A/N: Thank you so, so much for all your wonderful and generous feedback during our time away from the island. It's so motivating and I appreciate it so much. I never thought it would take this long to update, but I had a bit of block around this story. So here's a big fat chapter. Good news, if you're still on board, is that most of Chapter 19 is written already. So you can expect it within a week or so. Thank you again. I love writing this story even when it frustrates me and I hope you enjoy this next chapter on the island.
.-.-.
Some Bright Morning
18. on the margin of the river
.-.-.
Her teeth are chattering as she strips off her clothes and, with them, more than fifteen years.
"It's freezing, Sav,"she protests when her friend tries to move her forward.
"I know. But it won't be when we get in. Don't you remember the last time, Addie?"
"I remember."
Savvy touches her shaking arm with chilled fingers. It's just the two of them. "Are you ready?"
Addison shakes her head.
"It's ready for us, though," Savvy says gently, indicating the vapor rising off the surface of the spring.
"I'm sorry, Sav." There are tears in her eyes it's too dark to see, and in her voice you can't help but hear. "I'm not – I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Nothing's wrong with you," Savvy says.
Addison makes a short sarcastic noise. "Tell that to the resident I walked out on."
"You can fix all that."
"Not everything."
Savvy hugs her. "Not by yourself, maybe. So let the spring help you."
Addie draws a deep, shaking breath. "Okay." Her voice is still trembling. "Okay, I'm ready."
Savvy takes her cold fingers in her own, squeezes her hand reassuringly. "You're going to be okay," she soothes.
"You always say that," Addie mumbles.
"And you always are, aren't you?"
There are no more words: together, they slide into the beckoning spring.
.-.-.
The mystical quality of the shimmering water and the deep black night is somewhat broken when Augie, seeing that Derek has stripped off his wet boxers on the rocks, laughs heartily.
Derek tries to glare at her, but it's too dark.
"You take 'em off first, or you take 'em off last," Augie pronounces sagely, as she climbs back into what look in the barely-there lantern light like water absorbent pants.
"Leave him alone, Aug," Savvy says.
Derek, whose teeth are chattering, doesn't respond. He's warmer once the icy wet fabric is away from his skin, and he dresses, sans underwear, with as much dignity as he can manage. The shirt helps. The fleece helps even more.
It's hard to believe they were so warm moments ago, submerged in the bubbling spring, now that they're back in the cold air.
Did it happen?
Was it a dream?
"So." Augie's voice brings him back to reality. "What did you think, city boy?"
Derek is busy wrapping his rain jacket around Addison's shoulders, over the one she's already wearing; she barely protests, just tucks herself under his arm so he can keep both of them warm as they make their chilly way back to the boat. Her hand threads into the pockets of his fleece.
"I think I get it," Derek says simply.
"You hear that, Sav? He thinks he gets it."
Augie leads the way, little square lantern bobbing in her grasp, and the others follow.
The walk back to the boat is somehow much shorter than the walk to the spring; before long, they gathered on the same edge of … nothing … where they docked the craft. Augie tosses him a life jacket.
The wind kicks up as the four of them don their protective the gear and impulsively, he pulls Addison closer. Is it the cold air? Muscle memory? Something else?
Maybe it's that the world is so big here on the edge of the land with the sea creeping up to greet it. It just feels right, even for a moment, to face it together.
Maybe she's feeling it too, because she leans against him as they settle in the boat, letting him hold on for both of them.
And then Augie pulls the throttle and everyone hangs on tightly as the boat speeds up.
.-.-.
It's as dark on the ride back as it was on the ride out, but a different dark.
A different dark, it's not something she would have thought up herself, but something Savvy pointed out years ago. The subtle differences on the island and its environs in darkness and light, in scent and sound. A person could drown in it. She could drown in sensation now, as she leans back against her husband. His arms around her are keeping her warm, but there's something else there, too.
Hope.
But she keeps herself grounded, remembering that the island has already brought more into her life than she could have ever expected. Hope is dangerous. Hope wounds.
So she just leans back against her husband – because he's still her husband, legally even if in no other way, and marvels at how different everything feels when she's in his arms.
The stars seem closer here, even with the great sweeping arc of the sky from point to point so different from the slivers visible between buildings in Manhattan. There's that sense of great space and close intimacy at the same time – she associates this juxtaposition with the island, and it seems like it should be in conflict but it's not.
Somehow … it's harmonious.
She must make a sound or – something, because she hears Derek's voice near her ear.
"Are you all right?"
She smiles a little, because it's so like him to ask. He can be literal – rather black and white, even – and she doesn't know quite how to say that what she's learned from this family, these people, this island that welcomed her more than her own ever did, it's that healing is a spectrum, a journey with stops.
"I'm all right." She rests her hands over his and tips her head back to rest against his neck; his skin is cold but in this position she can feel his warm breath too.
It's another study in island contrasts, the peaceful feel of a smooth boat ride in her husband's arms, and the wild inky darkness that could contain anything, the wind that whips around them. She's looking at the stars, her gaze fixed on the curving arc of the sky – but she's looking at something else, too.
