and Carey was aware enough to take the hint. But Sam never could bring himself to really remove him fully - a point of contention between himself and Blair - and Carey, Sam thinks, never wanted to to begin with. So they still have each other on all the usual spots; Facebook, Instagram, and for some fucking reason, LinkedIn. Sam doesn’t even need a LinkedIn. He made it in university.

The point is, he’s always had this weird little sliver of access to Carey, despite their mutual silence. It’s hard to abuse that, though. Neither of them are big posters. Sam used to be on Carey’s close friend’s story, after that feature rolled out. Either that has changed or Carey has stopped using it, but overall, there’s not much to learn about each other’s lives that isn’t surface level. He and Carey were never supposed to be just surface level. They were never supposed to not be best friends.

Curious, Sam opens Carey’s story. Maybe that’s a bad idea. Maybe it’s just another way to punish himself. He doesn’t care; he misses him so intensely it’s become a chronic illness.

The story is hardly anything. Not a good insight into Carey’s life at all. At least not beyond what Sam already knew. It’s a photo overlooking a river. Sam recognizes it. He’s in Kingston. Visiting his sister, he supposes. Sometimes, Carey would bring Sam out there with him. Sam, whose family never did vacations and never took him anywhere, was always enthralled. It felt like a different world, but it was just a different city, a few hours east on the highway. Someday, we’ll go anywhere you want, Carey used to tell him. Like it was nothing.

Now Carey has travelled all over and Sam still hasn’t really been anywhere. He and Blair had their honeymoon in Cranberry Village because they’d spent all their money on the wedding. Sam doesn’t even ski. Why the hell did he agree to that?

I’m afraid of watching you disappear, Carey had said that day. It had enraged Sam. And then what had he gone and done? Exactly that.

Sam taps on the screen to make Carey’s story skip to the next image. The next account. Whoever the hell else has anything interesting to post about. Probably a stupid inspirational quote over a nonsensical image of a Minion. Except, in all his cold-fingered clumsiness, Sam hits the wrong thing. He hearts the story.

“Fuck,” Sam whispers into the open air. That was a mistake. That was a big mistake.

He tries to undo it. He tries to make it go away. He hopes it’s too quick to notify Carey. He hopes Carey is too busy with his sister to notice his notifications anyway.

No such luck.

Sam receives a text almost immediately. It’s simple. To the point. Exactly what Sam deserves.

Sam?

Yeah. Yeah, no fucking kidding. Sam would also be confused if he was Carey.

Sam starts to type back. To overexplain himself.

Sorry, accident, I was trying to skip through your story, but then I…

No, that’s not good. He erases that. He tries something else.

It was a nice photo. I like Kingston! Hope you’re doing well.

Nope. Also bad. He erases that, too.

He tries three or four more variants of an explanation, only to find they all make him sort of want to die. In the end, he responds just as simply.

Yes?

It’s a cop out. He’s gonna do what? Pretend it never happened. Yeah, he might actually. He’s good at pretending.

Then his phone starts to ring.

Carey. Of course it’s Carey.

Sam debates ignoring it. Sending it to voicemail. Acting like a total freak. But in the end, the thought of hearing Sam’s voice again does him in. He answers.

“Hello?”

“You liked my Instagram story.”

Yep. There’s his voice alright. Sam’s eyes sting with tears.

“It was an accident,” Sam admits.

“Yeah, but you were looking at it.”

“Well, you could have stopped me from seeing it if you didn’t want me to,” Sam reminds him. “What are we? Sixteen year-old girls? Why does it matter?”

“Stop being a dick. Why were you looking at my story?”

Sam takes a deep breath.

“Because I…” Because he misses him and he feels regret every day and he wishes he’d listened to Carey when he had the chance. “Because you were right about everything and I’m an idiot. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“What are you talking about?” Carey asks, ignoring the goad.

Sam takes a deep breath. He might as well tell him, right? He’ll find out eventually. Someone will tell him.

“Blair and I filed for divorce today.”

There’s a long pause. Carey doesn’t respond right away. Sam prepares himself for a slew of possible, deserved answers. I told you this would happen or I hope that was worth ruining us for or, God forbid, why?

But when Carey speaks, there’s none of that.

