The Edge of You

by Theresa Dalayne

  This book is dedicated to everyone who cheered me on, knowing the battles I’ve faced, and had faith in me anyway. You know who you are.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Jake

  Jake threw his duffle bag in the back of his uncle’s truck, parked in the driveway. With school off for the summer, and the fishing boat he worked on under repairs, it was a perfect opportunity to visit his mom in Washington State. Kodiak Island just wasn’t the same without her there.

  Uncle Mike walked out the front door of his house, Aunt Sara shuffling behind him in a pair of slippers and a thick robe. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, wild and blowing in the coastal Alaskan breeze. “Now remember,” she said. “Don’t eat that disgusting airplane food. And for God’s sake,” her shoulders slumped forward, “don’t get drunk on the plane.”

  “Take it easy, Sara.” Uncle Mike patted Jake on the back. “The boy’s gonna be fine.” He leaned in close to Jake’s ear. “And do get drunk on the plane. It’ll make the flight go faster.”

  “I heard that.” Aunt Sara smacked Uncle Mike on the arm, and then shook her index finger in the air. “I mean it. If your mom calls and tells me you showed up tipsy—”

  “He’s twenty-one. Let the boy enjoy his age.”

  Jake rested his hand on Aunt Sara’s shoulder. “I’m not going to drink on the plane. Stop worrying.”

  The lines in her forehead smoothed and she dropped her hand to her side. “Okay. Good. Tell your mom we said hello and we love her, though I’ll probably just call her anyway.”

  Jake chuckled. His aunt worried too much. She would have been such a good mom if she and Uncle Mike were able to have kids. Instead she fussed and worried over him.

  Uncle Mike climbed into his truck and honked the horn. “Let’s go!” Jake waved to his aunt, who blew about ten thousand kisses as he sat in the truck and strapped in. “Good Lord,” Uncle Mike mumbled, starting the engine and shifting the car into reverse. “That woman.”

  Jake grinned. “Yeah, she’s something, huh?”

  Uncle Mike pulled out of the driveway and onto Spruce Cape Road. “You got everything you need for the trip? Need any cash?”

  As Uncle Mike reached into his pocket, Jake extended his hand. “You know damn well I’m not taking any money from you.”

  His uncle paused, and then placed his hand back on the steering wheel. “Right. Mr. Independent.”

  “I just don’t like handouts, that’s all.”

  “Your mother taught you well.” His tone turned solemn, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened with a frown. “You be sure to let us know when you get any news from the doctors, okay?”

  Jake nodded. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

  “Sara’s been so worried about her.

  “Don’t worry.” Jake rested his elbow on the armrest and his head in his hand. “I’m sure things will work out with Aunt Sara’s…” He searched for the word, at a loss for the technical term. “Hormone treatment thing.”

  “If it doesn’t work out…” He shook his head, his jaw tight.

  “It’ll work out.”

  Uncle Mike turned onto the main road toward the airport. Jake still had an hour before his flight, and since the airport was only about ten minutes away, he could take some time to relax. It would be the last he saw of Kodiak for weeks. This place had become a second home.

  As they rode in silence, Jake watched the sea move and glitter in the distance. After he visited his mom, he’d go back to Kodiak to work on a fishing boat—if the old heap of junk was even seaworthy by then. His skipper was probably on board right now, trying to fix the engine with bubblegum and Scotch tape.

  But Jake liked to fish. Sure, it was dangerous, and seriously kicked his ass most days, but it paid well. That was the important thing, and the whole reason he moved to Kodiak to begin with.

  A few minutes later, Uncle Mike pulled into the drop-off area of the Kodiak Airport. He stopped the car, the eight-cylinder engine humming in park. “Well.” His uncle turned toward him in his seat and rested his elbow on the back of his chair. “You need help in with your bag?”

  “I’m good.” Jake unbuckled, reached across the center console, and hugged his uncle. He pulled back and opened the door. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. Same routine.”

  His uncle gave a two-finger salute as Jake stepped out of the car and shut the door. He grabbed his bag out of the back and slung it over his shoulder, watching his uncle’s truck pull away.

  Jake drew in a deep breath, relishing the crisp, fresh air of the island. It was just one of the things he missed while in Washington. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time. There was still more than a half hour before his flight would board. Maybe he’d grab a few snacks from the vending machine inside and eat more than his share of mini Oreos.

  Jake pushed through the double doors, into the tiny airport consisting of one large room, one baggage carousel, one rental car counter and a few rows of chairs. He pulled his ticket from his back pocket and compared his flight number with the blinking red numbers displayed on the screen.

  Delayed. Of course.

  Almost an hour later, the green light over the exit door indicated the delayed plane had finally arrived. Jake lingered near the taxidermied bear in a glass casing—something he’d seen so many times he barely paid attention to it anymore. He was eager to get on the plane flight to Anchorage, and then connect to Washington State.