She's looking at the future she was contemplating in the spring – the one she's still too afraid to admit could be lost forever. She hasn't said anything about it, but it must be island magic because as his lips brush her hair she could swear she hears him whisper: me too.
.-.-.
The lantern blinks out as the boat makes steady headway along the water, startling Derek, who's grown used to the meager yellow light.
"Augie, we know what you can do, no need to drive blind," Savvy says, sounding amused.
"Hush. You're the one who told me to slow it down." Augie eases up on the throttle and the boat drifts to an easy halt.
"I know that." Savvy pauses. "Derek … you asked about Goat's Head, before."
Before he saw it. Before he experienced it.
He just nods, forgetting she won't be able to see him.
"And the Traveler's Curse. They're not unrelated."
He feels Addison shift slightly against him. In the thick inky darkness, feeling is all he has: cold wind, the warm pressure of his wife's body.
"Goat's Head is … well, it's had lots of uses over the years."
"Your family owns it too?" Derek asks.
"No one owns Goat's Head, not really," Savvy explains. "It's the land uninhabited. Except it's kind of inhabited."
"It was a stop on the Underground Railroad," Augie interjects. "The Beauforts didn't exactly have their finger on the Revolution but they sorted out the right sides after a fashion. It was easy to hide runaways there. No one wanted to be caught dead on Goat's Head and so … no one was."
Derek tries to take it in. "And the Traveler's Curse? They seem to believe in it on the mainland." He recalls the EMTs who met his boat.
"Yeah, they do. And it helped a whole bunch of people escape, too."
"Has it been used for … that, since then?" Derek asks.
There's a long pause. "Here and there," Augie says finally.
"But the spring," Derek probes.
"You were there," Savvy says. "The spring is … the spring. It's part of Goat's Head."
"But it's not really the land uninhabited?"
"Sure it is."
"But only because you call it that?"
"Isn't everything what it is because it's called what it is?" Savvy asks practically.
Derek frowns. "That's circular."
"So's the island," Augie says, and pulls the throttle to speed the boat up again.
They ride the rest of the way in silence, droplets of water flecking chilled skin, huddling close for warmth. Derek helps Addison out of the boat, skimming his hands over her automatically once he's eased off her life jacket, finding it hard to believe she seems so … whole, so healthy, after what it was like to bring her back to the island last time.
"We'll walk you back," Savvy announces as they step off the dock. The island is draped in the sounds of nighttime silence: chirping crickets, the periodic hoots of owls. In the darkness the land feels wild, untamed.
"You don't need to," Derek says, knowing the cottages are in the opposite direction from the dock.
"We've got the light," Augie reminds him.
He thinks at this point he could feel his way back to Reeds, but he doesn't say it, just follows down the cleared path after the cousins.
Pulling open the door of Red Fox, he ushers Addison in ahead of him and turns to say good night to Savvy and Augie.
"Derek …" Savvy pulls him aside. "Listen. The Traveler's Curse, you know, maybe it's made up. Maybe it had a purpose, way back then, a noble one, and now it's just a silly rumor. But the thing is, whatever it is and whatever it means … no one but a Beaufort has ever crossed Three Rivers to the island, not in my memory, not in my mother's generation or the one above that. No one, until you."
"Because no one tried," Derek suggests.
"Maybe you're right." Savvy pulls up the pale pink hood of her raincoat. "Maybe that's why. But does it matter?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean … that's the thing. You have to be the one who tried, if you want to figure out if you can do something."
He's considering this when the door to their room opens again.
"Derek." Addison leans her head out, looking confused. "Are you coming in, or …?"
"I'm coming," he says quickly, and turns back to follow up on Savvy's comment, but she's already gone, just the hood of her coat barely visible in the pre-dawn mist.
He closes the door behind him.
Time, which seemed to stand still on the journey, catches up to him in a gust of air. From Addison's expression, she's feeling something similar.
They should sleep, he realizes this. But as he prepares to peel river damp clothes from his body, he thinks they should probably bathe first.
"Let's just sleep," Addison says, as if reading his mind.
It's a tempting thought.
"Don't we … smell?" he asks, doubtfully, as she approaches.
"No." Addison leans forward. "See?"
Her long, damp hair tickles his neck, and he feels the warmth of her breath next to his ear. He inhales deeply, as she seems to want him to, taking in the scent.
And she's right.
There's none of the sulphurous smell that assaulted their nostrils when they first encountered the spring. She smells like something else entirely, something light and reborn, and underneath it, the scent he's always associates with her, something with the sweet and the bite of citrus all at once. He used to have the sensation, so many years ago, of biting into ripe fruit.
She lingers, and he neither pushes her away nor encourages her closer, just stands there with her breathing her in, tasting her scent, the underlying notes that stretch out into memory. He can smell the carefully sourced espresso beans she's always insisted on, the crisp bleach smell of her white lab coats, the notes of perfume that would cling to her blouses at the end of a long day.
He would unzip her dresses – always, if he was home, and he never stopped to think how she did it without him, because he would always be there to do it himself – and the scent would surround him; he'd take a moment to press his lips to the back of her neck where it dipped into the muscles of her back and shoulders, that sensual spot hidden from everyone but him.
