Dear James,

. . . I read your journal.

I know, I know, I should respect your privacy or whatever, but c'mon. You're dead. It's not like you care. And Liv just left it sitting there in our room (yeah, we share a room now). What was I supposed to do? Just leave it there?

Anyway, I think it's sweet that you wrote to Jesse. She died years ago, but the wound is still fresh for me.

Olivia misses you. I do to, I'm just not as mushy as she is. I'm not even kidding, that girl cries herself to sleep every night. She moved into my room because she says sleeping in the Captain's Quarters is too painful. But she still uses your pillow. I dunno if that's cute or creepy.

I mean, when we lost Jesse, I know I slept with her baby blanket for a good two months afterward. I don't know about you, but I'd wanted to live in the cemetery, so I wouldn't have to leave her grave unattended.

We didn't bury you. Liv read in your journal that you wanted to be cremated, so that's what we did. Scattered your ashes from the deck of The Fina. Your crewmen and Olivia cried like babies.

Liv's gone visiting her sister right now. We set sail for Brazil tomorrow.

      Your . . . friend?

      Your First Mate Who You Didn't Leave Your Ship To,

                       -Heath

XXX

She woke up five minutes before her alarm would go off. Carefully disentangling herself from her husband's arms, Heather turned off the alarm and slid her feet into her slippers.

The house was quiet and dark with summertime five thirty AM grayness. Heather twisted the doorknob of her room, closing it with care as not to wake Caelum, who still laid wrapped in the sheets, his breath whistling quietly as he slept. Heather smiled at him through the crack between the door and the frame, watching him sleep for a moment before moving away.

Shivering a bit from the overwhelming air conditioning, she tip toed down the hall to the bathroom. Pulling on the fluffy robe Cae had bought for her birthday, she brushed her teeth, wrestled a comb through her hair, and took a couple Advils.

Heather left the bathroom and padded down the hall to the baby's room.

As expected, Oliver was asleep, his small face alight with a dreamy smile. Maybe he wasn't technically a baby anymore, but Heather knew he would always be her baby boy. She went to his bedside, kneeling down. He looked more like Caelum with each passing day. His light brown skin, curly hair, warm cocoa-colored eyes. These were all Cae's. But when the three year old boy smiled, he looked like his mother.

"I love you," she whispered, tracing the fragile slope of his nose with her finger.

Heather went downstairs, turned on the coffee machine. She would sit outside, she decided. Eat breakfast on the deck and watch the summer sunrise.

Yawning, she opened the fridge, poking around for eggs. Had Cae forgotten them at the store again? She tried to think, had she even put them on the grocery list?

"Morning," said a sleepy voice behind her. Closing the fridge, Heather smiled and turned around.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," she whispered, letting Caelum hold her.

He rocked her back and forth, rubbing her back. Closing her eyes, Heather thought maybe she'd stay inside and watch Cae make his breakfast. Maybe he'd make her something, too. She prefered his cooking to her own.

He let go of her, opening the fridge. "Dammit, I forgot the eggs, didn't I?"

Heather ran her fingers over the nape of his neck, sighing, "Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'll pick some up on the way home from work."

"Grab some of those bagels Ollie likes while you're down there," he requested.

"Alright." She pulled him away from the fridge, wrapped her arms around him. "I love you," she said, trying to recall the last time she'd said that to him. Heather had always assumed love was sort of an unspoken thing, that people would automatically know how she was feeling. In the recent years, since Oliver, she'd begun to realize how powerful telling someone you loved them could be.

Cae smiled. "I love you too," he said. Pulling her closer, he murmured, "You're the prettiest thing I've seen today."

Heather hugged her husband, grinning to herself. Only Caelum would say that to her. Hard gray eyes, sandy hair, a muscle-bound body. He was the only person who thought Heather was pretty.

"We should go away this weekend," he mumbled into her hair. "Just you and me."

"Cae, we can't--"

"Yes we can," he interrupted. "My mom'll watch Ollie. You can get Sammy to run the store. And it's not like I have to go to work or anything."

Cae was a highschool teacher, out for the summer. He taught history with impressive zeal to kids who thought the past had no place in their futures. But Caelum was a good teacher. He managed to make them care.

"I'll . . . I'll think about it," she said. "I have to get to work, though. Make me breakfast?"

After hash browns and cinnamon toast, Heather ran upstairs, changed into her work clothes -- soft blue shirt, torn jeans, gray stocking cap. Cae's mother said she looked homeless. Cae said she looked cute.

Cae kissed her goodbye and said that he and Ollie might stop by for lunch.

She decided to walk to Ship In A Bottle today. The car needed gas, anyway. She'd let Cae deal with that. Heather couldn't stand the smell of gasoline.

The sun was rising, colors dancing across the horizon. She considered herself lucky to have beat the heat and the mosquitoes. At this time of morning, Galveston was pretty and pleasantly warm, rather than scorching hot. She walked up to the farmer's market, the one that came up at five on fridays. Bought three fresh apples for her, Cae and Ollie. From the same vendor, she forked over seven bucks for a tub of homemade yogurt.

Heather walked the rest of the way to her store, waving to the old man who owned the Asian Market across the street, who was out affixing his "Open" sign.

"How are you, Miss?" He called.

She smiled. "I'm fine. And you?"

To the right of Ship In A Bottle was Miss Pushkin's Boutique, a lacey little store that marked the beginning of a lane of specialty shops. Heather was very fond of the boulevard. Not only was it a tourist attraction, but drew many locals as well. Her own shop had quite a few regulars, locals who came in to browse or chat every week or so. Plus, she could see the waterfront from her window.

Only, today she found a surprise.

Two young people, a boy and a girl, camped out in front of her door.

The boy looked up, excited, when she approached. The girl was asleep on his shoulder. He looked . . . oddly familiar. Heather squinted at him. "Can I help you?" She asked.

"Hi," he said, springing to his feet. He could be more than, what, fourteen? "You're Heather Burgandy?"

She nodded, glanced at the sleeping girl. "I'm not open yet, if y'all are looking to get in."

The boy shook his head. "We're not here to shop," he said. "I'm Peter. Peter Davis. I believe you knew my aunt?"