  The door swung open, and a man wearing a reflective vest ushered people inside. Suddenly the airport went from empty to being packed with chattering tourists and locals alike.

  Jake grabbed his bag off the floor just as a girl burst through the door, her arms crossed over her chest, teeth chattering, and waves of dark brown hair with blue tips scattered around her face.

  Jake straightened his posture. She may have looked miserable, but damn was she beautiful.

  Two people he assumed were her parents followed behind her.

  He didn’t recognize any of them, and on Kodiak, that m
eant they were probably tourists. People who would spend a few weeks in the peak of the season exploring the sights, whale watching, fishing, scouting to see a live Kodiak bear, and then go home. But he couldn’t complain. It was fishing and tourism that kept the island alive.

  The girl pushed hair out of her face; her nose and cheeks flushed red. He lowered his gaze. Not like he’d ever see her again. And in the end, it was for the best. He was on Kodiak to work. Anything else was just a distraction.

  Chapter Two

  Maya

  Maya sat on the floor of her bedroom, bathed in salty air from the coastal winds that blew through the open window. She leaned back and examined her empty room. The stark white walls felt sterile. So much colder than the seafoam green she’d painted it her senior year of high school.

  No work in progress stood on an easel in the corner. No mirrors or cork boards with hundreds of photos arranged into a collage. Just boxes, the smell of paint, and the bittersweet memories she was leaving behind.

  A knock on the door tore Maya out of her thoughts. Her effort to stand caused every muscle to scream in protest, sore from the last few weeks of packing and cleaning. She quickly gave up and slouched back. “Come in.”

  Her mother opened the door and peeked in the room. “Hey. The movers are here. Can I send them in?” Maya hadn’t noticed until then just how much her mother had aged since Gracie’s funeral. Her hair was duller, her skin less vibrant. Even the light in her eyes was nearly gone, leaving her gaze cold and lifeless.

  “Yeah. I guess so.” Maya mustered up the energy to push to her feet, groaning under the effort.

  Her mother opened the door wider and flashed a tight-lipped smile. “You’re too young to be getting old.”

  Maya rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, tilting her head from side to side. “I guess I missed the memo.”

  Three men filed into the room. Their presence was only a reminder of the fact she was leaving California, with its perfect weather, half-naked surfers, amazing shopping and tanned beach boys, all to relocate to Kodiak-freaking-Alaska. Though she’d had months to wrap her mind around the concept, thinking about it still made her cringe.

  Beth was the last to file in, holding a Styrofoam cup, her hair pushed back with a pair of sunglasses propped on her head. “One last boardwalk lemonade before you’re off to Antarctica?” She held up the drink with a grin.

  Maya wanted hug her and hit her at the same time. She tried to think of something smart to say, but the ache in her heart proved to be too much of a distraction.

  If Beth only knew how much Maya would miss her…

  Beth lowered the drink, watching with arched brows and pursed lips. “Oh, come on.” She crossed the room and hugged Maya tightly. Her blonde waves spilled over Maya’s shoulders. “It won’t be that bad. I was just kidding.” She swallowed, her voice quivering. “You’re so damn sensitive.”

  Maya squeezed her friend, then took the lemonade and sucked in a few mouthfuls.

  Their favorite beach drink was just one of the many things she’d miss about her life in California.

  A loud grunt made Maya spin. One of the movers half-dropped a box and had it balanced on his knee, searching for a better grip around the edges.

  “Hey, be careful with that one.” She set the drink on the windowsill and tore the box out of his hands.

  He shot her an annoyed look. “Just doin’ my job, lady.”

  “Yeah. Doing a good job destroying my stuff.” Her tone, as sharp as it was, didn’t nearly compare to how bad it would get if he gave her any more of his shitty attitude. She was in no mood, and some asshole mover was a perfect target to dump her frustrations on.

  “Maya, don’t give the movers a hard time,” her mother said, still lingering near the door. “Your dad’s worried we’ll be late for our flight. Let them do their job.”

  Her mom always had to find something to criticize. Maya had learned to tune it out over the years, though it still scraped at her nerves.

  Beth grabbed the other side of the box. “Let me help you.”

  “I can do it,” Maya grunted under the weight.

  “Tell that to the ten shades of red your face is turning.”

  Maya stole another glare at the mover while lowering the box to the ground. “Dickshit,” Maya mumbled.

  Beth’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “You heard me,” she said loud enough for the mover to hear. “A dick and a shit—shoved together.” She sat beside the box and crossed her legs, carefully opening the top. “My painting supplies are in here. He could’ve damaged them.”

  “Well, I’d say being deemed a dick...”

