From Shadows, Emerging Tides

The gravel crunches beneath the tires of the Rav4 like breaking glass, a sound that causes Melody Blackthorne’s heart to hammer against her ribs. She cuts the engine, but her fingers remain glued, curling tight around the steering wheel until her knuckles turn the color of the white waves crashing ahead of her. For close to two thousand miles, she had checked her rearview mirror every sixty seconds, waiting for the sleek, silver glint of Blaze’s Mercedes to appear like a shark in the wake. She’s thirty-nine years old, and currently a fugitive from her own life, hiding on the sandy outskirts of Emerald Isle, North Carolina.

“Mom, are we here?” seven-year-old Mia already unbuckling her seatbelt, hazel eyes wide as she glances between the cottage, white sandy beach and sparkling aquamarine waters glistening in the golden sun.

“Wait one moment, darling. Let’s make sure it’s safe first before we unbuckle and get out. Ok.” Melody whispers, her voice cracking. She takes a shuddering breath, trying to force the southern steel back into her spine. She has to be the anchor, like she’s always been. She can’t let them see the way her skin crawls with the phantom sensation of Blaze’s hand gripping her upper arm. A bruise hidden beneath her linen sleeve that is just beginning to fade into a sickly yellow. You’re safe, He doesn’t know about this place. He thinks you’re at your sister’s in Dallas.

Mia nods her head in obedience, “yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m so excited for the beach.” Her little voice sings in enthusiasm. Mia’s wide eyes, a mosaic of earthy brown,  forest green, and hints of sea blue, nearly resemble hers.

“Yea, Mia, you have to wait for Mom to tell you it’s ok, to unbuckle. What if she had to drive again?” nine-year-old Leo says, his voice carrying notes of stern and care.

Their gaze shifts to the two-story dome cottage resting on cement stilts. A resilient survivor enduring decades of Atlantic storms, remains unyielding. Its concrete walls recently received a fresh stain of pastel blue, renewing its previous weary facade. It lacks the scale of the pristine, minimalist mansion in Denver—that place where every throw pillow had a designated coordinate, and every word held the potential to trigger a blowup. Here, the air breathes sea grass, salt, and honeysuckle. A wild, honest mingling of scents indifferent to appearances. Melody steps from the SUV, her cushioned flip-flops crunch over the gravel driveway. The humidity drapes over her like a warm towel, heavy and thick, yet it feels less like a weight and more like a shield.

She opens the side doors for the children, “ok, go ahead,” she says, gesturing toward the wooden walkway that cuts through the sea oats. “Stay where I can see you, okay!”

Mia, a spitting image of both her parents, scuffs her pink water shoes, against the sand underfoot. She glances towards her brother, Leo. A mini male version of his mother, sharing the same chestnut locks, like his sister, nods in unison. His blue and green water shoes graze the sandy walkway, his sister just behind him. They slow by the roaring water. Their laughter sounding foreign and beautiful in the open air. Melody falls into nostalgia, reminiscing summers and spring breaks at the cottage with her grandmother and sister, Harmony.

The letter from her grandmother’s lawyer; she has passed on, it’s all yours. Somewhat encrypted. Melody has been isolated from family for a few years as Blaze firmed his grip when the children were born. She sent photos of the kids, mailed letters here and there, and made occasional phone calls. Her grandmother had been in a nursing home for years; Blaze held her back from visiting. Tears surface in Melody’s whiskey green-amber eyes. Her grandmother, the woman who raised her, has left this world. Feeling a little orphaned for a moment, she focuses on her children playing by the shore. Breathing, salt air, restoring. Melody regaining composure thinks back to her early memories visiting here, before her parents died in a car accident. She was only five. Faint memories of being hugged and loved by them, surface. As if their spirits surround her now, here at the beach.

Whilst immersing in childhood memories, she has nearly forgotten Blaze. She begins the ritual that has become her shadow. Her eyes scan the perimeter of the cottage, for any vehicle that looks too expensive, any man who moves with Blaze’s predatory grace. She checks the front door lock, then the back, then the front again. Three times. It was a compulsion born from a decade of gas lighting and the kind of trauma that leaves a person’s nervous system permanently altered. She is hyper-vigilant, a rabbit in a world of wolves. The peace of the beach and memories of her parents and grandmother are the only serenity she has. She wants everything inside. She wants the door barred. She wants to disappear into the cement walls until the divorce papers are finalized, and the monster in the expensive suit finally realizes he can’t own her anymore. Tears swell, as a wave of grief hovers over Melody, like a dark cloud. She lets the beach cruiser bikes off the rack, of her dark blue Rav four. She just bought it. A cashier’s check from a separate account, covered it. Paid off, in her maiden name. In an effort to hide from Blaze, Melody sold the minivan, whilst visiting her sister in Dallas.

