Chapter 4

Celia from the alterations studio called while Ethan was still in the shower.

"Your final fitting is tomorrow at eleven," she said. "We finished the neckline adjustment, and the dress is ready whenever you are. It'll look beautiful by the water."

The bathroom door opened before I could answer. Ethan stepped out with wet hair and a towel around his neck, his eyes moving from my phone to the open suitcase on the bed. The white satin dress lay folded on top.

Celia went on, "Should I keep the second appointment open for Dr. Hayes? We still have time to pull a few suit options if he wants to come with you."

Ethan's expression changed at once.

I thanked Celia and ended the call.

For a moment, he only looked at me. Then he walked closer, his voice low and tight.

"Claire, why are you still doing this?"

I set my phone on the nightstand. "Doing what?"

He gave me a look, as if the question itself offended him. "The fitting. The dress. Halewick. You're still acting like this is our wedding weekend."

"It's Maya's wedding weekend."

"That's not what this is, and you know it." He pointed toward the suitcase. "You're trying to force my hand."

I looked at the dress, then back at him.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything."

"Then cancel the fitting."

The room went quiet.

Ethan dragged a hand through his damp hair and let out a short breath. He looked tired, but not guilty. That was always the difficult part with him. He could hurt me and still look like the one being cornered.

"A wedding isn't something you can push someone into because you booked a dress and picked a beach," he said. "Have you thought about what I want?"

I folded the edge of the dress more neatly into the suitcase.

"I thought you wanted me."

His face shifted for a second, but he recovered quickly.

"That's not fair."

"No," I said. "Maybe it isn't."

"I'm not ready, Claire."

The words should have hurt. They had hurt before. The first time he said them, I told myself he was young. The second time, I told myself his career was brutal. The third time, I told myself marriage was only a piece of paper, and what we had was bigger than a date on a calendar.

Eight years later, he was still not ready.

"All right," I said.

His jaw tightened. "That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I want you to stop making this harder than it needs to be. Wear something normal to Maya's wedding. Don't turn Halewick into a scene."

"Okay," I said. "I'll handle it."

He watched me for another moment, suspicious of my calmness, but there was no argument for him to win. After a while, he turned away, pulled a T-shirt from the closet, and left the bedroom.

The next morning, he told me he was flying to Boston.

He said it in the kitchen while checking his email, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug he had not touched. There was a cardiothoracic conference. His department chair wanted him there in person. A surgical demonstration had been added to the schedule, and there was a research dinner he could not miss.

"I'll be gone about two weeks," he said.

Maya and Ben's wedding was in two weeks. Halewick was in two weeks. He knew that, so I did not remind him.

"When do you leave?"

"This afternoon."

He paused, then added, "Mia's going too. She's presenting her abstract."

I took a sip of coffee. It had already gone cold.

"Okay."

Ethan looked up from his phone. "That's all?"

"What else is there?"

"I thought you'd be upset."

"I'm tired."

He came around the counter and touched my shoulder. The gesture was familiar enough that my body almost leaned into it out of habit.

"I'll make it up to you when I get back," he said.

By late afternoon, I drove him to the airport. Mia was already waiting near departures with two large suitcases and a laptop bag sliding off one shoulder. The moment she saw Ethan, her face lit up.

"Dr. Hayes, thank God. I thought I was going to be late."

Then she noticed me and adjusted her smile.

"Claire. Thanks for driving him. Don't worry, I'll make sure he actually eats while we're away."

Ethan checked his watch. "We should go."

He took his suitcase from the trunk. Mia stepped closer to him without seeming to think about it, as if that space had already become hers. I stood beside the car and looked at him one last time.

For a moment, I could still see the man he had been years ago: wet hair after a rushed shower, his shirt buttoned wrong, a cheap silver bracelet hidden in his palm because he had been too nervous to give it to me properly. I could still see the man who promised me the ocean because he had nothing else to offer and somehow made it feel like enough.

That was the worst part. He had not disappeared all at once. He was still there in pieces, and those pieces had kept me waiting long after I should have left.

"Ethan," I said.

He turned.

The airport was loud around us, full of rolling suitcases, departure announcements, automatic doors opening and closing. Sunlight fell through the glass roof and softened his face.

I smiled. "Goodbye."

He frowned slightly. "I'll call when I land."

I did not correct him.

Mia touched his arm. "We should hurry."

Ethan looked at me for another second, uneasy now, as if he had finally noticed something closing but could not tell what it was. Then he nodded and followed her toward security.

He looked back once before the line carried him forward.

I raised my hand.

He raised his too, and then he was gone.

I did not go home after leaving the airport. I drove downtown to the Langford office instead.

Most of our floor was dark by the time I arrived. The Halewick presentation room still had a light on, probably left behind after an afternoon client call. I let myself in with my key card and found the resort reel paused on the main screen.

Blue water filled the wall. White sand curved around the island. Villas lined the shore in neat, expensive silence.

I stood there with my coat still on, looking at a project I knew better than almost anyone. I knew which photographer had shot the aerial footage, which linen color had tested best in the villas, which angle made the ceremony lawn look warm instead of staged. My team had spent months turning Halewick into a place people could imagine beginning the rest of their lives.

Somewhere along the way, I had started believing it could be that place for me too.

I picked up the remote and pressed play.

The reel moved from the dock to the villas, from the dining deck to the ceremony lawn facing the water. White chairs had already been arranged for the preview shoot, and the wooden arch stood bare, waiting for flowers.

For years, I had imagined Ethan there. Not because the island needed him, but because I had given him that place in my mind until I could no longer separate the beach from the promise.

Tonight, for the first time, I looked at the screen and saw the island without him.

It was still beautiful.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Maya wanted to know if I was still coming early for the final walkthrough tomorrow.

I read her message, then looked back at the ceremony lawn on the screen. The chairs, the arch, the water, the light — all of it was still there. Ethan was the only part missing, and maybe that was not the disaster I had once thought it would be.

I told Maya I was coming and asked her to put me on the first flight.