that summer |percabeth au| ✔︎

7.

chapter | 07
❝ I'm chasing fire when I'm running after you. ❞

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"LET'S BOX EVERYTHING UP FOR NOW, GET A LOOK AT HER FROM THE BONES UP," Percy said. We stood in the saloon together, wasting no time after my acceptance. "Sound like a good plan?"

A good plan.

No matter how far from home I'd gotten, the past had a way of tracking me, never giving up the chase. It snuck into my dreams, into those quiet moments when I'd been writing on the boat. It leaped out from the ocean, cresting on waves when I was certain I'd spotted a sea lion or an otter. Now, at Percy's words, the past found me again.

Last year, it was. Rachel and I sat in the shade of the cherry trees passing my notebook between us. We were supposed to be with Grams on a meet-and-greet for new resort guests, but we'd snuck out, ducked under the trees in a fit of giggles. We were working on our set list and choreography for Carnival. The festival was still months away, but the music had already taken us; we both knew it would hold us hostage until we finalized every word, every step.

The sun was low on the horizon when we finished that day, and Rachel closed the notebook, satisfied. When our eyes locked, she said, Sis, we got ourselves a good plan here. Real good plan.

I missed us all over again, each time as raw as the first.

"You okay?" Percy's hand on my elbow tugged me from the grip of the past. When I nodded, his concern changed to relief, then excitement. "Shall we get this good time rolling?"

Percy may have been pissed about the fact that his father made the bet without consulting him, but he wasn't talking about it, and the idea of fixing up the boat seemed to buoy him. I felt it too, the lightness in him emanating outward. For me, fixing up the old Queen of wasn't like prepping for the stage at Carnival, or even for the show my sister and I put on for the resort guests. But it felt good having a purpose again, a project with a clear goal. A partner.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, and together Percy and I got a system going. Mostly it involved him tossing things from the saloon through the companionway, and me catching them, dropping them into boxes.

"You spent a lot of time here, I think." He flipped through a dark gray book I recognized as Moby Dick. "Yeah. This one was never my favorite. Look alive." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it.

I caught it, then dropped it in the box with my blankets. After the notebook incident, I'd decided to cast my lingering embarrassment out to sea. After all, Percy didn't seem bothered by the fact that I'd taken up residence in his boat, painted the walls with poems. Why should I be? Anyway, I meant my apology about the writing, and if he wouldn't let me paint over it, the least I could do was work my butt off ­getting the boat regatta ready. Percy depended on me now; I'd put myself in his trust, as far as the boat went.

But more than that, Candy depended on me too. Even if she'd never say it.

Still digging out the V-berth, Percy said, "Since you obviously like stories, allow me to regale you with the tale of how I came to own this fine fixer-upper."

I sat down on the saloon bench, starboard side, and Percy said, "Oh, it won't take that long."

I rose.

"Pops won her in a poker game in Coos Bay," he said. "Two years ago. Later that summer, after Travis and I won the race on Never Flounder, he gave me the Vega. Said we'd build her up together, make her gleam until she outshone Stoll's boat."