The trees along the cliffs bend beneath the ocean wind, their branches scraping against one another like whispers.
The waves grow louder.
They crash against the rocks.
Again.
And again.
The shore pulls back farther than it should.
The ocean retreats.
Leaving behind dark stretches of wet sand that have not seen the open air in years.
The tide is low.
Too low.
Almost as if the water has gone somewhere else.
The sky remains clear.
No storm clouds.
No rain.
No warning.
Only silence.
Even the gulls are gone.
For the first time in a long time, Wild Oak wakes without the sound of the sea.
The town sits beneath the rising sun.
Still.
Waiting.
As if nature itself is holding its breath.
George stands at the end of the dock, one hand resting on the worn wooden railing as he watches the empty road above the marina.
He checks the road again.
Then his watch.
Then the road.
A habit Patricia has pointed out more than once.
George tells himself it is because Tyler is unreliable.
Because Tyler is young.
Because someone has to look out for him.
But deep down, George knows the truth.
The waiting is not about Tyler being late.
It is about George remembering what it felt like to wait for Jasmine.
And never seeing her come home.
The morning feels wrong.
Usually, Wild Oak wakes up with noise. Gulls crying overhead. Engines coughing to life. Fishermen shouting across the docks as they unload their catches.
Today, there is only the sound of the water moving beneath him.
The tide has pulled farther back than George has ever seen. The shoreline sits exposed, dark rocks and patches of sand stretching where the ocean should be. The air carries the sharp smell of salt, but something else lingers beneath it.
Something unfamiliar.
George checks his watch.
Then the road.
Then his watch again.
A habit he refuses to admit he has.
A faint rattling echoes from the hill above the marina.
George looks up.
A teenage boy comes flying down the road on a beat-up BMX bike, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders and his hair blowing wildly in the wind.
“Tyler.”
The boy sees him.
His eyes widen.
He pushes harder on the pedals.
The bike picks up speed.
For a second, it looks like Tyler is going to fly straight past the dock and into the water.
George doesn’t move.
He simply watches.
At the last possible second, Tyler squeezes the brakes.
The tires scrape against the pavement.
The back wheel lifts.
The bike skids sideways.
Tyler throws one foot down and catches himself inches from the edge.
He looks over the water.
Then back at George.
“Made it.”
George stares at him.
“You’re late.”
Tyler looks down at his watch.
“I know.”
A beat.
“I know.”
George turns away and walks toward the shed.
Tyler follows, pushing his bike inside.
“George, I’m sorry. I really am. My alarm didn’t go off and—”
“Tyler.”
The boy stops.
George grabs the rope tied around the anchor.
“How many times are you going to apologize?”
Tyler opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
George looks at him.
“Exactly.”
Tyler grabs the other side.
Together, they lift.
The anchor drags against the wooden dock, leaving a trail of wet sand and salt behind.
The two of them carry it onto the boat.
The Beauty Blue Ocean rocks gently against the dock, its chipped paint catching the pale morning light.
The ocean stretches ahead of them.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Tyler notices it too.
He looks up.
No gulls.
No boats leaving the harbor.
No fishermen calling to one another.
“Where is everybody?”
George unties the rope.
“They’re fishing.”
Tyler looks around.
“No, I mean...”
He gestures toward the empty marina.
“Everybody.”
George doesn’t answer.
He steps onto the boat.
Tyler follows.
The engine rumbles awake, breaking the silence that has settled over the water.
George pushes them away from the dock.
The boat moves forward.
The waves open around them.
Behind them, Wild Oak slowly disappears into the morning fog.
Ahead, the ocean waits.