He inhales again and smells thick yellow highlighters and the ildew odor of their textbooks, that way the library smelled during finals, like a combination of coffee and powdered cheese and the rubber on the bottom of their shoes.
And mint gum. Spearmint, not peppermint. The first time he bought it for her from a bodega near school his fingers slid past blue to green and he wondered why it had never before occurred to him to buy it.
He'd caught a whiff of spearmint in the hospital in Seattle, just once, from a patient, and had to excuse himself to deal with the nausea. He closed himself off after that, because his senses couldn't be exposed, not after fifteen years of living together, waking up with her hair spread across his pillow and one of her legs flung over his.
One more inhale and it's formaldehyde and anxiety that first day of gross anatomy lab, and she's extending a latex hand and then laughing at her own rubbery fingers and his life is opening up. Their life together is beginning.
"Derek."
He glances up, his reverie broken.
She's standing very close, still.
"So … how do I smell?" Addison asks, tilting her head quizzically.
"Good," he says simply, "you smell good," and she smiles.
.-.-.
"You're freezing, Sav," he protests when her cold toes find his.
"So warm me up."
"So we can both get pneumonia?" But he tugs her close anyway, drawing the quilt over her shoulders.
"Warmer," she purrs, and he pulls his fingers through long hair tangled by two trips on the river.
"Ow." She laughs little, wincing.
"You usually like a good hair pull," he teases her, but his hands turn gentle in the tumbled strands.
Soothed, she rests her head against him, enjoying the thumping beat of his heart under her cheek, the warmth of his skin. She toys with the hair on his chest and hears the slight change in his breathing she's not sure anyone else would notice.
Lightly, she presses her lips to his collarbone. He shifts a little under her; heartened, she does it again.
"Did you miss me?" she asks.
"I always miss you when you're not here."
"I needed to go," she says softly.
"I know that, babe. I knew you'd be back. I understand."
"You do understand." She feels … gratitude, wonder, and she presses her lips to his skin again. "Weiss … how much did you say you missed me?"
"I'm not a machine, Sav," he scolds gently, "you can't just wake me up in the middle of the night and expect me to…"
They both pause, her lips halfway across one clavicle.
"Well, good morning to you too," she says, laughing a little, and then clapping her hand over her mouth to muffle a squeal of surprise when he presses her into the pillows.
.-.-.
He's dreaming something he can't quite remember – there's water, and warmth – when a knock on the door drags him out of sleep.
Opening his eyes doesn't help much, since there's a waterfall of red hair blocking his vision. Gently, so as not to wake its owner, he brushes the strands off of his face. Addison is still sleeping, her cheek against his shoulder – he's not sure when that happened. He'd like her to keep sleeping, and he throws a glance of annoyance toward the door as if their interrupter will be able to see it.
Carefully, he slides his hands under her sleep warmed body and moves her off of him, setting her back on her side of the bed. He waits a moment to insure he hasn't woken her, then swings his legs out of bed.
"Yes?" he says, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice as he pulls open the door.
It's Beau – which doesn't really help matters – illuminated by morning light behind him and looking awfully wide awake considering how tired Derek is.
"You're on breakfast today," Beau says shortly, glancing down at Derek's attire. He's wearing flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else. "But if you'd like, I can tell the others you need your beauty sleep."
"I'm sorry." He rubs a hand through his hair, remember that they're guests here. "I didn't realize – I'll, uh, I'll be right there."
"And Miss Addie too? You're both on duty."
"No." Derek shakes his head. "She needs to rest. I'll do both our share."
"You're both on duty."
"I understand that," he says patiently, "but Addison is recovering."
"The rule is – "
"Derek, it's fine."
Addison is behind him; he hadn't realized she was awake.
"It's not fine, Addison, you need to rest."
"We'll be there in a minute," she assures Beau, ignoring Derek's attempt to interject.
When an annoyingly casual Beau has ambled back down the path, Addison turns to Derek. "I appreciate it," she tells him, "really, I do. But it's the rule."
"Addie … you were up half the night. You were in the hospital yesterday!"
"I know, Derek." Lightly, she touches his shoulder. "You were hurt too."
"I'm fine." He flexes the muscles, waiting to flinch – but he doesn't feel the tug of pain he did yesterday, the one wrought by breaking through the locked bathroom door.
Actually … it doesn't hurt at all.
"So am I," she says. She raises her hand to his face, tentatively, like she's worried he'll push her away, and he sees the moment its scruff registers with her. "Go shave," she tells him lightly.
"Do they have shades of shame for that too?" he asks over his shoulder and sees her smile.
Still, as he finishes dressing, he finds himself confused … and a bit irritated. The Beauforts have seemed nothing if not solicitous of Addison all this time – Beau in particular – and now they're insisting on her participating in breakfast chores when they're aware she's still recovering?
"Dress warmly," he reminds her as he reaches for his own coat, recalling the gust of cold air when he pulled open the door.
"Okay, Mom," she says teasingly.
They both pause for a minute. There's an uncertainty in Addison's eyes, just a flicker, and then it disappears.