“Are you okay?”

Is he okay?

“Honestly? Not really.”

“Shit,” he hears Carey mumble, like he’s not trying to direct his voice into the phone.

Sam feels his heart rate pick up. He’s waiting for the axe to fall over his head.

“Okay, you gotta give me four hours. Can you do that?”

“Wh-what?” Sam asks.

“You’re still in Kitchener?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Uh, but not the same apartment. I… I moved out.”

“Okay, text me your address. I’m on my way.”

“Carey,” Sam starts to protest.

There’s a million reasons to tell him no, don’t come. So much between them that needs to be solved that Sam doesn’t have the energy to solve right now. But that isn’t what Carey is trying to do, is it? He’s not thinking about them. Sam said he isn’t okay, and Carey offered to drive four hours. That’s it. That simple. After more than a year of silence and Sam being the worst friend in the world.

“You’re with your sister,” is the only actual argument Sam can come up with.

“She’ll understand. Don’t even worry about that. Will you be alright until I can get there or-”

“It’s not that bad,” Sam says quickly. “I’m not, like, in crisis.”

Maybe that’s why he’s doing it. Maybe he thinks Sam will hurt himself if he’s alone. Maybe that’s what the shit was for. He doesn’t really want to be here. He just feels an ethical obligation.

“Okay. Okay, good. Then just wait, alright? Send me the address. I’ll be there soon.”

Oh.

“Okay,” Sam whispers. “I’ll text it to you.”

“Good. I’m just grabbing my shit and then saying goodbye to Marianne, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Okay.”

“Talk to you soon, Sam.”

“Carey…” Sam stops him before he can hang up.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Another momentary pause before Carey responds.

“Yeah, always.”

When Carey eventually does end the call, Sam exhales heavily. He feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in over a year.

Day Two:

Sam is in love with Carey.

Augusta processes this information as Carey walks down from the cottage’s deck, along the path, towards the dock.

Sam is in love with Carey.

“What are you two doing down here?” Carey asks. “It’s super early. There are bugs out!”

Sam is in love with Carey.

“It’s the woods, Carey,” Sam replies. “There are always bugs.”

“I mean, it’s not warm enough for them to leave people alone yet,” says.

And Sam just shrugs, accepting it. Probably because he’s in love with Carey.

“Luana’s awake,” Carey says as he steps onto the dock. “She said she’d be out in a minute.”

Augusta watches Sam. His whole body shifts in his chair to point towards Carey. Like Carey is a magnet and he’s just a simple scrap of metal or loose penny, pulled to him by some invisible force. She looks at Carey. He’s heading right over to her. He stands next to her chair, and rests an affectionate hand on her shoulder. Nevertheless, his eyes are glued to Sam. Is that just because Sam has been talking more? Or is it because that’s who he’d prefer to be looking at?

Augusta can’t help but think of Luana, inside, getting ready for a day enjoying what she believes is a simple couples’ vacation. Or does she? Does she know? She thinks of the girl she met Halloween all those years ago. Maybe she does. Maybe Augusta is the only one out of the loop. Except…

Except, what about Carey?

Does Carey have any idea how Sam feels? It doesn’t seem like it, based on their conversation last night. He might have thought to mention that. Hell, if he knew, he would have never set up this psychological bear trap of a trip. That would be evil of him, if he did know. And Carey isn’t evil. He’s good and kind and thoughtful.

He has no idea. Carey has no idea how Sam feels about him. But what does Carey feel about Sam?

And where the hell does any of that leave Augusta?

▪️▪️▪️

Augusta is very aware she isn’t behaving normally. She probably knows it better than anyone, although she’s also fairly certain everyone else is picking up on it. It’s not like she’s exactly being subtle. She’s approaching a home cooked breakfast like someone is marching her to her death.

They’re all in the cottage kitchen. Augusta, Sam, and Luana are sitting around an old, purposely rustic but likely expensive kitchen table. Carey is over the stovetop, making everyone pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. Because that’s just the sort of thing he does. The three of them are locked in an easy, lighthearted conversation. Like nothing at all has happened. Like nothing has changed. Augusta is quiet. Wide-eyed and tight-lipped. She has no idea what she’s supposed to say in this situation.

