Chapter 10 - The Fire on the Deck
The sun went down over Holloway Inlet in a long, spectacular display of violet and crimson, the light reflecting off the still water of the bay until the whole world looked like it was made of stained glass.
The big iron pit on the lower deck was burning—not with the cheap charcoal my mother had demanded, but with thick chunks of seasoned cherry wood Richard had brought down from the valley. The smoke rose straight into the clear night air, sweet and fragrant, without a single spark hitting the cedar planks.
We sat around the fire on the unmatched wooden chairs Richard had built thirty years ago. Evelyn was holding Maya, who was fast asleep, her small face tucked into a pink wool blanket, her breaths coming so slowly and deeply that you could only hear them if you leaned in close.
The table was covered in empty crab shells, lemon wedges, and the remains of the fresh peach pie Khloe had baked in the afternoon.
Richard sat next to me, his boots resting on the stone rim of the fire pit, a small glass of blackberry brandy in his hand.
“You know, Noah,” Richard said, looking into the red embers of the cherry wood. “My grandfather used to say that the sea doesn't care about names. It doesn't care who your father was, or how many boats your brother owns, or what your mother thinks she’s entitled to. It only cares if you know how to tie a knot that holds when the line gets tight.”
He reached across the space between our chairs, his rough, scarred palm open.
I reached out and shook his hand. His grip was still like iron, but it was the warm, honest strength of a man who had spent his life building things that lasted.
“You tied a good knot, son,” Richard said softly.
I looked over at Khloe. She was watching the fire light catch the gold of her wedding ring, her face peaceful and completely content in the quiet of her father’s house. She looked up, caught my eye, and reached over to lay her hand over mine.
The tide was all the way in now, the water lapping gently against the cedar pilings of the dock with a soft, rhythmic slap-slap-slap that sounded like a heart beating beneath the wood.
May you like
There were no more messages on my phone. The screen was dark, the family group chat gone forever, replaced by the deep, unbroken silence of a coast that had finally found its peace.
We sat by the fire until the embers turned to a soft, silver-grey, holding our daughter between us in the warm dark of a house where every door was locked against the storm, and every heart inside was completely free.
