Love Along The Way

The man stood at the foot of the ramp, one hand braced against the post, the other holding a black umbrella that had turned inside out. He was perhaps in his late forties, with rain darkening his hair at the temples and a canvas duffel tucked under one arm. He looked at the ferry, then at her.

“Decide what?” Mara asked.

“Whether you’re coming aboard or planning to be swept into the Sound.”

“I’m coming aboard.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to explain that to the crew.”

She climbed the last steps. He followed close enough that she could feel the heat of him when the wind shifted, but he did not touch her. At the top, a deckhand slammed the gate behind them.

The ferry lurched away from the terminal.

Mara moved toward the passenger cabin, keeping her bag against her hip. The windows were filmed with rain. Inside, the air smelled of wet wool, diesel, and coffee someone had carried aboard in a paper cup. Most of the seats were occupied by commuters and island residents who had already settled into the resigned silence of people accustomed to bad weather.

She chose a seat near the front and placed her folder beneath her thigh.

The man with the ruined umbrella sat across the aisle.

“Do you always board ferries at the last possible second?” he asked.

“Only when I’m trying to make an appointment.”

“Important one?”

Mara glanced at him. His eyes were dark, steady, and annoyingly observant.

“Private.”

“Fair enough.”

He looked away first, which softened the question without erasing it. He set his duffel at his feet and wiped rain from his jaw with the heel of his hand.

Mara opened her phone. No signal. She tried anyway, thumb moving over the clinic number saved beneath a name she had not allowed herself to call in three weeks.

The ferry struck a wave. Her stomach shifted, and a thin tremor ran through her fingers.

She closed her hand.

Across the aisle, the man noticed. She knew he noticed because his gaze dropped, then returned to her face with deliberate care.

“You want the window seat?” he asked.

“No.”

“You look like you might be sick.”

“I look like someone on a ferry in a storm.”

“That too.”

A reluctant laugh escaped her. It surprised her enough that she covered it with a cough.

His mouth curved. “Elias.”

She did not answer.

He waited.

“Mara.”

“Nice to meet you, Mara.”

“It isn’t yet.”

That earned a real smile, brief and warm. “You’re right. We’ve got time.”

The ferry rolled again. A child cried somewhere behind them. The engines deepened beneath the floor, and the lights flickered once.

Mara pressed her palm against the folder. Inside was the letter from her specialist, the one she had read so often the fold lines had begun to split. The island clinic had a physician who could review her treatment without making her feel like a failing machine. That was what she told herself. She did not think about the possibility that the physician might confirm what she already feared: that the fatigue, the dizziness, the strange pain beneath her ribs were not passing inconveniences.

She had managed this long by keeping appointments, symptoms, and fear in separate compartments.

Elias leaned forward as the ferry gave a violent shudder.

“Your bag,” he said.

“It’s fine.”

The bag had slid beneath the seat in front of her. She reached for it, but another wave threw the ferry sideways. Her shoulder struck the window. Pain flashed down her arm.

Elias caught the strap before the bag could tumble into the aisle.

“I said it was fine,” she snapped.

“And I heard you.”

He pulled the bag toward her and set it upright between her shoes. His fingers released the strap immediately.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “You don’t have to be grateful.”

“I’m not.”

“Excellent. We understand each other.”

The ferry’s horn sounded again, long and low. Through the window, the water had disappeared beneath a shifting wall of rain.

A deckhand hurried past the cabin door. Behind him, a metal crate rolled loose from the service corridor. It struck the wall with a crash, slid across the wet floor, and wedged itself against the stairwell.

The label on its side read MEDICAL SUPPLIES.

A second wave hit.

The crate broke free.

Mara was on her feet before she realized it. So was Elias.

“Move!” the deckhand shouted.

The crate slammed into a bench. A latch sprang open, spilling sealed packets and small plastic bottles across the floor. One box shot toward the open stairwell.

Mara lunged for it.

Elias caught the back of her coat.

“Don’t.”

“Let go.”

“You’ll go over.”

“I can reach it.”

“You can’t see the floor moving.”

She twisted toward him. “You don’t know what I can do.”

“No,” he said, holding her gaze while the ferry pitched beneath them. “But I know what the floor is doing.”

Another wave lifted the vessel. Mara’s knees buckled. Elias’s hand shifted from her coat to her forearm, firm but not crushing. Heat traveled through the wet fabric.

The box slid toward the stairs.

Mara grabbed the railing with one hand and reached with the other. Her fingertips caught the cardboard. The box jerked hard. Elias seized the crate’s side, bracing his shoulder against the wall.

“On three,” he said.

“I don’t take orders.”

“Then count.”

She almost laughed again, but the deckhand was shouting and the crate was moving.

“One,” Mara said.

Elias tightened his grip.

“Two.”

The ferry dropped into a trough.

“Three.”

They pulled together. The crate scraped backward, metal shrieking against the deck. Mara’s shoes slipped. Elias’s arm came around her waist, catching her before she struck the railing.

For one suspended second, her back rested against his chest. His breath touched her ear. She felt the hard rhythm of his heart through his shirt, felt the careful restraint in the hand at her waist.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “You can let go.”

“I can.”

He did, at once.

The absence of his hand was sharper than its presence.

They dragged the crate into a recessed alcove while the deckhand kicked the scattered supplies into a pile. Elias knelt to gather them. Mara crouched beside him, though her vision had begun to pulse at the edges.