 She grabs a heavy duffel bag, her chestnut strands flutter in the salty breeze, yet stick to her damp neck. She feels a sudden, sharp spike of panic as she realizes she can’t hear the kids anymore.

“Leo? Mia?” She calls out, her voice rising an octave. She drops the bag and runs toward the beach, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She gazes around and stops short. Her children aren’t alone. A massive, snow-white Golden Labrador is dancing around them; it’s tail wagging with such force that its entire back half wiggles. Mia was giggling, her small hands buried in the dog’s thick fur, whilst Leo was trying to play a lopsided game of tag with the beast. Standing close by, a man in a charcoal hoodie, despite the late Spring warmth, nods at Melody. His long legs wrapped in fluttering linen pants and broad shoulders catch Melody’s eye.  She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself. She winces as the sun exposes glistening copper-brown hair, with greys threaded in. His face, the only skin showing, has been kissed by the sun. He didn’t look like the men Melody knew in Denver or Dallas— air around him feels heavier, more stable. When he turns to look at her, his eyes are the exact blue of the deep water beyond the breakers.

“Jet, easy,” the man says. His voice, a deep resonant rumble that seems to vibrate in Melody’s chest. It isn’t loud but beholds the authority of a calm sea. “He’s a bit of a greeter. Hope he didn’t give the little ones too much.” Melody observes the kids playing with the dog, weight lifts off her chest, and a breath escapes her lungs. They deserve this moment, freedom, a fluffy sweet dog playing with them at the beach. She feels the lightness of the man’s gaze—he doesn’t move toward her. He stays exactly where he is, giving her space; his hands tucked casually into his white linen pant pockets.

“They’re fine,” Melody managed to say, though her heart is still thudding a frantic rhythm. She walks down the sandy path, her movements stiff and guarded. “I just… I didn’t see him coming.”

“He’s got a way of sneaking up on people when he smells joy,” the man says, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He whistles softly, and the dog immediately trots to his side, sitting down with a happy pant. “I’m Gage. Gage Sterling. We live a few houses down, near the old pier.”

Melody reaches the kids, pulling them slightly toward her. She feels the man’s eyes on her—not with the calculating coldness of Blaze, but with a quiet, observant intensity. He notices her shaking hands. He saw the way she scanned the empty beach behind him. He sees the “vacation” façade for exactly what it is: a thin, cracking mask. It makes her feel exposed and flustered towards him for it.

“I’m Melody,” she expresses, mustering up the courage to speak. “It's my grandmother’s cottage. I visited here often when I was younger.”

“So, not the first time on the Banks?” Gage asks. He reaches down to scratch Jet behind the ears; his movements slow and deliberate. He’s not a talker, she can tell. He uses direct, simple language, and he seems to be measuring her just as much as she is measuring him. “It’s a good place to be if you need to hear yourself think. The ocean has a way of drowning out everything else.”

Melody looks at him, really looks at him, and feels a strange, long-buried spark of attraction flicker in the pit of her stomach. It terrifies her. She isn’t ready for sparks. She is barely ready for oxygen. But the contrast between this man’s quiet strength and Blaze’s volatile demeanor gives her a sense of hope. Blaze is not the only man she’s ever seen or been around. She had boyfriends before him.

“We should get back to unpacking,” Melody says. Her breath catching as Jet lets out a friendly bark and nudges her hand with a wet nose. For a moment, she lets her fingers brush the dog’s soft head. The simple, tactile reality of it grounds her.

“Welcome to the edge of the world, Melody,” Gage says softly. He tips his head toward her, a silent acknowledgment of the walls she’d built; before turning to walk down the beach, the big white dog trotting faithfully at his heels. “See you around.”

Melody watches them go until they are just specks against the shifting sand.

Hours later, the night has darkened over, Melody leans, tucking in the children, then begins reading a book, in the same rooms she and her sister stayed in as children. A hint of ocean waves sound outside.

The white wooden twin beds creak as the children shift their weight, drifting off to sleep. Melody checks the locks one final time, then stands in the dark kitchen, remembering cooking with her mother and grandmother. A wave of grief, weighs on her, again wiping Blaze out of her mind. It’s been remodeled and renewed. As if her grandmother knew she would need to be here. She looks in the sunroom, through the window inside, at the beach cruiser bikes. A ride along the boardwalk. Tomorrow, with the kids.  For the first time in years, the silence didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a beginning. She touches the bruise on her arm, then looks at the door. Melody is still afraid, but as the tide roars outside, she wonders if she has finally found a place where the waves could wash the scent of fear away.