“You’re crazy,” Luana is saying to Carey. “You’re actually crazy.”

“That’s what they called all revolutionaries, Lu.”

“You are not a revolutionary because you think The Ultimatum is better than Love Island! You’re just wrong.”

Augusta, if she wasn’t half-dissociated and trying not to blurt out wild accusations about people’s feelings, would agree with Luana. In fact, she and Carey have had a similar discussion before.

“I’m not wrong!” Carey protests.

He’s definitely wrong.

“What even happens, locking people in an ugly vacation house and making them play kissing games?” Carey asks. “The Ultimatum is like a psychological torture method for couples who hate each other. That’s TV.”

“That’s insane,” Luana says. “Augusta, your man is insane.”

Augusta watches Sam. His lips tighten, quirking at an awkward angle. He doesn’t like the idea of Carey belonging to someone else.

“She and I have already had this argument,” Carey confesses.

“Oh?” Luana asks. “And?”

Shit. Augusta has to speak.

“Uh, I agree with you, Luana,” Augusta says. “Netflix does too much.”

“Yes!” Luana claps her hands together. “Just admit you’re wrong on this, Carey.”

“Art is subjective,” Carey laughs.

“Art?” Sam scoffs.

“Alright, raunchy television,” Carey admits. “Whatever. Do you guys want blueberry pancakes or not?”

Luana laughs brightly. It’s a really pretty sound.

“Oh yeah, The Ultimatum is great,” she says. “Best show ever. Where’s the Canadian version?”

Carey rolls his eyes, but his expression is light and breezy. He does serve Luana her pancakes first. Sam and Augusta don’t say much else before they begin eating. Augusta feels like she’s the audience in a play; one who can see the danger coming for the onstage characters, while they perform, blissfully unaware. It’s like some strange real-world immersive experience in dramatic irony.

The pancakes are delicious, but Augusta can barely stomach them.

▪️▪️▪️

“So, what’s the plan for the day?” Augusta asks after breakfast, helping Carey clean up the kitchen while Sam and Luana take the dog on a walk down the cottage road.

“I don’t know if there is a plan,” Carey says. “That’s not really the cottage vibe, you know?”

No. She doesn’t know. Though, she supposes that makes sense. Long, sunny days that all blur together? Isn’t that the point of summer in cottage country?

“Right,” Augusta replies.

“Is there anything you want to do?” Carey asks. “We could go out on the boat.”

Trapped in the middle of a lake with her boyfriend, the man who loves her boyfriend, and the woman who loves the man who loves her boyfriend, who Augusta also has a very secret history with. Cool. Sounds like a blast.

Carey’s family has two boats, actually. An older pontoon boat, and a newer sport-type boat. The pontoon was his parents’. The newer one his brother-in-law purchased to take the kids tubing and water skiing. Neither of which are activities Augusta has ever tried; they both sort of sound terrifying. Carey has said he has free range to use either boat, and if she wants to try, she can.

“Which boat?” Augusta asks. There are also a few kayaks that seem more her speed.

“I don’t know,” Carey shrugs. “Either? It might be nice to do a cruise around the lake. Show you the whole thing? It’s really beautiful.”

Trapped in a slow moving boat, then.

Augusta nods. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

She should probably be a more honest person. It’s not like she’s a liar. She didn’t invent the boat plan just to lie about it. She’s just not comfortable saying that the idea fills her with social dread.

“It’ll be great!” Carey enthuses. “Music, drinks… Sailor can come!”

Oh, well. If the dog is there, perhaps the conversation will be less uncomfortable.

“Cool,” Augusta nods. “Sounds really nice. Can’t wait for the… The views.”

Carey smiles. “Great! Let’s see what Sam and Luana think when they get back.”

Maybe they’ll hate the idea and Augusta will be spared this whole experience.

▪️▪️▪️

No such luck.

Or, maybe, half such luck?

“Oh? A long, slow boat ride?” Luana asks, her usually pleasant expression slightly twisted after Carey proposes the idea.

Maybe Luana is having similar thoughts to Augusta about this whole thing. Or maybe it simply sounds boring.

“That sounds awesome!” Sam chimes in, sounding more enthusiastic about this than he has about anything so far. “I’d love that.”

