Clara stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the salt-laced wind tugged at her coat. The harbor smelled of brine and diesel, a scent that had once felt like home but now clung to her skin like a memory she couldn’t shake. She hadn’t set foot in Marrow’s End since the day she left, three years ago, but the town hadn’t changed. The same rusted fishing boats bobbed in their slips, their hulls scarred by storms and time. The same flickering streetlamp cast a yellow glow over the boardwalk, its light pooling like molten honey. She adjusted her scarf, fingers brushing the worn edge of the fabric—her mother’s, gifted to her on the night she packed her suitcase.
The diner at the end of the dock was still called *Maggie’s*, though the sign flickered more than it used to. Inside, the air was thick with coffee and grease, the clatter of plates echoing off the Formica counter. Clara hesitated at the door, her breath fogging the glass as she scanned the room. Then she saw him—Eli, slumped in a corner booth, his dark hair still too long, his hands folded over a half-empty coffee cup. He looked up, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the way his gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unyielding.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice low, like gravel underfoot.
Clara slid into the booth across from him, the vinyl seat creaking beneath her. His eyes were the same—dark and unreadable, flecked with gold in the dim light. She wondered if he still tasted like salt and seaweed, if his hands still carried the roughness of rope and netting. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said, her words careful, measured.
Eli leaned forward, his elbows on the table. The scar along his jaw—left from a storm two summers back—twitched as he smiled. “You always were terrible at waiting.”
The server approached, her uniform frayed at the seams. Clara ordered black coffee, though she hadn’t touched the stuff in years. Eli asked for another beer, his gaze never leaving her face. The silence between them was thick, charged, like the air before a lightning strike.
“Why did you come back?” Eli asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.
Clara stared at the condensation on her cup, tracing the ring it left on the table. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought I could outrun it. The noise, the… the weight.” Her fingers curled into the napkin beneath her hand. “But I couldn’t.”
Eli exhaled, a slow, deliberate sound. “You always hated the noise.”
“You hated the silence,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended.
He didn’t flinch. “Maybe I still do.”
The diner’s door swung open, letting in a rush of wind and the distant cry of gulls. Clara watched as a couple rushed in, their laughter bright and loud, and for a moment, the memory surfaced—her and Eli, years ago, standing on this very dock, the sky bruised with storm clouds. She had been sixteen, barefoot in the sand, her dress whipping around her legs. He had been twenty, his hands calloused from the sea, his eyes already carrying the weight of something she hadn’t understood yet.
“We were kids,” she said quietly. “We didn’t know what we were doing.”
Eli’s smile was bitter. “We still don’t.”
The coffee grew cold between them, the silence stretching thin. Clara wondered if he still kept the old guitar in his garage, the one he’d played on summer nights when the waves crashed against the rocks. She wondered if he still woke up at dawn, before the sun rose, to haul his nets. If he still smelled like salt and diesel, like the sea itself.
“I heard about your father,” Eli said suddenly.
Clara’s breath hitched. The words hung between them, heavy and raw. “You didn’t have to come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I wanted to.”
The server returned, setting down Clara’s coffee with a clink of porcelain. She took a sip, the bitterness sharp on her tongue, and for the first time in years, she felt something close to hope.
—
The next morning, Clara stood at the edge of the dock, watching the sun bleed across the water. The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of seaweed and damp wood. Eli joined her a few minutes later, his boots crunching on the gravel. He didn’t speak, just stood beside her, his presence steady, like the tide.
“You didn’t have to stay,” she said, her voice quiet.
“I know.”
She turned to look at him, really look at him. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, the weight of years etched into his skin. But his gaze was the same—intense, searching. “What now?”
Eli shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “We figure it out.”
Clara let the words settle, feeling their truth sink into her bones. The ocean stretched before them, endless and vast, but for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel lost.
“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s figure it out.”
Eli smiled, slow and sure, and for a moment, the world felt like it might just hold together.
