EverHeart

Chapter 9: Cala Verde

MARCO



The first thing I knew about Lucy Hart was that she had green eyes.

The second was that she was terrible at answering questions.

I'd accumulated more facts since then.

She drank coffee black. Read during meals and still noticed when I stole from her plate. Carried cash instead of cards. Hated being fussed over. Liked custard pastries despite repeatedly denying any emotional attachment to them.

And when she was worried, she became very practical.

Which was why, when I told her I wanted to go back to Cala Verde, Lucy started cleaning an already clean counter.

“No.”

“I wasn't asking permission.”

“Good. Then we're done.”

“We aren't.”

“Marco.”

“Lucy.”

She wiped the same spot again.

“You already cleaned that.”

“I know.”

“Twice.”

“I like it clean.”

“Apparently you like it sterile.”

She put the cloth down.

Progress.

“I want to see where you found me.”

“You've seen the beach.”

“From the road.”

“Same beach.”

“Not the same thing.”

She went still.

I'd learned that too.

Most people moved when something made them uncomfortable.

Lucy did the opposite.

The more something mattered, the less of her moved.

“You almost died there,” she said.

Not I found you there.

Not you were injured.

Almost died.

“Yeah.”

She reached for the cloth.

I took it first.

“Give me that.”

“No. You're going to remove the finish.”

“The counter is stone.”

“I'll find a way.”

Her mouth tightened.

Almost a smile.

Close enough.

“I need to go.”

“Why?”

That was the problem.

Sometimes I woke with salt in my mouth when there wasn't any.

I could stand at the harbor while boats came and went, but if I watched open water too long, something inside me went cold.

The ferry to San Telmo had made my heart beat too fast.

And I remembered water.

Darkness.

Pressure.

Heat.

Hands.

Then nothing.

Then green eyes.

“I don't know.”

I hated those words.

I'd said them so often they were beginning to feel like part of my name.

Marco.

I don't know.

“That's not entirely true,” Lucy said.

I frowned.

“You know why. You just don't want to say it.”

“That is irritating.”

“So I've been told.”

“By people?”

Her eyes narrowed.

I grinned.

I was learning.

“I want to know if I remember anything. And…”

I rubbed the back of my neck.

“I don't like being afraid of a beach.”

Something changed in her face.

Small.

I didn't miss much about Lucy anymore.

“When?”

“Now?”

“It'll be hot.”

“It's an island. It's always hot.”

“It rained yesterday.”

“For eleven minutes.”

“Twelve.”

“You timed it?”

“No.”

I waited.

Lucy sighed.

“Get your shoes.”

---

Cala Verde looked different when I was conscious.

In my head, the beach wasn't a place.

It was pieces.

Blue.

Heat.

Lucy leaning over me.

Pain I could no longer locate.

A pastry.

The humiliating realization that I knew my name and almost nothing else.

The real cove was smaller.

Lucy walked ahead of me down the path, loose white shirt moving in the breeze, black hair tied into a low braid.

I carried the water.

And the food.

A lot of food.

Apparently she'd stopped believing me when I said I wasn't hungry.

Fair.

Then the sea appeared.

My body stopped.

Lucy continued three steps before noticing.

She turned.

I stared at the water.

Blue.

Impossibly blue.

My stomach tightened.

Nothing happened.

No memory.

No vision.

Just fear.

Almost worse.

“You don't have to go down.”

She stayed where she was.

I appreciated that.

“We can leave.”

“I know.”

Another thing Lucy did.

She gave you exits.

Even when she wanted you to choose differently.

Maybe especially then.

I breathed.

Nothing killed me.

Good start.

“I want to.”

She nodded.

No praise.

No good job.

I appreciated that too.

---

The waves barely reached my ankles.

Every time one came in, I watched it.

Ridiculous.

I knew what tides were.

My body had apparently missed that meeting.

Lucy didn't comment.

She stopped beside a cluster of dark rocks.

“Here.”

I looked down.

Sand.

Shells.

Seaweed.

Nothing marking the place where my life had apparently restarted.

“Where was I?”

She pointed.

“Face down?”

“Mostly.”

“That's reassuring.”

“You were breathing.”

“Eventually?”

Her expression flattened.

“Sorry.”

I looked toward the sea.

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“How bad?”

“You've already asked.”

“You've never really answered.”

Silence.

Then—

“You had marks on your wrists.”

I looked down.

Nothing remained.

“What kind?”

“Bruising. Abrasions.”

“Both?”

“Yes.”

“Rope?”

“Possibly.”

“Handcuffs?”

“Possibly.”

My thumb moved across one wrist.

“Anything else?”

“A puncture mark.”

My head came up.

“Where?”

“Your arm.”

“Needle?”

“Possibly.”

Cold moved down my spine.

White.

For one second—

White.

A ceiling.

Light too bright to look at.

My arms wouldn't move.

Something cold against my skin.

A voice.

Hold him—

The beach vanished.

Water.

Metal.

Pain.

Heat.

Something inside my chest tearing open—

“Marco.”

Green.

I blinked.

Lucy stood in front of me.

Close.

Not touching.

My breath wouldn't work.

“Look at me.”

I tried.

“Marco. Where are you?”

“Beach.”

“Which beach?”

I knew this.

“Cala Verde.”

“Good. What can you hear?”

My heartbeat.

The sea.

Cicadas.

Wind.

A distant engine.

“Cicadas.”

“What can you feel?”

“Sand.”

“Where?”

“Feet.”

The world returned in pieces.

Blue sky.

Green eyes.

White shirt.

Wind.

Sand.

Lucy.

My breathing slowed.

She watched me.

“Can I touch you?”

The question surprised me.

I nodded.

