4
Lost my whole appetite

The heat truly gets unbearable on the island by the time the sun is high enough in the sky to eliminate all possibilities of a shadowy spot on the marina. Gracie knows because she's been fifteen minutes outside, trying to dodge small talk with a couple of girls she knew from school with their fake smiles and pitiful eyes.

Everyone pities her, she's come to term with it. Oftentimes, she'd hear them whispering about her in the halls or in the kitchen at parties, and it was always something about how she was too poor to afford her own parents' love. John B tells her they're just jealous, but he always winces when he notices it.

Because, truth was, as impossible as it is to hate her, loving her is just as improbable.

The pill's been stuck in her throat for weeks. Maybe that's why she hasn't eaten since before the wind picked up.

And the heat was just making it worse because, so it seemed, all that waiting ended up being useless. Long story short: the coast guard didn't care and the Pogues decided to take matters into their own hands like they always did. There's no need for them to reach out to the authorities, they've never needed to before. Instead, John B and JJ track down the motel and within ten minutes they're at arms-length with the dock, jaw slack by the horror that lays ahead of them.

The motel was already unsteady, so hurricane Agatha might as well have blown it away. Between the uprooted trees, the debris in the water and the mattresses thrown out of the room and laid out on the wraparound balconies, it was obvious the flood didn't do this side of the island any good.

   "I thought the Chateau looked bad," JJ whistles, looking around incredulously.

   John B brings a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun and agrees with the blonde boy. Kie's got a frown on her face. "Motel or meth lab?"

"You be the judge," Pope quips.

"The boat we found is a brand new Grady-White," Gracie voices her skepticism. "You'd think whoever owned it could afford a better place."

"She's right," John B adds, "it doesn't look like a place where someone with a Grady-White would stay."

Pope looks between them, uneasy. "It looks like a place someone with a Grady-White would get killed."

It could be his goal of becoming a coroner on the mainland that makes him see death everywhere around. Or it could be the stench of the uncut grass after the rain that makes Gracie's stomach turn as JJ's boots thump on the grass and he secures the HMS to the devastated dock leading up to the motel.

They didn't need to discuss the order of things: John B and JJ would tackle the risky part of the whole ordeal, exploring the motel room, whereas Gracie, Pope and Kie would keep an eye out for any turbulences from their comfortable seats inside the boat. Usually, Gracie would tag along to their bullshit missions just for the hell of it, but her stomach was queasy and she was starting to grow too hungry to think straight. She's glad Jo has someone to eat will and she assumes Cody's already had something anyway.

Most of the time, Gracie refrains from satiating her stomach so they could. Maybe if she didn't, she'd resent them a little less.

Pope pleads them not to do anything stupid as they jump off the boat and prepare themselves to go rummage through the motel, to which JJ offers him a genuine, sincere reply: "We will." He doesn't try to hide it. It seems that trouble follows them and they never minded the tail.

"I'm not making promises." John B purses his lips, knowing that whatever he could say to reassure the boy wouldn't translate in real life.

Then, the odd one was Kie who, while she usually refrained from commenting on their impulsiveness, has been on John B's back all day criticizing his every move. She steps towards him and looks up at him through her lashes. "Be careful," she insists, "I mean it."

With that, the two boys vanish behind the stairs and make their way to the second floor, where they'd then break into the room they were looking for.

Gracie doesn't mention Kiara's oddly emotional outburst, but simply sits on the floor of the boat with her knees up to her chin. Her stomach grumbles loudly enough to catch Pope's attention, who asks her immediately if she ate as if he was her mother—not that her mother's ever asked her that before.

   "We didn't have much in the fridge this morning. Or last night. I made the kids a couple of sandwiches," she recalls. Pope and Kie share a glance, both affected but not surprised. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm not that hungry. Besides, I'll grab some groceries on my way back from work tomorrow."

   Pope shakes his head softly. He knows that chastising her about her poor health habit will do nothing to fix the root of the problem. "You can come have dinner with us tonight," he proposes.

By that, he means sitting at the dining room table with his father and mother who constantly ask him how he's doing, if he slept well, if he ate well. If he's happy. She'd just be a bystander, an outsider looking in. The thought of it makes her heart drop to the empty pit of her stomach.

   "No, thanks."