“Great!” Carey beams. He doesn’t seem to hear Luana’s hesitance. Neither does Sam.

Luana looks at Augusta.

“Do you not like boats?” Augusta asks hopefully. Maybe she has a horrible, all-consuming fear.

“They make me a little nervous,” Luana admits. “I can deal with a canoe, you know. But motor boats? Not a huge fan.”

“Carey, she doesn’t like motorboats,” Augusta says, trying to conceal her relief. “Let’s find something else to do.”

Carey’s face flashes with disappointment, but he shifts his expression to understanding.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, we can. That’s okay.”

“Lu, it’s a pontoon boat,” Sam says. “They’re super slow and safe. I promise. Believe me, the view of the lake is worth it.”

Damn it. Stupid common sense.

Luana sighs. “Are there life jackets?”

“Totally,” Carey says. “It’s super safe. I think the only boating accidents on this lake have actually been canoe-related.”

It’s definitely not a big enough body of water to get rough waves, so Augusta doesn’t want to know how that happened. Canoe collisions seem unlikely, but hey, no one ever sent her to summer camp.

“Alright,” Luana says. “I’ll try. Might need a drink first to calm the nerves.”

Sam snorts. “I think that can be arranged.”

“You know what?” Augusta asks. “I’ll join you in that.”

Maybe that will make this whole experience pass quicker. At the very least, she can hope.

▪️▪️▪️

They pack a cooler with drinks and snacks for the boat. Carey tells them to swear swimsuits, because there are good places to stop and jump off the boat into bottomless, sparkling water. Augusta’s not sure how Luana will feel about that, but she, for one, thinks that might be the best part. That’s, at the very least, an activity to focus on other than conversation. Plus, Augusta loves swimming. Win-win, despite the overall giant L of a situation.

Today, she skips the bright pink bikini and opts for a more sensible coral coloured one-piece. She’ll feel less self-conscious around Luana specifically. She puts a tee shirt and shorts on over it, too. Just for good measure. In case the weather is suddenly less than ideal, she won’t have to sit there in a swimsuit. She didn’t think she’d feel this anxious. But then again, she didn’t think she’d be seeing anyone from her past.

Augusta has a feeling that Luana might have had more than a single drink by the time they all get on Carey’s pontoon boat. She seems a bit looser than she usually does. A bit more wobbly. Less like she’s thinking about the poise she always carries herself with. Augusta thinks this could either be good or bad as she finishes her own lime flavored White Claw; the drink of mature adults, about to behave maturely on a motorized watercraft.

“Ready for a cruise?” Carey asks, climbing into the boat to grab Luana a lifejacket.

The boat looks a little dated. Not unsafely dated, just like it was designed in the early 2000s. It has this weird teal shade cover that must have been trendy at the time, but now makes it look like it could be the hue of someone’s aerobics leggings.

“Not in the slightest,” Luana says, taking a chunky, pylon-orange life jacket from Carey. She straps it on over her very sleek, naval-themed navy and white bikini. It’s quite the look. Of course, she’s crazy beautiful, so she still makes it work, which is only a tiny bit infuriating.

“Would it help if I let you have control of the bluetooth speaker?” Carey offers.

Luana considers. “Yes, in fact. It would.”

With a strange, heavy feeling in her chest, Augusta realizes she once knew Luana’s taste in music. Before ever knowing her name. She wonders if it’s still the same.

They all climb onto the boat, and then spend close to a minute trying to coax Sailor onto it, until Sam gives up and just lifts her on board. The dog also seems wary of the boat. Whether she’s reading her owner’s anxiety or can sense the social tension in the air is beyond Augusta. She’s not a dog expert. She’s only ever had cats.

Carey unties the boat and pushes them off the dock while Luana fiddles with the speaker. Augusta grabs herself another drink from the cooler.

“Want anything?” She asks Sam and Luana.

“Beer, thanks,” Sam says.

“I should probably hold off for a minute,” Luana says.

Augusta hands Sam a beer, opens her own cooler, and sits on one of the old pleather seats. There’s a lapse of silence before the music starts playing. It’s some soft indie thing Augusta likes the sound of immediately but doesn’t recognize.