"Don't forget the mug."
He holds it out to her. "I already have it," he says.
She looks surprised – maybe even a little impressed.
As he closes the door to Red Fox behind them, following Addie over the weathered patio and along the cleared, reed-lined path toward the hearth, he realizes it. The island, which had seemed so strange on arrival, suddenly feels almost normal after the eerie mystique of Goat's Head the previous night.
.-.-.
"Addison needs to rest," Derek says as soon as they set foot on the hearth.
Embarrassed, Addison glares at him. "I'm fine. I can help."
"Addie," he says warningly.
"Oh good, you brought the mug," Camden interjects – the underwear-model pig farmer, ponytailed with her sleeves pushed up. She must be on breakfast too. Camden fills the mug with black coffee and hands it to Addison.
Glancing at Derek, Addison moves along the stone bench to add cream. "Here," she says. "You can go first."
Derek swallows the coffee gratefully – it's easy to drain the mug and he needs the caffeine – before he hands it back.
He glances around the hearth. Beau isn't there, but he recognizes Beau's wife Lily at the firepit, poking in the coals, her small blonde daughter at her side.
"Let's get to it, then." Cammie says, filling the mug with black coffee and handing it to Addison. She glances at Derek. "Sit, Addie, and we'll let the boys cook for us. Beau'll be back in a bit."
She settles in with a plaid wool blanket over both of them, looking rather cozy in the crisp morning air. Addison's face has color, he notices, her shoulders relaxed; he's known her long enough to know her tells for pain.
He finds himself suddenly feeling a lot better.
"Eggs," he says thoughtfully, turning toward the stone bench. "Eggs?" he repeats, turning to Lily, who nods.
"Eggs," he says once more, seeing a bright blonde head out of the corner of his eyes with a hopeful expression. It's Beau and Lily's little girl, Avery. "I'm on eggs. Hmm…"
"Do you need anything?" Lily asks.
"I've got a bowl and enough eggs for an invading army, so … I think I'm set," Derek assures her, and then pauses. "Wait. I think I might need a sous-chef."
"What's a soo-chef?" Avery asks with interest, gazing up at him.
"It's a person who helps me make breakfast … like if I get some shells in the eggs, the sous-chef notices, and helps me get them out."
"Me!" Avery says delightedly. "That's me, Mister Derek, remember? I did that before!"
"You know what, I think you're right," he says, and she beams.
She holds up her arms and he lifts her onto the wide stone bench so she can see what he's doing.
He praises her work when he inspects it, and then pauses as he hears voices from the rough-hewn log benches, rising on the wind.
"Is that really the same Derek who's been on the island all this time?" Cammie murmurs.
Addison doesn't respond. She's watching Derek working at the firepit, almost – jauntily, no trace of the anger and resentment that swirled around him when they first arrived. He seems almost … happy.
"Something's changed," Lily confirms.
"Something has definitely changed," Cammie agrees.
Addison considers this. He's different from the man who arrived on the island, she can see that too, but so inherently Derek, the one she remembers, and misses. The one she hurt. Watching his good mood is almost painful now, his combination of cheer and protectiveness that used to characterize their interaction.
The Derek who cares.
She watches his shoulders – one of them injured from his daring rescue, another injury she's caused him. A visible one this time.
I'm sorry has lost meaning, really, and it doesn't seem like enough.
The smell of sizzling sausages wafts over to the benches, and she breathes it in, realizing she's hungry.
Derek, who has been studying the griddle while he listens, turns to the bench where Addison, Lily, and Camden are sitting. "Actually, Camden … I was wondering if you could show me how to tell when the sausages are done."
"It would be my pleasure," Cammie says, throwing Addison a wink and pushing off the bench to join Derek at the firepit.
"Can I have something to do?" Addison calls after a few minutes of this. "I really don't need to rest."
"I really disagree," Derek says mildly, from feet away where he, Cammie, and Avery are working on breakfast.
"I can slice bread or something, Derek," Addison says. "I'll stay sitting down, even."
"Bread." Derek seems to be considering this. "Slicing. That could work."
He brings her the loaf and the knife himself, as well as a breadboard that she rests on the rough-hewn log bench next to her.
"Those are excellent slices," Derek says when he returns to gather the bread for the griddle. "At least I think so. I'm not sure what my sous-chef thinks."
"I think they're really good too," Avery says happily, and follows Derek like a little blonde shadow back to the firepit.
Addison exchanges an amused glance with Cammie as Beau approaches from the warehouse with supplies.
"Daddy!" Avery calls. "Lookit what I did with the eggs!"
Beau sets down the crate he was carrying and peers into the bowl.
"Looking good in there." He takes Avery's little face in his hand. "You helping Mister Derek?"
"Uh-huh." Avery beams at her father. "I'm the sous-chef," she says proudly.
"Yeah? Good." Beau drops a kiss on the top of his daughter's blonde head and releases her. "She's not bothering you?" he asks Derek.
"Not at all. She's been a big help."
.-.-.
Beau settles down on the rough-hewn log bench next to Addison. For a moment, both of them are silent.