   A moment passes before Kie sits closer to Gracie, and she's trying to decipher why the girl has been distant from her lately. She concludes they just haven't talked, so she asks her the sort of things they'd share during a sleepover in huge house on Figure Eight. "What's been going on lately? Did you see that guy from party again, what was his name?"

   "Timmy," Gracie reminds her, and she scrunches her nose at that. He's a year older than her and hooked up with her once in the winter. He's the kind that always smells like beer and laughs too loud in a crowd.

   Pope chimes in. "Is he the one who almost burned JB's couch with his cigarette?"

   "Unfortunately. But, no, we haven't talked at all since then. I guess he got pissed off when he saw me with..." she trails off. She doesn't know what else to say.

   It's Pope who nudges Kie before she can say anything, knowing that any comment she'd make on Rafe Cameron would only aggravate things. "Good," he settles. "I didn't like him anyway."

   "What, not into the whole teenage dirtbag skit?" Gracie questions with an amused smile, toying with a strand of her hair, curled at the bottom from the heat and the water.

Pope throws his head back to laugh, which makes Gracie feel like she's important. Like she's some type of comedian, an award-winning actress, and Pope is the crowd, swept away. She doesn't know if he does it on purpose—the whole dramatizing all her attributes thing—but it makes her feel almost like she's a different person. Pope is often the person she resents less. It's really hard to hate him.

   Kie chimes in, neglecting Pope's unspoken request. "At least it's better than getting caught in the drug scene. The worst thing Timmy's ever did is steal cigarettes from the corner store," she tells them like she knows what she's saying, and her accusations make Gracie snort. 

Timmy's a pig. Word came out of him cheating on his girlfriend of four years at a party after he was caught snorting a line off some girl's naked chest in the bedroom. In the short week Gracie's known him personally, he's managed to call her a bitch at least seven times.

   "You should fact check on that," Gracie opposes her friend.

   The Carrera rolls her eyes again. "Whatever."  She's playing with the hem of her shorts, distracted. Her eyes keep glancing from her shoes tossed by the dashboard to the window of the room the boys had disappeared in.

That conversation ends there and, to follow up, they start talking about even stupider things like habits and pet peeves, and Kie engages in an active speech about how important the environment is while Gracie stares off in the distance.

Pope, who's usually their alarm system, is too busy gazing at Kie to notice the police boat that docks on the other side of small pier. Thankfully, Gracie notices right away and cuts into their conversation like a knife to tell them. All of a sudden, they're jumping off the boat and rushing to the window under the room John B and JJ are in, and Pope's trying to throw a rock at the window to warn them but all his attempts are fruitless.

   "I was on the math team!" he uses as a defence.

Growing impatient, Gracie grabs a rock and throws it at the window herself, and it ricochets off the glass with a ting. The boys on the other side part the blinds, startled, and the others retort to mouthing cops! and pointing in the direction of the now empty police boat.

With the grace of a couple of elephants, John B and JJ perch themselves atop the window ledge, white bricks slipping under their grasp. They're shushing each other with the subtlety of police sirens and gesture behind their backs for Gracie and the others to get back on the boat in order to avoid suspicions.

They barrel into their respective seats with their fingers drumming on their knees anxiously. It was a chorus of curses under their breath and Kie keeps suggesting they leave John B and JJ behind, which only seems to aggravate Gracie even more.

All she's had for the past two days is a glass of orange juice and half a jam sandwich. She ended up giving the other half to Jo, who got hungry after they secured the windows of the Cedar house for the hurricane, but she didn't share the glass of juice she poured an hour later with anyone. She felt selfish for it, and guilt was written all over her face as she tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin knowing Cody would be dissatisfied the next morning.

All she's had for the past two days is half a hug. John B hooked an arm over her shoulder as they admired their finished work, with all the windows barricaded and the doors blocked with thick sandbags. He let it linger for a minute, then Cody jumped on his back and stole the spotlight. They placed on the grass for a little while and, when the wind became too strong to ignore, they walked back inside the Chateau arm in arm. Sure, she had JJ's legs over hers when she woke up in the morning, but there was no further contact. And Jo barely brushed her arm before leaving.

So, yeah, she's fucking bitter. For a moment, she hates John B for putting her in that position and wished he never resurfaced with the key. The thought makes her gasp, and she clamps an arm over her mouth, feeling guilty.