“So,” Augusta asks, as Carey begins to drive the boat away from the dock. “What is it about boats? Like a phobia or…”

Luana sighs, cheeks reddening a little.

“It’s stupid.”

“It can’t be more stupid than Carey’s grudge against hummingbirds,” Sam says.

Sam doesn’t know? His girlfriend is afraid of boats and he doesn’t know why? Isn’t that something you cover early on?

“Hey!” Carey calls over his shoulder. “They’re freaky!”

See? Augusta knows that Carey thinks that hummingbirds move too fast and he got high once in university and a documentary freaked him out. That was a very early date conversation actually.

Luana sighs. “Okay, it’s not like I’m afraid of them. It’s just that boats and I have a history.”

“You do?” Sam asks.

“When I was ten, my family went on a Disney Cruise,” Luana explains. “It was the first big family vacation my parents took us on after my dad’s business started doing well.”

Augusta winces, seeing where this is going already. Those trips always sounded deeply unappealing to her. A bunch of kids in a confined space, floating in the middle of the ocean? Oof.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?” Augusta asks.

Luana shakes her head.

“It was a total disaster!” She exclaims theatrically. “We all got sick. We were cramped in this tight little cabin. My brother was puking everywhere. The neighboring cabin had two babies crying at all hours. A kid shit in the pool! It stormed. There was nowhere to go.”

“That does sound terrible,” Augusta agrees.

“I’d have jumped overboard,” Sam says flatly.

“The urge was there,” Luana says. “So, I don’t know. I feel like I’d be happy to get on a jet ski. It’s just the idea of being trapped on a boat.”

“Well,” Carey chimes in. “I promise that there’s nowhere on this lake I could take you where you couldn’t realistically swim to shore if our company is that horrible.”

He’s joking. It’s clear from his tone and the goofy smile on his face that he’s joking. But Augusta thinks she’ll keep that in mind anyway. Just in case.

Luana just laughs in response.

“I’ll keep that in mind if anyone starts puking.”

▪️▪️▪️

Carey was right. This whole boat ride is truly lovely.

Lavender Lake is gorgeous, with a series of narrows and bays, all lined by gorgeous, colourful cottages, docks, and boathouses. On a bright, sunny day like today, the greens of the tall, old forest around the lake are breathtaking. And, as promised, they stop not far from an island where Carey recommends they jump off the boat and swim to. He gets the boat as close as he can.

“There are blueberries growing on the island,” he says. “You can pick them and eat them fresh.”

“Don’t they tell you not to eat berries you find in the woods?” Augusta asks.

“Well, don’t eat it if it’s not a blueberry,” Carey advises.

Augusta looks uncertain. Partly because someone has to stay with the boat and that someone, in this scenario, is Carey. Which means, it’ll just be her, Sam, and Luana. On an island, in their bathing suits, foraging for berries.

“Maybe I’ll just swim for a bit but stay by the boat,” Augusta says. “Not a big blueberry person anyway. Can’t beat raspberries.”

It’s true. She didn’t need to ramble and say it, but it’s true.

Carey looks disappointed, like he wants her to participate. To do the thing. And she gets it. It’s one of the things he wants to show her. One of the things she’s supposed to appreciate because he loves it.

“I’ll stay with the boat,” Sam suggests. “Carey, you go show them which berries won’t kill them instantly.”

“You’re sure?” Carey asks.

He nods. “Yeah, I’m not as much of a swimmer as Luana, and someone needs to stay with Sailor or she’ll whine. If she jumps on this boat we’re not getting her back in it.”

“Oh,” Carey nods. “Okay! You don’t have to tell me twice. I’ll swim.”

Carey turns around and pulls his shirt off, already headed to the back of the boat to jump in.

Augusta looks at Sam. She can’t help but give him a sort of grateful look. He nods a little, in acknowledgment. Interesting. Augusta doesn’t know what to think about that, but it’s interesting.

So they do it. Carey, Augusta, and Luana all jump off the back of the boat and swim to the island. Sam has to hold Sailor’s collar as she barks and whines for her owner. The swim to the island is quick, and the water feels warm and inviting. Augusta almost doesn’t want to get out. She sort of wants to float here for a while. Until Carey makes a comment about a snapping turtle that sometimes hangs out here, and she books it up onto land. Nice of him to mention that after she swam up to the rocks.