Addison catches his eye. "Don't," she says warningly, knowing what he's about to say.
"Who is that engaging fellow and where is your grouchy husband?"
"Beau! I said, don't."
"I know what you said, Addie." He shakes his head. "But I also know what I saw. Making sausages, making nice with Cammie, I think I even heard him humming – and he's put a spell on my Avery."
"Derek loves kids," Addison says softly. "We have nine nieces."
"Nine!"
"And five nephews."
"Giving the Beauforts a run." He glances over at Derek again and then tilts his head, turning back to Addison. "I guess he must've woken up on the right side of the bed this morning." Beau looks like he's fighting a smile. "Not that there are too many sides to that little bed over in Red Fox."
"No, there's –" Addison pauses. "Wait, did you …" Vaguely, she remembers Savvy sending Weiss away before she directed Derek and Addison to their room at Reeds.
"She put us there on purpose." Addison shakes her head, realizing. "But she said Reeds was full with the family and…"
"… and how many of the rooms did you see in use?"
Addison points her finger at Beau. "And you helped her!"
Beau's face is a mask of innocence. "Beausketeers don't snitch."
They exchange a glance with twenty years of history behind it.
"Thank god for that," Addison says, knowing she's speaking for both of them.
.-.-.
"Did you get enough sleep?"
"No," Savvy says, turning around from the rickety dresser in her room at the cottage to give her husband a sly smile, "but that's partly your fault."
He sweeps her long hair aside to kiss her neck. "Guilty," he admits.
"I'll let you off this time." She leans in to press her lips against his, then tugs him closer when he starts to break the contact.
"Sav … we're going to be late for breakfast."
"So?" She slides her fingers through his hair.
"So … I'm not really feeling the shades of shame this morning."
"You look cute in the shades of shame," she tells him. "Remember the time – "
"Oh yeah," he says. "I can't exactly forget. But I'm not really feeling dish duty either."
"Fair enough."
But he can't seem to help skimming his hands over her and she watches through lowered lashes, enjoying his enjoyment. The contrast of his darker complexion against the pale contours of her body has always pleased both of them, but now her vision blurs, interrupted by one of scarred flesh and sagging skin.
Drying up like the flowers in the glass jar here at the cottage.
Preserved without fragrance or blossom.
"Weiss … stop."
He does, immediately, looking at her with concern.
She's quiet for long moments, then looks down at her own body.
"I'm afraid you'll miss this," she admits.
He pauses at her comment; she can't bring herself to meet his eyes until he touches her face, lightly, waiting for her to look at him.
"I always miss you when you're not here, you know that," he says quietly.
She takes both of his hands in hers and rests them on her hips, folding her fingers in his so they are tracing her curves together.
"… which is why you need to be here, Sav. Whatever it takes."
She looks up at him, hopeful. "You mean …"
"Whatever you need to do. I'll support you."
Tears fill her eyes; she wraps her arms around his neck and holds tightly. Even if their bodies stop fitting together as perfectly as they have for twenty years, the rest of them will still fit. She knows it.
"You're shaking," he observes, smoothing her hair. He grabs the blanket from the bed and wraps it around both of them and for long moments they just hold each other.
"So." She pulls back, lifting a hand to touch his face. His cheek is damp, a little scratchy – terribly familiar. "You said something about breakfast?"
They dress quickly, the shades of shame an effective motivator.
"Who's on breakfast today?" Weiss asks casually as they walk down the somewhat-cleared path from the cottages toward the hearth.
"Beau and – " Savvy stops. "Son of a …"
"What?"
He follows her gaze to the back of a dark, curly head. "Derek. And Addison."
Weiss squints into the sun and Savvy points to a smaller red-haired figure.
"Addie should be resting," Savvy says worriedly.
He rests a hand on her shoulder. "Cammie's there, and Beau and Lily," he points out. "They're not going to put her through her paces."
"Still." She glances at Weiss. "What?" she asks suspiciously, stopping mid step and propping a hand on her hip.
"Nothing," he says, draping an arm around her and starting her walking again. "It's just … aren't you the one who always says trust the island?"
She's quiet for a minute.
"Shut up," she says finally, but she can't quite hide her smile.
The air coming from the hearth is rich and fragrant. As they get closer, they see Derek moving back and forth between a massive cast-iron pan of eggs and a sizzling skillet of sausage, chatting with Cammie.
He turns when he sees them.
"Weiss! Sav! Good morning." Derek looks well-rested, to say the least – energized, even happy. Ever so slightly, Savvy feels Weiss press an elbow into her side, non-verbal marital communication.
"Morning, Derek," Weiss says.
"Coffee?" He takes the mugs from their hands.
"Um … sure."
Derek leans in to kiss Savvy's cheek. "How'd you sleep?"
"I slept okay," she says.
Weiss exchanges a look with his wife.
"Lucy … you got some splainin' to do…" he murmurs, quietly enough that only she can hear.
.-.-.
"Turns out," Derek says, his tone undeniably cheerful as the wind moves his hair, reminding her of the time he talked her into going camping, "there's a trick to knowing sausages are done."