He didn't use to be the target for her resentment and anger, neither did Kie and JJ. It's all new. It's slowly rolling in like a storm and she knows that, if she can't contain it now, it'll swallow her all up whole.

Gracie sits silently and asks forgiveness from God—if he'll listen—for those thoughts as she waits patiently for the boys to get off the window ledge. Just as the cops round up the balcony and start tackling the stairs, something falls off of JJ's pocket and the clatter seems to echo off the marsh and straight into her skull. She finds herself biting her knuckles again, and her request to God shifts from forgiveness to pleads of them coming out of this without handcuffs around their wrists. Luckily, the deputies don't seem to find the sound alarming, and they quickly pack up in their boat and steer it away from the ruckus around the motel.

Once it was out of view, John B was the first one down then JJ. Gracie waited for them on the bow with a deep frown, and it didn't waver when JJ slips a joke as he unhooks the rope from the chipping dock.

"We would've warned you sooner, but Pope was on the math team," Kie grumbles when they comment on the trio's aim.

John B laughs loudly. "Makes sense." He nudges Gracie. "You're the athlete, G. Cedar."

"You were on the math team? Nerd." JJ ignored his friends, lingering on the intrusive fact of Pope's school life. They all know he's crazy smart, and they know he's done everything in his power to stay that way. But JJ being JJ only sees it as another opportunity to make fun of his commitment.

Gracie groans. "Shut up, JJ."

Pope shoots her a small smile, thankful for her defence. He watches as John B sits on the port and runs a hand through his hair, then the other. "The cops took everything like it was a crime scene," he informs them, looking uneasy.

"That doesn't matter," Pope ignores the comment, though Gracie can tell he's got gears turning inside his head. "Did you find anything?"

This moment—this exactly moment—is exactly when things went to shit.

Slowly, JJ pulls two things out of his pocket. Either of them would've made an impact separately, but both of them together seem to suck the air straight out of Gracie's lungs. The light reflects off the gun and the wind makes the money dance as it hands from the blonde's calloused hands. He fans them out and spins the gun, and he's got a crazy grin like he succeeded at doing something really hard or just won a prize.

He tries to defend himself by shifting blame, saying he's better off having them rather than the cops getting their hands on the weapon and the money, but Gracie isn't listening. Her head is ringing, and she can't tell if it's because of how hungry or how angry she is.

She tells him, "You took the gun," like she's reading the situation from the outside. She needs him to hear it, to understand how ridiculous the whole ordeal is.

"Gracie, baby, relax. It's just"—

"A gun. It's a gun!" she insists through gritted teeth. "Where do you plan on storing that, in the Chateau with the kids? Around Cody and Jo? What the hell were you thinking, Jesse?"

Gracie calls him Jesse when she's really, really mad. The situation translates well. It's a prime opportunity to belittle him by using his birth-given name, and he doesn't miss how her face contorts like she means it. Like she wants him to hurt from the use of it.

"I'm gonna lose my merit scholarship," Pope adds, but it sounds almost like a cry. Gracie's still rubbing at her knuckles in anger, and JJ's trying to shake off the clench in his jaw.

His scowl stretches into a smirk. He tells himself that Gracie's just angry and she definitely doesn't mean it. No, she'd never want to hurt him on purpose. That goal is strictly reserved for his father, not his best friend. He reminds Pope how close they all are and how neither would do anything to hurt the other, despite the gun in his hand, "At least you have us, right?"

Pope doesn't catch on to his desperation. He keeps shaking his head and looking up as if some divine intervention would send the firearm into the water. "I'm living the nightmare," he groans, but gives up and sits.

Gracie feels suffocated. She rushes from her spot on the boy to the dashboard and turns the engine on, then drives off and leaves the destroyed motel far behind them.

JJ spends the whole ride trying to convince the others that what he did wasn't completely impulsive and reckless, but more so calculated and well thought out. He recons that the money and the gun being in his possession is only an advantage whereas, if the cops had gotten ahold of it, they'd have nothing to show of their odd discovery. Except, of course, the shipwreck that became the most famous story in Kildare in the span of an hour.

