❝ And that's Marlowe - better known as Mar...❞
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𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐞. You rarely catch her without sand-covered skin and dark locks winded up from saltwater. Born and raised on the island, with a house that radiates...
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𝐓he path of life is challenging enough without making mountains out of molehills.
But it's human, right? To express histrionic behavior over what some would call a minor problem. Or maybe, the problem is one you have endured so many times, but still can't quite settle with. Maybe you're not overreacting, but people expect you to move on. To accept it. The feeling of missing the place you call home, or what once felt like such a thing.
When Marlowe saw John B shattered on the dock outside the Château, her problems shrank to that of a mole's creation. He'd looked at her with those reddened, puffy, brown eyes, the skin under them glistening with tears.
She hadn't uttered a single vowel while stepping out of the boat, arms held out as she sunk to her knees. She'd welcomed him with so much love and care, letting him drench her shoulder with tears and drool and snot — everything that comes with the act of such despair.
JJ had embraced his two childhood friends after securing the boat to the dock. And they let him explain it all, through tears and hiccups and hesitance. From his fishing trip with Ward, which neither Marlowe nor JJ were aware of, to Lana Grubbs' divulgence.
In the end, they'd all drowsed off on the rugged planks of the dock. After processing the boy's story, and after his tears had eventually subdued, they laid down. They'd shared calm, reassuring words with one another until the last drifted off into the starry night. Left were their light snores and the melody of crickets hiding in the tall grass, a peacefulness blanketing them in contrast to the ups and downs of the day.
Once the golden light of the morning sun wakes them, John B isn't where he'd fallen asleep the night before. JJ and Marlowe decide against rushing out to look for him; he knows where his home is. Where they are. They might not have a clue as to where he's run off to, but they both trust he'll come back sometime during the day.
"What do you think?"
Marlowe's mouth falls agape, tongue instinctively pushing the chewed-up bread back onto the plate. A shiver runs through her, casting a wave of goosebumps.