"And all you had to do was ask." Addison takes another bite; the texture is perfect, charred and tender all at once.
"He's a quick study," Cammie says, smiling. She turns her attention back to the blond toddler on her lap, who's wriggling to get down. "Have another bite, honey."
"Mama, I'm done too," the little girl next to them announces.
"Go and take your dishes to the crate then, Gracie, there are no elves here." She sends her on her way with a light tug of one of her pigtails, sets her toddler down and stands up, brushing crumbs off the legs of her lightweight pants. "Derek, you did a great job. Everything was delicious."
"They're your sausages," he reminds her.
"True. Harley, you stay close!" she orders quickly, snagging the back of her son's overall strap. She lifts him to her hip. "That firepit is hot," she reminds him, pointing. Then she sets him down again, calling for her daughter to take his hand, and they're off with the other children.
"They get so much independence here," Derek observes.
"They run around this island. We did the same as kids," Cammie says. "Come back to the hearth for meals or the boys'd come in and go fishing but lots of times we'd hardly see the grownups at all."
Addison can picture it easily, she's seen enough photos of Savvy as a girl, blonde and pigtailed with a mischievous little face and sparkling blue eyes. It's not hard to imagine her running up and down the sandy strips of beach or exploring the fields or waving reeds or the thickly wooded paths, most likely in a throng of four with Augie at her side, Beau and Bos not far behind. Addison knows Augie and Beau had siblings of their own, and they weren't excluded, but there was something about that tight foursome, from the very beginning.
She catches sight of the grown-up Savvy now, in conversation with several of her cousins. Watching the Beauforts repopulate the island feels poignant remembering Weiss's words about their wanting to start a family. It's easy to blink and see little copies of her closest friends running around this island with their family.
It can still happen, she reminds herself – even if it's differently from how they pictured it at first.
Sometimes, that's how the future is.
.-.-.
Somehow, the languid pace of the hearth post-breakfast feels normal now, even familiar. Derek isn't surprised as slow pockets of conversation break out, blonds of varying heights take their time moving dishes around, organizing cleanup, and sharing memories. Many of them center around Savvy's mother, some including her only tangentially as part of the wider web of Beauforts who belong to the island.
He's helping a tall couple stack tin bowls in preparation to be taken to the warehouse – he's fairly sure the male is one of Camden's brothers, though he's not sure which one. Weiss joked about having a chart to keep track of all of his in-laws, but Derek is starting to wonder whether it was a joke at all. "You're Addie's husband," the woman says to him as she hands him a series of flatware to sort. "Right?"
He nods.
"Wils told me about what you did the other night." She indicates her husband. "Pretty amazing."
He shrugs it off.
"In that storm, too. The weather's been strange this trip, hasn't it, honey?"
Wils, who seems to be a man of few words, also shrugs.
"I know there was that storm when y'all were kids, but …" her voice trails off. "Well, we folks who marry in need to stick together," she says to Derek with a smile. "They've practically got their own language."
Derek nods, slightly uncertain but also touched to hear this cousin-in-law so casually refer to Addison as if she's a blood member of their family.
It's something about the island, perhaps, its slow enfolding nature and how it seems to exist utterly separate from the rest of the world.
"Hey, Derek!"
His thoughts are interrupted by what can charitably be called a bellow from Savvy's brother.
"We're going out on the boat. You coming?"
He glances at Addison, who's sitting on the same rough-hewn bench where he left her, talking to Beau's wife.
"I don't know."
Boswell, who has Beau at his side, catches up to him. "Someone's got to feed the hordes. Don't you want to fish?"
Derek raises an eyebrow. "Is this so you can throw me in again?"
"You can't prove that," Bos says, but his eyes are twinkling.
Beau shakes his head. "It's all right. We could use another hand but I can take Junior."
"No, I can help. Let me just …" He gestures toward Addison.
Go, that's what she says. Get out on the water. You love to fish.
"But are you sure you're feeling all right?" he asks it in a low voice, having pulled her aside, and now he glances at the scattered Beauforts remaining around the hearth.
"I am. Really."
"We'll keep an eye on her," Savvy assures him, strolling up to rest a hand on Addison's back.
Slowly, Derek nods. "I won't be long."
"Derek?" Addison searches his face for a moment. "Don't strain your shoulder out there."
He tests the movement of the joint again, puzzled. "It feels fine."
"Can I?" Her hands hover near him and he nods.
She manipulates his shoulder carefully with the hands of an expert clinician. He shivers slightly as her cool fingers slide into the neck of his shirt.
"Are you cold?" she frowns.
"No."
She takes her hands down, apparently satisfied. "Just be careful," she says.
"You be careful." His tone is light, but he can tell she knows that he means it by the way she nods.
.-.-.
"Looking at your watch in the middle of all this," Bos pronounces distastefully, casting an arm in a semicircle to indicate the vast waters around them. "Really?"
"Sorry." Derek lets the sleeve of his fleece fall over his watch again, embarrassed.
"Leave him be, Bos. He's just worried about Addie," Beau says, checking his line.
Bos glances at him as if he's waiting for him to deny it.