Once they dock in the Chateau, after an encounter with Miss Amy's daughter letting them know that the Grady-White's owner, Scooter Grubbs, had washed ashore with a pasty tint and seaweeds in his mouth, everyone's head is spinning. Pope is no longer the only one apprehensive of the situation, and John B can't keep his hands from shaking slightly.

Still, Gracie leaves them on the patio and grabs her car keys, determined to get out of there. She needs a minute to think by herself, and she certainly doesn't want her moment of quiet to be tainted by JJ's thoughtless defensive act or Kie's constant performance activism—she immediately commanded they return the money, saying they didn't need it and that it's bad luck to keep it. Sometimes, Gracie feels like Kie is so painfully out of touch with reality but, instead of saying that to her face, she drives off deeper into the Cut with the music blasting on the radio.

Not to be completely transparent, but Gracie sometimes feels like she's losing her mind with that crowd. She wishes she could have someone quiet to speak to, someone who wouldn't force her to be the mediator or the peacekeeper. Someone who'd just listen and nod, and maybe hold her hand if she feels like it.

She wonders who would be the best company in that moment of anger, then goes searching for her brother.

౨ৎ

                                       The trailer is hidden behind tall trees, half of them uprooted after the hurricane, and it smells like a mixture of bitter alcohol and rainwater everywhere. The marsh doesn't quite reach that side of town, not where the trailer park is buried anyway, so you could almost forget you're living on an island if you spend enough time there, cut off from the world with no company but cases and cases of beer and unlimited bags of drugs.

Gracie excepts to find Cody's bike resting somewhere against a wide tree, but doesn't find it. Men are coming in an out of the door, each looking scarier than the other, each taking their time looking at her until they're satisfied. They offer her a nasty comment, either about her body or her face, or how they'd like to take her inside to do stuff.

It takes her a moment to muster up enough strength to wake up to a man sat on the patio couch, staring at her intensely enough to leave holes in her chest. "Hey," she greets him softly, then curses herself for how doe-eyed she seems. "I'm just looking for"—

"Gracie?"

Her head whips around at the familiar voice, though she was kind of praying he'll come to rescue her from the uncomfortable stares of the older junkies. The man on the couch stands up when he sees Rafe, and the latter goes to stand in front of Gracie as if he's sizing him up. Then, after a long moment of cinematic stillness, the man, Barry, brushes Rafe off and sits back down to finish smoking his cigarette.

   Rafe's fingertips brush her elbow softly, and he points to the path with his head. "Let's go on a walk, yeah?" he proposes, wanting desperately to get her as far away from that place as possible.

Gracie nods. She understands he probably doesn't want her there, either because he's embarrassed of his current living arrangement or because she's a walking prey jumping headfirst into an arena. Whatever his reasons are, she follows him and almost forgets about her brother for a second.

   "Cody's not here, by the way. I figure that's why you came," Rafe informs her before she can ask. When he sees her lips purse in disappointment, it's almost like his shoulders slump. He wished she came for him, to ask him how he is and how he's managing after the hurricane. But he should know better, shouldn't he? No one ever came for him.

He expects her to turn around and walk back to her car without even saying goodbye, but she doesn't. She's still walking beside him, thumbs looped through the loops of her jean shorts.

   "This place is shit," she points out, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "Why are you staying here already?"

   Rafe grimaces. When she looks up at him, she notices he's a lot taller than she is and hovering almost exaggeratedly over her. "Barry's my...friend," he tries, but it comes out forced.

   "He doesn't look like a friend," Gracie presses.

   "Yeah, well, not everyone has the privilege of being surrounded by people who love them."

It's Gracie's turn to feel horrible. Her stomach is grumbling and the sun's making her dizzy and she's just now realizing how fucked up the whole situation is. With the Pogues, with Rafe. The poor boy's got no one to cushion his fall and it seems like he has spent the whole year crashing through the floor over and over again.

   So she does something she's never done before: Gracie Cedar extends an olive branch. "The house is empty most of the time. My house, I mean. The kids sleep at the Chateau more often than not and my parents are practically never home. Not during the night anyway," she rambles on and almost forgets her point. "What I'm trying to say is, if you're ever in a shit place and don't feel like camping out here, you're welcome at the house. My house."

   Rafe's mouth hangs open like no one has ever been nice to him before and he's trying to process the invitation. "Thank you," he says. His mouth is dry and he just then realizes he's stopped walking, and they're staring right into each other's eyes like that night of the party.