Out of the water, Augusta can’t help but look between Carey and Luana. Glistening with wet skin in the afternoon sun, she can’t help but feel like the two of them look like they belong in some sort of advertisement. Carey isn’t exactly classically beautiful, not the same way as Sam and Luana are. He’s not picture perfect. He doesn’t look airbrushed. But he has this strong, steady handsomeness to him that Augusta loves. Paired with the brightness of his eyes? He’s gorgeous. He’s pointing Luana to the right wild blueberry bush, and Augusta follows the shape of his arm, eyes rolling over him, and right onto Luana.

She’s always been entranced by the way Luana looks. She’s always found her to be breathtaking. Ten years ago, and now, too. Only, ten years ago, she didn’t have to pretend not to notice.

Speaking of which…

Augusta looks over her shoulder, back at the boat. Sam is watching them. He’s not even pretending to look at the dog or something. It’s impossible, at that distance, to tell which of them he’s staring at. But Augusta thinks she knows.

“Gus, come here!” Carey calls, reaching for a handful of berries.

“Coming,” she replies, making her way up the rocky slope slowly and clumsily with her bare feet. There’s no painless way to walk, she finds. Though, Carey and Luana seemed to manage just fine.

When she reaches him, Carey pops a blueberry in her mouth, fingers brushing against her lips. There’s a tart splash of flavour on Augusta’s tongue. He’s right. These are delicious. Less mushy and bland than you’d find for six bucks at the grocery store.

“Wow,” she says. “These are great.”

Carey is beaming at her, blue eyes glittering. He looks really happy. He looks like he’s having his own personal best day ever. And he’s the only one that hasn’t had anything to drink. It’s a little bit staggering, actually.

“I knew you’d like them,” he says. Then he steps forward and kisses her. It’s a bit too lingering of a kiss to be just about a positive blueberry rating. It’s a very good kiss. If they were alone on this island it might even lead somewhere. But they’re not.

From the boat, Sailor barks.

“Uh, I’m gonna go back to her,” Luana says, sort of awkwardly, popping a last handful of berries in her mouth.

“Yeah, no problem,” Carey says, not seeming to realize his PDA was probably more the cause than the dog. He can be a bit oblivious sometimes.

“Hey,” Carey whispers to her after Luana is far enough away in the water. “If she hates boats, why did she name her dog Sailor?”

Augusta shrugs. That’s a fantastic question. “Sailor Moon?”

“You think?” Carey asks.

“No idea,” Augusta replies.

And it’s half a lie. She has no idea why the dog is called what she’s called. She just knows, because Luana once told her about fond mornings with her brother, watching cartoons. It seems like a name that the Daphne she met would choose.

▪️▪️▪️

When they’re finally all back on the boat, Augusta is so busy watching Sam trying to subtly watch Carey towel dry his chest, that she nearly misses the next song that comes on Luana’s playlist. To be fair, it’s a bit slower to get going. Not the sort of thing that catches your attention until about thirty seconds in. But then, she realizes it’s a song she likes, too. Heavenward by Wolf Alice.

And, of course, she remembers - though it had slipped her mind - that this is just one more thing she already knew about Luana. She’s a fan of this band.

“Is this really boat music?” Sam says once the song gets going.

Luana frowns at him. “It’s Wolf Alice.”

“I know,” Sam says. “You play it all the time. It just doesn’t feel like boat music to me.”

“Oh, sorry,” Luana fires back. “Should I have queued up yacht rock? Or maybe an old timey shanty?”

Augusta laughs. She can’t help but laugh.

“It does feel a little bit like music for a plane,” Carey teases. “Very airy.”

“Oh my god,” Luana rolls her eyes. “At least Augusta’s on my side.”

Augusta goes rigid.

“What do you mean?” Carey asks.

“Augusta loves Wolf Alice, right?” Luana asks.

Augusta looks at her, facial expression probably a bit more severe than she intends.

“Yeah,” she says. “I love Wolf Alice.”

Which she told her ten years ago.

Luana notices the look on Augusta’s face, and then her own expression falters.

Ah. She didn’t want Augusta to know she remembers.

Well, it looks like the cat’s out of the bag.