"She's fine," Derek says, somewhere between loyalty and defensiveness. "She is, she's just not great at taking it easy. And there's a lot going on, you know. I don't want to go back to the island and find she's on … house-building duty."
Beau actually grins. "House-building duty, huh? I'm gonna put that on the list."
"City folk love to say how hard it is to take it easy," Bos observes, his tone mild.
"It's different on the island, that's all," Beau says. He glances at Derek. "You're leaving tomorrow?"
Tomorrow.
It feels weeks away. Somehow it seems as though they've been on the island for long years and mere minutes, all at once.
Slowly, he nods, and sees the men exchange a glance.
"Addie's staying a little longer," Beau tells Bos, his tone unreadable, "to help Sav."
"Right." Boswell looks at Derek for a moment. "That was some rescue the other night," Bos says. He's focused on his line, turned away from Derek, so he can't see his expression.
Not sure how to respond, Derek lets it go, retreating into silence, letting the sun warm his hands as he waits for a bite on his line.
At least no one has pushed him overboard this time.
The other two men have moved on to talking about the conditions of the trip, punctuated by the occasional splashing of waterfowl. They keep their voices to a low murmur, not wanting to disturb the fish.
"Tatty took some of the boys out this morning," Beau is telling Bos. "They did all right – enough for lunch, even."
There's a note of pride in his voice.
"That's your son?" Derek asks.
Beau nods. "That's Junior, we call him Tatty but he's really Beau the fourth."
"The fourth." Derek raises his eyebrows. "You're the third?"
"I'm the third. Pop – that's Savvy's Uncle Jack – he's junior."
Derek takes it in. "Where does Tatty come from?"
"John Tattnall Beaufort," Beau recites. "The Tattnall's from the generation above our grandparents."
The variety of strange-sounding nicknames he's been hearing on the island are starting to make more sense. "And they all fish?"
Beau smiles. "I take the boys usually, but Tatt's getting old enough now to where he can take the smaller ones. Not too far out, mind."
"How old is he?"
"Thirteen now, Christopher's twelve, and Tucker's ten. We took a little breather before Isaac," he says ruefully.
Five in all. Beau notes Derek's expression.
"His are twins." Beau gestures toward his cousin, serenely poising his rod in the water. "No breather there either."
"But we're stopping with two," Bos says, "not repopulating the earth like Beau over here."
Beau shoots back a retort and the two men josh each other in their way, now familiar to Derek, so much so that he doesn't take notice of their words until the ones directed to him.
"How come you don't have kids?"
It's such a blunt question and it shouldn't surprise him, not having been so immersed in island life, but it still does.
There's no delicacy about it.
He studies the two men across from him in the gently bobbing boat, who are waiting for his answer. They look interested. Serious. Not mocking at all.
"We've talked about it." Derek gazes out at the water. "My father taught me to fish," he says after a few long moments of silence. "We used to go out on the lake, and I always thought I would … "
His voice trails off.
He turns to Beau. "Your oldest, he's thirteen?"
Beau nods.
"I was thirteen when my father died," Derek says quietly.
Both men look solemn. "I'm sorry," Beau says, Bos nodding in agreement.
"Yeah." Derek adjusts his reel. "So am I." He leans back in the seat of the gently moving boat. "My mother did a good job. You know. She did the best she could."
He finds he can't continue, so he refocuses on his line.
"But she didn't fish," Bos prompts, his voice so gentle Derek almost doesn't recognize it.
"But she didn't fish," Derek echoes, and appreciates when Beau tactfully changes the subject.
"We've done pretty well for ourselves," Beau says after a while, studying their catches. "We should turn her around and head back. Derek's dying to check on Addie, I know."
He doesn't deny it, just help both men get the boat ready for its return trip. Then he pauses to take in the vast sunlit water with its sparkling surface gently bobbing beneath them. The silence other than the calls of birds and the little splash-plunk of the fish. There are no other people or boats as far as the eye can see, like they're poised on the edge of the world.
"It really is beautiful out here," he admits, realizing that he's not likely ever to see this view again.
"It sure is," Beau says, starting to turn the motor, then pausing.
"I think you'd be a good one," he tells Derek abruptly.
Derek tilts his head, confused. "A good what?"
"Father," Beau says, turning the motor all the way now so the boat purrs back to life, and squinting out at the sunlit horizon. "I think you'd be a good father."
Derek swallows.
No one says much on the trip back; the water carries them toward the dock – Thompson dock; Derek is starting to learn the names of things just as he's preparing to leave.
Preparing, not prepared.
"Don't be so hasty," Beau scolds him when he pulls so hard on the catch box he nearly drops a fish back into the water. "You'll just make a mess of things."
"Is that an aphorism?" Derek frowns.
"It's a don't-waste-the-fish-I-just-caught-ism," Beau says.
Bos grins at Derek, then gestures with his thumb at Beau. "He's a little wise."
"Nah." Beau shoulders his tacklebox. "It's the island that's wise. I'm just smart enough to listen to it." He fixes his gaze on Derek. "Maybe you should give it a shot."
Maybe he already has.
