Archie escaped the boat under the cover of a bruised, overcast dawn. Since the local shops wouldn't open for hours, he bided his time on a bank far from the marina, throwing rocks into the grey surf. he sent a silent curse out with every ripple.
Racheal would be furious if he didn't check in soon. He wondered if she'd tried to call ye; she lived for a good morning tease. A lewd image of her flashed in his mind, but he shook it off, still simmering with rage over his soiled trip and his lost phone.
As the sun finally began to eat through the mist, Archie set off into the market streets in search of a landline. He found one tucked at the end of a shore-side bar that smelled of stale hops and salt.
The bartender made a snide comment about a young man in this day being without a cell phone, seeming to imply Archie might be caught up in something shady. Archie snapped back that crazy women who hurl electronics into the Atlantic are something worse than "shady", then ordered a whisky on the rocks to pay for the use of the phone.
He didn't get through until the third attempt.
"Hello? Who's this?"
"It's me, bunny. It's Archie."
"Archie?" She sounded confused, then concerned "What's this number? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." The ice in his glass crackles as it settled. "I, uh... I broke my phone. I'm calling from a bar."
"Oh no! How did you manage that?"
He paused, weaving a quick story in his mind. He'd dropped it while tying off the boat, he lied, and it had vanished into the harbor before he could grab it. She offered her sympathy and asked if the rest of the trip was going well—if Mitchel and Sarah had abandoned him. Archie leaned into the lie, claiming they'd gone off to enjoy the day and left "poor Archie" all by his lonesome.
There were more idle chatter and practiced flirting until the bartender started giving him the eye. Archie ended the call with a promise to find a way to ring her tonight. He returned the receiver to its cradle, settled his tab, and stepped back out into the bright, buzzing street.
He wondered briefly if Mya was still on the boat. He doubted it; Sarah had a pathological need to fix people in turmoil, and she would never leave Mya alone in her state.
He started back toward the docks, his heart as light and hollow as a piece of driftwood.
The sun climbed to the center of the sky for its midday rest. the clouds had vanished, and the gulls played musical chairs on the dock posts.
There is only so much crying a body can do before the well runs dry. Mya felt she had replenished the salt in the harbor well enough. She was exhausted, her eyes heavy and stinging.
A flowery yellow sundress peeked out of her suitcase at the end of the bed. She glanced down at her drab shirt and jeans she decided the change was necessary. She was too warm, she told herself. It was practical.
She Inspected her reflection in the cabin's tall mirror. The V-neck was cut for a more generous silhouette, dipping lower on her chest than she had expected. A sharp, intrusive image of the woman on Archie's phone flashed in her mind. She was certain that the woman would have filled the dress out perfectly.
Mya stared at herself, her confidence wavering. She reached for a t-shirt, ready to hide again, but the imaginary voice of Sarah insisted. Don't let him win.
She listened. She paired the dress with a cropped cardigan to disguise the dress and brown heeled boots.
She listens and chooses a cropped white cardigan to go with it and brown heeled boots. Taking one final, defiant look in the mirror, she shakes off her heavy thoughts. She steps out of the cabin and makes her way down the docks.
The walk back was brisk. The sun was a blinding glare as Archie pushed through the swarms of newly docked tourists. He ran straight into a woman in the crowd, her shoulder clipping his. He turned to apologize, but the tail of her yellow sundress and the bobbing of her sunhat was already disappearing into the mass of people.
He reached the boat and opened the cabin door gingerly, peering in before swinging it wide. the bedsheets were bunched at the foot of the mattress near the open suitcase. Plain clothes lay abandoned on the floor, and a makeup bag sat open by the mirror.
All girls are the same, he thought, a smirk playing on his lips. No matter the tragedy or the tears, they always dolled themselves up and got over it eventually.
He plopped down onto the bed with a groan, closing his eyes against the midday light piercing through the window curtains.
Sarah's sulking evaporated the moment she saw Mya coming over the hill toward them. Seeing her friend all made up made her ecstatic, which in turn brought Mitchel a wave of profound relief. Had he forgotten how to breath over the last hour?
Neither of the women grew upset often, but when they did, it was like being caught in the path of a tornado.
Last year, Sarah became so enraged at Mitchel for picking a bar fight that he thought she would have left him. He swore to never put himself into a situation like that again and he has stayed true to his word since. Mia on the other hand, had never has such an outrage before. Just thinking of her expression when she cast Archie's phone into the water made him shudder.
Women are such fragile, fierce beasts, he mused.
But the thought must have slipped past his lips, because both girls snapped their heads toward him, brows furrowed in confusion. He waved his hands frantically, trying to excuse his clumsy words.
"Humans are strange creatures," Mya interrupted, saving him from Sarah's scowl. she drifted her gaze back toward the docks, though they were long hidden by the buildings of the town square. "We think so highly of ourselves and so little of everyone else... yet we are exactly the same."
The three of them stood in a pocket of private silence, anchored in place while the buzzing crowds pushed past. To break the spell, Mitchel drew their attention toward the gathering colors of the flower parade.
A florist, busy inspecting the petals on her float, told them the Newport Flower Parade would begin within the hour. She suggested they snatch seats by the road while there was still a choice selection. They heeded her advice, luckily scoring two empty lawn chairs near the middle of the route.
The ladies took their seats while Mitchel flagged down a passing vendor wearing a heavy basket of gourmet popcorn.
The floats soon rolled by, carrying women adorned in intricate flower crowns and revealing outfits. They danced to the music while boys beside them tossed handfuls of petals into the cheering crowds. Mitchel was happy to move on once the torturous hour of standing in the sun ended and the final floats completed their rounds.
As the parade trailed off, they followed the human tide toward the fresh scent of food trucks and the bright stalls of the festival activities.