   "Besides, your jacket's still at my house," she adds.

   "You can keep that. I've got another." He shrugs and toys with his fingers like he's nervous, but Gracie pushes that theory aside instantly. Why would Rafe, the Rafe Cameron, be nervous around her?

   Gracie laughs a little bit and stares at the trees ahead. "I'm pretty sure Cody took it already, anyway," she informs him. When she looks back at him—he hadn't looked away—he finds a certain apprehension in her eyes. "He really looks up to you, you know? Like, it's always Coach R this, Coach R that. It's driving me insane."

   "Sorry for the inconvenience," Rafe apologies, but he's got a smile on his face.

No one's ever looked up to him before, not even when he was the self-proclaimed King of the island. Back when he swam in drugs and alcohol and his only friends were his dad's cars piled in the garage. And especially not now, when he's living in a dirty trailer on the Cut with junkies who would clock his jaw if he ever looked at them wrong.

But Gracie says Cody does, and Gracie wouldn't lie to him. Not about that. So he's trying to take it as a compliment even though the idea hurts his chest.

   "He came, right? This morning?" Gracie asks as they resume their walk, but this time towards the car instead of the woods. "I strictly told him not to, but Cody's not exactly the best at following orders."

   The boy nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Just for a bit. Long enough to check up on me. He showed up on a bike with a wobbly chain so I fixed it. Then he went to play soccer with Ralph and a couple of others at the school."

   "You fixed his bike?" Gracie gaps in disbelief. "Even John B couldn't. I was saving up for a new one."

Rafe shrugs again. "Don't worry about it."

A weight lifts off Gracie shoulders at that, knowing she won't have to put any money aside for an overly expensive bike anymore. Sure, eventually, she'll have to get him a new one maybe for Christmas or his birthday, but those expenses would be a problem for future Gracie. The present one has had a considerable amount spared from her.

She thanks him again, and he continues brushing it off like he doesn't need to be thanked. Like he doesn't deserve her gratefulness and feels suffocated in it.

   They take another step and she misses it. He notices how she pauses before she continues walking, rubbing at the bridge of her nose to try and suppress the headache blooming inside her skull. So he asks, "Are you all right? Are you hungry?" and, by his tone, she could tell he cares.

That startles her, because she's not used to that.

   "I'm fine. I kind of lost my appetite." She shakes her head and reaches for the car keys inside her pocket. It's an arm away. If she reaches out, she pulls the door open. But she doesn't really want to leave.

The sight of Scooter Grubb's body being rolled in on a squeaky gurney down the marina does that.

   "I haven't eaten since yesterday night," Rafe informs her and immediately regrets it. He almost wants to swallow the words back and walk away, but he doesn't.

Truth is, she can see it on him too. No matter how much bigger Rafe is than she remembers, he's still malnourished and clearly can't find a healthy vessel for his anger without the drugs and the drinking.

Gracie, too, looks different than what he remembers back when they use to attend the same parties but hang out on different levels of the house. She was on the patios sizing up to everyone with her shotgunning skills and he was emptying baggies in a bedroom. While he's calmer, she's angrier and quite vocal about it—but Rafe's too used to people yelling at him to feel affected by it.

It's a wonder how they can hold a conversation for that long without getting on each other's nerves. If Rafe wasn't sober, one would've probably killed the other already.

   "Tell you what," he continues, "there's this diner down the road that serves really good chicken. Cheap, too. How 'bout we catch up on our meals together?"

"Yeah, sure," Gracie agrees without thinking. He's almost taken aback by her answer.

And they were both about to pile up in her old Jeep when a man comes out of the trailer talking about a party thrown by the Pogues at the Boneyard and Gracie feels her exhaustion and her resentment washing over her again. Of course, these kids are the kind to throw a party in order to get over the fact that they uncovered a Goddamn shipwreck. That they watched a Goddamn dead body get rolled down the marina. That they somehow, somewhat are connected with it.

Rafe watches Gracie carefully as she unlocks her car and pulls the door open roughly. It was too old to move with ease. She gestures for Rafe to round the car and take the passenger's seat, but he's immobile like he doesn't quite hear her quiet proposition.

"Come on," she says, "we'll grab the food to go. I owe you."