He noticed before she could hide it.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Mara.”

The way he said her name carried no authority, only concern. That was worse.

She placed a packet into the crate. Her fingers trembled so badly it slipped from her hand.

Elias picked it up.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She reached for it. He did not give it to her immediately. Not because he was restraining her, but because he was waiting for an answer.

“Medication,” she said. “For me.”

His expression changed - not into pity, exactly. Something quieter. Recognition, perhaps.

“You’re headed to the clinic.”

“Yes.”

“So am I.”

The admission landed between them with the weight of the storm.

Mara looked at the duffel across the cabin. “For what?”

“My wife’s memorial garden is being opened tomorrow. I’m meeting the groundskeeper today.”

The word wife did not come with explanation. It did not need one. The slight pause before it, the way his thumb rubbed over the edge of the packet, told Mara enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He nodded once. “Thank you.”

She expected him to retreat behind politeness. Instead, he looked at the crate.

“I’m also supposed to see a doctor while I’m there.”

“Supposed to?”

“I made an appointment.”

“And?”

“And I may cancel it.”

The ferry rolled. Rain streamed down the windows, blurring the world into slate.

Mara studied him. “You came all this way to avoid a doctor?”

“I came for my wife.”

“Your wife is dead.”

His face tightened.

Mara regretted the bluntness, but not the question.

“Yes,” he said. “She is.”

The deckhand secured the crate with a chain and moved on. The cabin settled into uneasy quiet, the passengers pretending not to have listened.

Elias sat on the floor beside the alcove, back against the wall. Mara lowered herself opposite him. Her legs felt unreliable, and she was too tired to pretend otherwise.

“You should keep the appointment,” she said.

“You should mind your own.”

“I am. You’re sitting in front of me.”

His laugh came out low and surprised. He looked at her then, really looked, and the space between them seemed smaller than it had been.

“What happens if you miss yours?” he asked.

“I reschedule.”

“That simple?”

“No.” She stared at the crate. “It takes six weeks.”

His expression softened.

“I can’t wait six weeks,” she said. The words came before she could stop them. “I’m already behind.”

“Behind what?”

Mara pressed her lips together. The ferry groaned around them. Somewhere below, water struck the hull with a force that felt almost personal.

“My body,” she said finally. “It keeps changing the schedule.”

Elias did not offer reassurance. He did not say she looked well, or that everything would be fine. He only nodded as if she had handed him something breakable and he understood the weight of it.

The ferry slowed near the island, then stopped.

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker. The channel was too rough to cross safely. They would wait offshore until the tide eased.

Mara checked the time.

Four twenty-three.

Her appointment closed in seven minutes.

She stood too quickly. The cabin tilted. Elias rose with her, hands open at his sides.

“Don’t,” she said.

“I haven’t touched you.”

“You were about to.”

“I was ready to.”

The distinction made her angry because it was careful. Because she wanted to lean into that care and resented him for making her aware of it.

She pulled out her phone and walked toward the front doors. No signal. She tried again. The screen showed the time, then went black.

Elias came to stand beside her, not close enough to crowd her.

“You can use mine when we get near the dock,” he said.

“I need to call now.”

“I know.”

“I need them to wait.”

“I know.”

She turned on him. “Stop saying that.”

His jaw shifted. “All right.”

The ferry rocked in place. Mara gripped the rail beside the door, breathing through the dizziness. Elias looked toward the window, giving her the privacy she had demanded while remaining near enough to catch her if she fell.

The contradiction undid something in her.

“Elias.”

He looked back.

“I can’t do this alone today.”

The words felt like a door opening onto a room she had kept locked.

He did not move toward her. “What do you need?”

“Your phone. And when we dock, I need you to help me get to the clinic.”

His eyes held hers. “I will.”

“But I may not let you inside.”

“I won’t ask.”

“And if I tell you to leave - ”

“I’ll leave.”

She nodded, though her throat had tightened.

The ferry began moving again. Through the rain, the island emerged: dark trees, white houses, the small terminal lights glowing like distant candles.

Mara took his phone when he offered it. Their fingers brushed. The contact was brief, but it carried the strange intimacy of being trusted with something that belonged to him.

She dialed the clinic.

The call rang until voicemail answered.

At the dock, Elias helped secure the medical crate while Mara stood beneath the overhang, listening to the recorded voice tell her the clinic was closed. She left a message anyway, giving her name, her number, and no explanation she could bear to speak aloud.

When she hung up, Elias joined her, rain shining on his coat.

“They won’t see me,” she said.

“No.”

“I missed it.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him sharply. “You don’t have to agree with every terrible thing I say.”

“I’m not agreeing. I’m here.”

The ferry crew released the ramp. Beyond it, the island road climbed into rain.

Mara handed back his phone. “You have your appointment.”

“I do.”

“You should go.”

“So should you.”

“I don’t know where I’m going now.”

Elias took the phone but did not put it away. “Then let me drive you.”

She should have refused. The old answer rose easily, familiar as a locked door.

Instead, she looked toward the road, then at the man who had caught her without claiming credit for it.

“Only to the clinic,” she said.

“Only to the clinic.”

Neither of them moved.

The appointment was gone. The storm had not eased. And accepting his help meant carrying one more uncertainty onto the island with her.

Mara stepped onto the wet pavement beside him. She was grateful, which frightened her more than the ferry had.

End of chapter one. 37 more chapters and about 91,706 words in the full book.