Her hand closed around my forearm.

Cooler than me.

Solid.

Real.

Here.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

She didn't let go immediately.

Neither of us mentioned it.

When her hand finally dropped, I noticed the absence at once.

“That was new.”

“Yes.”

“I hate it.”

“I assumed.”

I looked back at the rocks.

“White room.”

Lucy went still.

“What did you see?”

“A ceiling. Light. Something holding my arms.”

Her eyes flicked to my wrists.

“A voice.”

“What did it say?”

I reached for the fragment.

Heat flashed beneath my skin.

“Hold him.”

Lucy didn't move.

“Someone said, ‘Hold him.’”

Her face emptied.

Not because she felt nothing.

I knew that now.

“What are you thinking?”

“That someone hurt you.”

“That seems obvious.”

“Yes.”

“What else?”

“Nothing useful yet.”

There was something.

I could tell.

Maybe because I'd spent six days watching her.

Maybe Lucy wasn't nearly as unreadable as she believed.

Or maybe I was becoming good at her.

I let that thought go.

For now.

---

We stayed.

I'd expected Lucy to drag me home after the memory.

Instead, she found shade, spread out a blanket and handed me water.

“Drink.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Then food.

Then more food.

Eventually I looked at the mango, the pastry, then her.

“You're distracting me.”

“No.”

“You brought custard pastries.”

“I like those.”

“You gave me one.”

“You nearly had a panic attack.”

“So pastry is medical treatment.”

“Apparently.”

“I knew it.”

Lucy opened her book.

Conversation over.

I ate the pastry.

The sea remained twenty meters away.

At first, I checked it every few seconds.

Then every minute.

Eventually I stopped counting.

“Lucy?”

“Mm?”

“Why did you come to Moira?”

“Vacation.”

“I know. Why here?”

“It was quiet.”

A child screamed farther down the beach.

I looked toward the sound.

“Very.”

“It was quieter before you.”

“That feels targeted.”

“It is.”

I smiled.

“Seriously.”

She lowered the book.

“I wanted somewhere nobody needed anything from me.”

That caught me off guard.

Not because it was dramatic.

Because it sounded tired.

“You work too much.”

“You don't know what I do.”

“Administration.”

“Exactly.”

“Administration with helicopters.”

She returned to her book.

“Do people bother you a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

“Employees?”

“Yes.”

“Boss?”

A pause.

“No.”

I turned toward her.

“You don't have a boss?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was deciding how much I regretted this conversation.”

“Suspicious.”

“Go swim.”

My stomach dropped.

Lucy froze.

Then closed the book.

“Sorry.”

I looked at the sea.

The fear was still there.

Smaller.

“Maybe I will.”

“I was joking.”

“I know.”

“You don't have to prove anything.”

“I know.”

Another exit.

I stood.

So did she.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

Something warm moved through my chest.

“Thought you wanted to read.”

“I can read later.”

We stopped when the water reached my knees.

Enough.

More than enough.

The sea pushed against my legs.

Retreated.

Returned.

My pulse climbed.

Lucy stood beside me without touching me, staring toward the horizon as though we'd simply decided to stand in the ocean for no reason.

It helped.

I stepped forward.

The water rose.

My body objected.

I stopped.

Lucy stayed behind me.

Not blocking the shore.

Not between me and the exit.

Of course.

I backed up until I was beside her again.

“That's enough.”

“Okay.”

No disappointment.

No praise.

Just okay.

I liked her for that.

The thought arrived naturally.

I liked Lucy.

Obviously.

She was my friend.

My first friend, technically. At least the first I could remember.

She'd pulled me from the sea. Fed me. Given me somewhere to sleep. Gone to doctors with me. Promised we'd find whoever might be looking for me.

Of course I liked her.

That explained it.

Probably.

---

By late afternoon, I could look at the water without my chest locking.

Progress.

We packed.

“You ate everything,” Lucy said.

“You brought everything.”

“I expected leftovers.”

“You've known me six days.”

“Optimism.”

At the rocks, something caught the light.

I crouched.

A small piece of metal lay half-buried in the sand.

Dark. Thin. Blackened at one end.

Burned.

Grooves ran along the other side, too regular to be natural.

Lucy held out her hand.

I gave it to her.

Her expression changed.

There.

Gone.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Seeing something and saying nothing.”

“I don't know what it is.”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

Her eyes lifted.

Then she looked back at the fragment.

“It could be debris.”

“From what?”

“A boat. Equipment. Anything.”

“You don't think that.”

“You don't know what I think.”

“No.”

I adjusted the bag.

“But I'm getting better at you.”

Her fingers stopped.

Interesting.

She pocketed the metal.

“Come on.”

“You're keeping it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To look at it.”

“With what?”

“My eyes.”

I stared after her.

“Lucy.”

“Marco.”

“You are the most suspicious administrator I've ever met.”

“You don't remember any others.”

“That doesn't mean I'm wrong.”

She kept walking.

I followed.

Apparently that was something I did now.

Halfway up the path, Lucy stopped.

The cove lay below us.

Blue water.

Pale sand.

Dark rocks.

Just a beach.

“Six days ago,” she said, “you couldn't stand.”

“Five.”

“What?”

“I woke up five days ago.”

“I found you six days ago.”

“You're counting the unconscious day?”

“Yes.”

“That's unfair.”

“You were extremely inconvenient.”

“I was dying.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed.

Lucy looked at me.

Then smiled.

Small.

Real.

There and gone.

We continued uphill.

I looked back once.

Only once.

The sea didn't follow.

At the top, Lucy was waiting beneath the trees, sunlight caught along one side of her face.

Waiting for me.

Something inside me settled.

I didn't think about why.

I just walked toward her.