Jack Devitt hunches over a small, weathered table at the corner of The Oyster Shell. The bar’s dim light glints off the slick trail left by condensation on his beer bottle, and with each bead that descends, a bit of Jack seems to drain away too. He’s not just nursing the beer; he’s nursing the raw edges of his heart, frayed and unraveled by Ronnie’s abrupt departure. He takes a long drag from the cigarette in his mouth, watching the smoke curl up into the darkness as he exhales.
As the intro of “Can’t You See” spins up from the jukebox in the corner, the wooden chair across from him scrapes against the floorboards. Jack doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. It’s Emma. Her presence, like a cool balm, seeps into the cracks of the room, filling it with a tranquility that Jack craves but can hardly hold onto these days.
“Hey,” she says, her voice low and soothing as she pulls up across the table. Her smile, warm and unwavering, is a lighthouse beam in his fog of gloom. “Emma.” His greeting is almost a whisper, lost amid the murmur of other patrons and the clink of glassware. She reaches out, her hand landing gently on his—a touch so familiar and yet charged with an energy that makes him ache with gratitude.
“Rough day?” she asks, though they both know it’s more than just a day that weighs on him. “Something like that.” Jack tries for nonchalance, fails spectacularly, and instead finds solace in the truth of her knowing eyes.
Jack swirls the remains of his beer, each ripple echoing the turmoil churning inside him. The bar’s din fades into the background as Emma’s steady gaze holds his. Taking the last drag of the cigarette, he stubs it out in the ashtray, looking anywhere but at Emma.
“Talk to me, Jack,” she coaxes gently. He looks up, his eyes raw with the torment of memories still fresh. “It was like a storm, Em. One minute everything was calm, the next… chaos.” His voice breaks on the last word, a testament to the unexpected ferocity that had blindsided him.
Emma’s hand is a soft anchor on his arm, steadying him as he navigates the wreckage of his thoughts. “You don’t have to weather it alone.”
“Ronnie just…” He pauses, grappling with the right words. “She didn’t even blink, Emma. My clothes, my records—hell, even the silly mug you got me last Christmas—it all flew out the door and…” Jack’s throat tightens around the pain. “Jack, I’m so sorry.” Her words are a whisper, a tender shroud for his splintered heart.
A shadow crosses his face, a flashback seizing him: Ronnie’s silhouette framed in their doorway, her hands gripping his favorite jacket, the one he’d worn on their first date. The sound of fabric tearing through the air before it lands amid the azaleas outside. His disbelief collides with the thud of his possessions hitting the ground, a cacophony of finality.
“Everything we built, gone in seconds,” Jack murmurs, shaking his head as if to dispel the ghostly images. “I just stood there, frozen.”
“Because you loved her,” Emma says, her tone not a question but a balm, affirming his feelings without judgment. “Is it crazy that part of me still does?” He looks at her, seeking absolution in her kind eyes.
“Love isn’t something you just turn off, Jack. Even when it hurts.” Emma’s voice is steady, a lifeline thrown across the dark waters of his grief. “Maybe I’m just afraid of being alone.” He admits this quietly, the words slipping from him like the final leaves of autumn.
“Jack Devitt,” she says firmly, squeezing his arm. “You are not alone. You’ve got me, this town, the sea. And you’re stronger than you know.” He manages a wry smile, the first genuine one since the storm hit. “Strong enough to start over?”
“Absolutely.” Her affirmation is unwavering, a promise wrapped in certainty. In the shared silence that follows, a bond fortifies between them, strong as the ancient oaks outside, bending but unbroken by the winds of change.
Jack’s fingers twitch, habit beckoning for the pack of cigarettes he’d sworn off just hours ago. The bar’s dim light catches the tremble in his hand, a silent witness to internal battles fought and lost. “Trying to quit again?” Emma’s voice is soft but laced with understanding, her gaze settling on his restless hands.
“Again and again,” he admits, the words heavy with the weight of past attempts. “Ronnie leaving… it’s like a wake-up call. I’m tired of these patterns, you know?” Emma nods, her smile gentle, harboring neither pity nor reproach. “I know you can do it this time, Jack. Breaking free—it’s more than just ditching the smokes. It’s about choosing who you want to be.”
“Feels like I’m trying to outrun my own shadow.” His laugh has no humor, just the echo of a man yearning for change. “You’re not running alone,” she assures him, her hand reaching across the table to squeeze his. “I’ll be here, every step of the way. Shadows and all.”