…
"Just drop 'em right in there." Lily points to the metal bowl she's carried with her down to the beach, and sets the basket of green peas down in the sand. Addison, who hadn't so much as boiled an egg before her first trip to the island, has to watch carefully, but she gets it. There's a certain soothing quality to it, a serenity even, as they sit on a blanket on the strip of soft empty sand, shelling peas to the rhythm of the waves.
Plus, the peas make a satisfying sound as they empty into the bowl.
"These'll be good in the stew tonight," Lily says, brushing a long strand of blonde hair away from her face. The island breeze keeps curling gently around them, moving the air in warm currents. "With the catch the boys bring in. It's all about blending, you know? Little of this, little of that."
Addison nods distractedly, looking out at the water. It's quiet out here, no one else in eyeline but gulls overhead and the smaller birds and insects that periodically express interest in what they're doing. Every once in a while, they hear a shriek of glee from down the shell beach, where she knows a great horde of Beaufort children are playing.
"Avery won't stop talking about your husband," Lily informs Addison with a smile. "I don't know that she's ever had so much fun at breakfast."
Addison returns the smile. Derek's ease with children, his sheer enjoyment of their enthusiasm and perspective, has always been something she loved. It was clear every time she saw him interacting with his sisters' children. "He's a practiced uncle," she tells Lily. "And he's, well, he's been away from the kids for a while."
Lily glances at her. "You're separated? You don't have to answer that," she adds quickly. "Sometimes I think I've been married to Beau so long I forget that not everyone's a Beaufort. Not everyone wants to talk plain. And you've been one of this family longer than I have."
She considers Lily's question.
Separated. It's a strange word to describe two people who have spent much of the last twenty-four hours inches away from each other, but she's not sure of a better one.
She hasn't spent the same kind of time with Lily she has with Beau, but there's been something about her from the beginning that's made Addison feel like she knows her.
Slowly, she nods. "It's all right. Derek and I, we didn't want it to … interfere, on the island, you know, but yes … we're, um, we're living apart right now."
"If you don't mind my being honest … you seem married."
"We are," Addison admits. She gazes out at the water. Lily's not wrong, but what she doesn't understand is that a decade and a half together means that closeness is habit. Derek's solicitousness since her collapse in the room at Reeds, his tenderness … she's been grateful for every moment of it even as it's tempered with disappointment that it's not more than remaining affection for her as a person. That, and muscle memory.
She glances at Lily. She's seen Beau brush a hand along his wife's hair every time he passes her, these days on the island – if they were to separate, it would be a hard habit to break.
Except they wouldn't separate, she's fairly certain of that. Imagining Lily having an affair is so fanciful she can't even picture it. No, Addison's the one who tore the fabric of her own marriage. And now, Derek having to take care of her, after what she did to him, just isn't fair. Closing her eyes briefly, she lets the shame wash over her.
"Addie…?"
"I've made a lot of mistakes," she says quietly, opening her eyes to see Lily giving her a worried glance.
"People make mistakes."
"People make mistakes," Addison concedes, "okay, fine, but I make … messes."
"Messes can be cleaned up."
Addison recalls the piles of ruined clothing in the foyer, her own body curled between them in what passed for sleep that terrible night.
"Not all messes," she says grimly.
They return to shelling peas, the sunlight striping their hands and legs as they work. Addison focuses on the bright green vegetables in her lap. When all else fails, keep your hands busy.
A fat bumblebee drones nearby, then leaves for sweeter pastures. Addison swipes a hank of hair out of her eyes, taking her hands off the basket of peas, and sees a gull hop over with interest.
"Get on, you," Lily commands, but she can't seem to help smiling when he snatches the shell from her hand and darts back toward the water. Another gull swoops down and attempts to yank the shell from the first one.
"I should be the bigger person." Addison strips the string from another pod and empties the peas into the metal bowl. "Let him go, and stop hoping he'll forgive me. But…"
"But you still love him," Lily says gently.
"But I still love him," she admits.
They go back to shelling peas, Addison grateful for the distraction as she deepens her breathing and coaxes the tears back inside her eyes where they belong.
"It can be hard," Lily offers, after a tactful silence.
Addison glances at her.
"Knowing when to hold on, and when to let go," the other woman elaborates.
Addison considers this. "Sometimes love means wanting the other person to be happy, even if it's not with you." She glances at Lily's curious expression. "It's something my, uh, my mentor said, when I was a fellow. We were working on a case that … well, that part doesn't really matter. It's just something she said."
Lily nods, and Addison reaches for another handful of peas to shell.
Together, they watch the sea move in and then out again. Each wave washes over the shore in steady rhythm, holding onto the sand and then releasing it in time to curl back into the ocean.
The island seems to know when to hold on, and when to let go.
Why can't she?
To be continued. My babies have such a hard time making it happen but I believe in them. Even though they frustrate us, even though Addek's worst enemy is Addek. I hope you are enjoying the journey and I am excited to keep sharing this story with you. Please review and let me know what you think - I love to hear your thoughts and it's incredibly encouraging to me to get 19 up fast. And as always THANK you for reading and reviewing. xoxo
Title lyric from Shall We Gather at the River.
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