  “Dickshit,” Maya said again under her breath.

  “Right. I’d say that’s punishment enough.” Beth leaned over her shoulder to get a better look. “Besides. It seems like everything’s okay.”

  Maya exhaled, doing her best to ignore the movers as they emptied the rest of the room.

  Her mother rested her hands on her hips and examined the space. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it without all those pictures and paintings on the walls.”

  Heaviness weighed on Maya’s chest. “What are you doing with all of Gracie’s stuff?”

  Her mother visibly tensed. Her soft brown eyes turned dark with grief. “They’re uh...” She pushed loose strands of hair away from her face. “They’re going into storage,” she said quietly.

  “And Ginger?”

  “She’s a little foggy from the tranquilizer, but we couldn’t get her into the carrier without it. You know how skittish she is. All the activity around here didn’t help.” She displayed several red, welted scratches. “Damn cat fought us tooth and nail.”

  Maya’s father poked his head in the room. “We’re leaving at…” He glanced at his watch. “Seventeen-hundred hours. That gives us only—”

  Maya lifted her hand. “Okay, Dad. I get it.”

  He stared at her for a moment, probably remembering how much she hated him barking military time every two seconds. “Right.” He glanced at the girl beside Maya. “Hi, Beth.”

  She smiled warmly. “Hey, Mr. Reed.”

  “You staying until we leave?”

  “If that’s okay. I wanted to be here to say good-bye.”

  Her mother nodded. “Well, you girls have been friends since you were kids. A little distance won’t put a stop to that.” She glanced between them. “All right. I’ll leave you two alone.” She turned and shooed Maya’s father out of the room, then closed the door softly behind them.

  Maya hung her head. “‘A little distance.’ Is she serious?”

  Beth swung her arm around Maya’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fun. Like Man vs. Wild, but every day.”

  “Oh God.” She rubbed her eyes, burning from the lack of sleep. “Why couldn’t my dad just find another job here in California?” She bent down and snatched the roll of packing tape on the floor. “I still think he applied for the transfer.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, but it’s just too much of a coincidence.”

  Beth sighed. “Hey, did that guy come and pick up your car?”

  Maya leaned on the windowsill and nodded. “Yeah. Yesterday. But I’m not looking forward to being without my own ride.”

  “You’ll get a new one. Don’t worry.” Beth sighed while she examined her. “Maya, you don’t have to give up your entire future, everything you’ve worked so hard for, because you feel guilty. What happened to Gracie wasn’t your fault. Punishing yourself is not going to fix anything.” She moved beside Maya and pumped shoulders with her. “And it wouldn’t be so bad living with me, right? We both know I need someone to explain to the landlord why insanely loud sex noises keep coming from my apartment.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  It may not have fixed anything to go, but it would make Maya feel better to know her parents wouldn’t be alone. Besides, something about the way her mother’s glazed eyes shone from across the room made Ma
ya squeamish. She picked at the end piece of tape stuck to the roll. “I just…I think my mom’s drinking again.”

  Beth glanced at the door and leaned in closer to Maya, whispering. “Are you sure? I mean, what makes you think so?”

  “I found an empty bottle of wine in the recycling the other night.”

  “So? Your parents had a few glasses of wine at dinner.”

  Maya shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.” She paused. “Hopefully.” She pushed off the wall and slipped the roll of tape over her hand, wearing it like a bracelet. “Plus, now that I’m leaving, I have to figure out a way to put myself through school. Maybe I’ll get a part time job or something.”

  “Do they have any art schools there?”

  Maya snorted. “There’s one college. One,” she said, holding up her index finger. “And it used to be a community college. It was just recently declared a university.”

  “Do they at least have an art program?”

  “Even if they did, what’s the point? It’s not like graduating from art school on that stupid island will get me anywhere. Nobody will ever take me seriously. I’ll have to major in something boring, like business management—”

  “Or dog sledding.”

  Maya rolled her eyes. “You’re such a jerk.”

  Beth stifled a grin. “Well…” She bumped Maya’s shoulder with hers again. “You’re going to be fine. Just, look at it like an adventure.”

  But Maya couldn’t. No adventure would tear her away from her best friend, her life-long home, and a prestigious art institute she’d fought to get into on a full scholarship.

  This move was about finding an escape—to distance themselves from the memories and the pain. She hoped it would work, or at least help, considering everything she was sacrificing to go.

  “Come on.” Beth wove her arm through Maya’s and tugged her forward. “I’ll walk you downstairs.”

  When they arrived outside, her father was loading the last of their bags into the trunk of their car. “All done. We have to get on the road if we want to make it to the airport in time.”

  Maya’s mother hugged Beth and kissed her on the cheeks. “Take care of yourself, and make sure to tell your mom I said good-bye.”