Gratitude flickers in his eyes, a spark amidst the resignation. “Thanks, Em. That means more than you know.” They stand in unison, leaving behind the clink of glasses and muffled conversations of The Oyster Shell. Pushing through the aged wooden door, they step out into the embrace of Bivalve’s evening air.
The town greets them with its familiar briny kiss, the tang of saltwater mingling with the softer notes of magnolia blossoms. The sound of waves crashing in the distance plays counterpoint to their quiet footsteps, the ocean’s rhythm a reminder of both constancy and change. A breeze stirs, weaving through Emma’s hair as the fading sunlight brushes the horizon with strokes of orange and pink.
“Smell that?” Jack inhales deeply, the ritual of scent marking the transition from one world to another. “Salt and flowers. It’s like Bivalve’s telling us everything’s going to be okay.”
“Nature’s got a way of doing that,” Emma agrees, her voice mixing with the rustle of leaves and the surf.
“Let’s hope nature’s right,” Jack muses, his gaze lingering on the water where the sky meets the sea in a promise of infinity. In that expanse, he finds a momentary peace, a sense of belonging to the vastness that is both around and within him. Together, they navigate the narrow streets, the quaint charm of their coastal ometown wrapping around them like an old quilt—worn but beloved. Each step on the cracked pavement marks Jack’s journey away from turmoil and towards the tranquil unknown.
“Sometimes I think I was born with seawater in my veins,” he says, more to himself than to Emma. It’s a confession of his bond to this place, to the life he’s lived and the one he’s stepping into. Jack’s boots scuff along the uneven boardwalk, a syncopated counterpoint to the gentle murmur of the Gulf. Bivalve clings to its roots with a quiet dignity; the salt-kissed air and the distant lull of the waves are as much a part of him as his own breath—steady, life-sustaining.
“Always loved it here,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret with the town itself. “There’s an anchor in these streets for me.” Emma walks close enough that their arms brush with each step. “It’s more than just a place, isn’t it?” she says, her tone soft but sure. “It’s a reminder of who you are, where you come from.”
“Yeah.” Jack nods, eyes tracing the horizon where the last light of day clings stubbornly to the edge of night. “Guess I’m looking for a bit of that stability now. Something real to hold onto.”
“Starting with giving up the smokes?” Emma’s smile is audible in her voice. “Right. Starting there.” He chuckles dryly, feeling the weight of his decision settle like a promise in his chest.
They turn down Government Street, flanked by facades of stores both new and old, the past meeting the present in an odd juxtaposition. It’s quieter here, away from the boardwalk and it’s tourist traps. The twilight casts everything in a soft, forgiving glow.
Suddenly, Emma bumps against him playfully. “Remember that time we tried to fish off the pier? You nearly fell in because of that slippery spot.”
A laugh escapes Jack before he can stop it, genuine and warm. “How could I forget? You laughed so hard I thought you’d join me in the drink.”
“Would’ve saved you,” she teases, nudging him again, lighter this time. “Sure, after you snapped a picture or two.” His heart feels lighter somehow, buoyed by the memory and Emma’s easy presence. “Only for posterity,” she counters, her grin bright in the encroaching dusk.
“Posterity, huh?” Jack shakes his head, fond exasperation coloring his tone. But within that playful exchange, something shifts—a flicker of possibility that sends a different kind of warmth spreading through him. “Come on,” Emma urges gently, nodding towards the town square, the sounds of another Saturday night leading them away from the waves. “Let’s see what else Bivalve has to offer tonight.”
With a lingering glance at the sea, Jack follows, the steady cadence of their footsteps a testament to enduring friendships and the subtle undercurrents of change. Joining the throng of locals in the square, Jack’s tension eases. The air is a symphony of laughter and music, the scent of fried seafood mingling with the tang of saltwater. Emma’s hand brushes his, a silent reassurance that echoes louder than words.
Emma’s gaze drifts towards the stage, positioned at the opposite side of the square. “Do you have a view of who’s performing tonight?” Jack cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse over the heads of the crowd. “Hard to say, but I bet it’s probably Jesse and his bunch of rowdies. They always kick off their set with ‘Take It Easy’.”
As the night unwinds around them, for the first time in a long time Jack feels the weight lift, and remembers what it was like to be happy.