Chapter One
Most kids had imaginary friends growing up, but not like mine.
I slowed down near the cypress docks because, like always, they made me think of him. The ocean crashed along the pier and glittered under the dying sun like shattered glass. Since I’d lived my whole life in Weymouth, an ocean-view walk home was a common thing. My “friend” Niall hadn’t been. Years after most kids abandoned their imaginary friends, mine had tagged along right through middle school. I wasn’t stupid—I’d known what the other kids would think, so I’d kept him quiet. And there’d been rules.
He’d only meet me by the sea. I’d come by myself at night, making some excuse to my folks or telling them I wanted to go find shells at the beach.
I’d lied. Covering my tracks the best I could, I’d always brought home a shell he’d helped me find, anything from pieces of clams to slipper’s shells. I fingered the conch around my neck—the last shell Niall had given me before he’d left.
The salty breeze picked up strands of my hair and rippled them like pennants as I made my way down the boardwalk. So, yeah, most invisible friends don’t swim with you. You can’t stroke their wet hair or see the smile in their eyes. Most don’t smell like brine and the breeze. But he’d vanished, same as all invisible friends do, once I’d reached a certain age.
Stepping up my pace, I bypassed no less than three candy shops, all declaring the best salt water taffy. I still needed to get home and take a shower before my waitressing shift tonight at Safe Harbor. My beat-up jeans and long-sleeved sweater were covered in fish guts from my shift at Bobby’s Seafood. My sleeves were crusty; they were going to need a serious washing before I wore that shirt again. Despite the refrigerator chill permeating the place, I’d been sweating by the time I’d clocked out.
Between the two jobs, I managed to make ends meet. A lot of hard work, sure, but I made enough for an apartment on my own and some gorgeous, aged furniture—code word for thrift-shop finds. Mom and Dad’s place was up the street, the same house they’d lived in for twenty years now. For me, happiness consisted of swimming whenever I wanted or sitting on the beach and listening to the waves. I couldn’t imagine a life away from the coast.
I broke into a whistle as I stepped off the boardwalk and onto the small streets leading to my apartment. The Dusty Rose apartment complex rose in the distance, all whopping three floors of maintained red brick.
Mr. Casey leaned against the railing, smoking a pipe, his thick brows scrunched together as he skimmed through the paper.
“Good morning, sir,” I called out as I approached the steps.
“Back at you, Meggie.” He nodded, barely looking up from his paper.
“How do you keep reading that junk?” I peered over his shoulder. “It’s all wars, death, and complaints. A whole lot of misery.”
“Misery keeps a level head on you.” He offered a grin. “Too chipper for your own good, Meggie.”
I snorted as I strolled up the steps and popped inside the building. With my next shift in two hours, I’d have enough time to scrub the smell of fish off me, scarf whatever leftovers I had in my fridge—two-day-old fried rice—and, if I was lucky, get through another chapter of my book. Had to hurry if I wanted to get that last one done.
***
The wet strands of my ponytail tickled my neck as I circled around to the rear entrance of Safe Harbor. My plain black tee and knee-length rippled skirt played up my curves, even though I had more hip than bosom. Dressing for work was tricky. While I wanted to look presentable, since it led to more tips, sometimes dolling up brought in creeps who I’d have to try and politely handle on my own.
My boss, Janice, sat in the back, smoking a cigarette and shouting into her phone. She wasn’t a bad boss; a bit on edge, but since she’d risen through the ranks
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