August, 1986- Corinth Beach, Montauk

The first morning in Corinth Beach was always the best. Even when Sally was younger, they'd always get there at night, hauling their bags up the steps to the house using flashlights and streetlights alone to show the way. They'd collapse into their beds, somehow worn out by a drive that realistically took less than three hours. And then, the morning.

Sally was always up first— just a couple of minutes before sunrise, she'd reach for the small pack of hair ties she kept by the bed and tuck her long, dark-red curls out of her face as she took off down the narrow stone path that led to the beach. And from there, she was free. The morning breeze tickled her face, the air full of salt and brine and life. She'd listen to the sounds of morning on the water, so much louder than people who didn't get up with the sun might think. Seagulls chattered away at the lobster nets, the gangly college boys out for a morning run batted football statistics back and forth at one another like volleyballs, audible from almost a quarter mile up the sand, and Sally knew that if she listened closely enough, she'd hear the faint popping of bubbles as small creatures wiggled themselves further into the sand.

Even though this year was different, even though Sally was here alone now, even though it was two months later and she was used to leaving in August, not arriving, the first morning held the same magic it had always had. She splashed right into the low-tide shallows, not bothering to slow down until she was in past her knees. The water soaked into the hems of her cutoffs— that was fine, they'd dry.

And for a moment, the world was quiet.

Finally, Sally's thoughts stopped spinning out. She could practically feel her pulse slowing, her breaths deepening, the world slowing to a pace she could manage. Just for this moment, everything was as it should be. No strange shadows, moving of their own accord. No demon faces in bustling New York crowds, turning away before she could make eye contact. No hooved feet, no horned heads, no strange mechanical wings. None of the flashes she'd been seeing ever since the car had flipped over and turned her whole world upside down. For the first time since the crash, Sally felt like she was looking at the world through a clear windshield again, instead of through shattered glass.

Of course, she'd still have to walk up the beach, to the empty house. Pack up her mother's vanity, box up the summer clothes that would be donated somewhere. Clean out her father's shed and the grill he always swore he knew how to use. Put the tools out in the yard with a "for sale" sign. Find a way to live in the empty house that still felt full of ghosts— after all, there was nowhere else left for her to go.

But for now, it was just Sally and the sea, the water lapping gently at her legs, the sun beginning to spread its warm glow over the beach as the cloud cover burned away.

Hours later, the beach began to fill— not with the usual crowds, it was too close to the start of the school year. But couples walked up and down the beach, and a ragtag crew of townies batted at a ball, pushing it back and forth over a net. Sally watched it all from the bay window in the kitchen that her mother had turned into a breakfast nook. She tucked her knees up to her chin and clasped a cup of coffee in her hands. It was too hot for coffee, especially sitting in the patch of sun that streamed right through the window, but Sally didn't care. The world had seemed so cold, over the last few weeks. A little bit of warmth, of sun, couldn't be a bad thing.

A knock at the door shook her out of her thoughts. She jumped, clonking the side of her head into a shelf on the wall that held cookbooks. She barely managed to catch two of them— The Best Pies in New York and The Joy of Cooking— before they fell on her, too. Rubbing the sore spot on her head, she went to answer the door.

"SALLY. Oh, I hoped you'd be back." She barely had time to see who it was before a familiar set of gangly arms and soft bakery T-shirt and cloud of curly blonde hair wrapped her up in a hug tight enough she couldn't breathe.

"May." Sally hugged her back, just as fiercely.

"So it's really true, then?" May asked, taking a step back and looking around, big blue eyes looking anywhere but directly at Sally. "Your parents…"

Sally swallowed past the lump that swelled in her throat. "Yeah."

"How long are you staying?" A wrinkle appeared between May's brows as she slid a canvas tote bag off of her arm and onto Sally's kitchen table. "Also, here— these are for you. When my dad heard there was a light on in your house last night, he insisted on whipping up a batch of these for you. Your favorites."

"Mine, too." Sally said softly. She didn't need to unwrap the bundle to know that it was full of peanut butter brownies, but she did anyway. She'd barely eaten all week, but that smell… chocolate and salt, summer in a nutshell. Her stomach let out a small, strained grumble. She turned back to May. "Thank you. And tell your dad thanks as well."

"So, how long are you staying?" May asked again.

"I'm honestly not sure." Sally looked around the kitchen, which still looked like people should be using it. "Rent was caught up in the city, but I can't pay it on my own. I'm done with school, but I don't have a job. We own this house, so I kind of figured I'd see what it costs to maintain, pack up their stuff, and… figure it out from there?"

"Seems reasonable, I guess." May reached over and grabbed Sally's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Well, I'm sure your hands are full with figuring out… everything. But if you need a job, we can always use extra hands at the bakery. Rent aside, it might give you something to do on the quiet days. Less time in your own head."

Sally mulled it over. "That… sounds nice, actually."

May smiled, but it came across as more of a grimace. "I remember from when my mom passed. It helped to have something to do with my hands. Of course, I was busy with a kid and half out of my mind with postpartum, but… still. It's amazing what punching a bowl of dough can do to help you get some feelings out."

"I forget, sometimes," Sally admitted, her voice soft. "How close together Luke's birthday and your mom's passing were."

"Yeah." May looked down, tracing a little circle with her toe on the worn wooden floorboards. "I was just about your age, I guess."

"Yeah." Sally didn't say the part that everyone knew but no one said— that May's son had been born when May was barely nineteen, and that no one in Corinth Beach had ever met the kid's father.

"Anyway." May cleared her throat. "Not that I'm a therapist or anything, but I learned some coping strategies back then. Good ones. And recipes. Mostly recipes, if I'm honest. Anyway, I should get back to Luke— I've already left him with my dad for too long, he'll probably be drawing all over the walls by now. But I wanted to make sure I saw you today."

"Thanks, May." Sally was mortified at the catch in her own voice, but she did her best to cover it with a cough. "I'm really glad you stopped by."

"Think about the job," May called out, as the door closed behind her. Sally watched through the window as she went, evidently unbothered by the untied laces on one shoe and the blonde tendrils escaping from her thick braid.

Sally ate a brownie slowly, pinching off tiny pieces and eating them crumb by crumb.

She kept watching through the window as the beach emptied back out, as the tide came rolling in and the clouds on the horizon began to darken.

She was about to close the blinds of the bay window when a bright flash of light hit the beach— so bright, Sally had to look away.

She blinked away the gold spots in her vision.

"A storm must be rolling in," she murmured to no one. "Best make sure all the windows and doors are sealed tight."

Indeed, outside, the waves grew taller and rain began to fall.


We're ba-ack...

I really, really love Sally as a character- especially watching the PJO show as an adult and realizing that I'm now closer to her age than I am to Percy's. And as much as I love examining the ways in which Percy and Luke are foils to one another, I'm betting that May and Sally have just as much in common. Plus, I've been feeling the itch to write a bittersweet love story (as Jelly Beans and Pocket Lint may have alluded to). So, here we are. ~GT

(P.S. I do work a full-time job and I'm working on multiple non-fanfic novel publications. I'm going to do my best to update this somewhat regularly, but... we'll see)