The Safe Harbor - Chapter 8
Quinn finally tells Riley part of what happened in Australia. But some truths still refuse to come into the light.
Chapter 8 - Mirage of Trust
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Australia (Flashback)
The next morning, Quinn carried her coffee out to the cottage’s lanai and stood there a moment before sitting. The harbor stretched wide in front of her, light moving across the surface in slow, shifting bands. A breeze came through the trees behind her, carrying salt and eucalyptus. It felt like a place she could breathe.
Her comm sat face down on the table next to her coffee.
When it chirped, Quinn turned and stared at it, not reaching for it right away. Her hand hovered just above it, the pause instinctive now, something she didn’t question anymore.
Then she turned it over.
Liz. The breath left her in a quiet rush.
“Hi, sleepyhead. What are you doing on this gorgeous day?”
“Hi, Liz.” She smiled, hearing the relief in her own voice and not trying to cover it. “And I’ve been up for hours, by the way. I’m just not all put together like you clearly are. I’m on vacation. Footloose and fancy free.”
Connie leaned into the frame, nudging Liz aside. “Want to go to the beach? We know the perfect spot. And there’s a café nearby that actually has good food.”
“That sounds perfect. Should I come to Sydney?”
“No need,” Liz said. “We’re catching the ferry from our side and switching over at Barangaroo. You’ll see us.”
“We’ll grab the river ferry down to Cabarita,” Connie added. “It’s worth the extra ride.”
“I’ll be there.”
The call ended. Quinn stood there a moment longer, looking out over the water, then moved inside.
She packed quickly, more decisively than she had in days. Swimsuit. Light dress. Sunscreen. The hat she’d bought and hadn’t worn.
In the mirror, she caught her reflection in passing.
Quinn groaned. “I look like I’ve been beaten up.”
She pinched her cheeks, bringing a little color back. “That will have to do.”
Barangaroo was busy when she arrived, ferries coming and going in a steady rhythm.
She saw Liz and Connie step off the ferry from Sydney, mid-conversation, moving easily beside each other. No hesitation in their pace, no need to check where the other was.
“Quinn!” Liz lifted her hand.
Connie followed, smiling as they crossed toward her.
“You made it,” Connie said.
“So did you.”
“We always do,” Liz said lightly. “Eventually.”
Another ferry was pulling in.
“That’s ours,” Connie said. “We’ll catch this one downriver.”
They moved with the small group boarding, stepping onto the narrower, flat river ferry that would take them toward Cabarita.
The seats lined the edges, leaving them close together. Liz settled on one side of Quinn, Connie on the other, as if it had been decided without saying anything.
“This is the better part of the ride,” Liz said. “Once we’re out of the harbor, everything slows down.”
The ferry pushed off, the engine low beneath them. They fell into conversation without effort.
“We tried to find this place yesterday by car,” Connie said. “Liz insisted we turn left.”
“It was the correct turn.”
“It absolutely was not.”
“We arrived.”
“After going in a full circle.”
Liz shrugged. “A scenic adjustment.”
Quinn laughed, the sound coming easily. It took her a moment to recognize what felt different.
She wasn’t tracking anyone.
The beach was small, tucked into a quiet curve of land. There was no need to rush anywhere. By unspoken agreement, they swam first, the water warmer than Quinn expected, the waves steady and predictable. For a while, she let herself move with it, not thinking ahead, not replaying last week’s events.
Later, they sat in the sand, towels wrapped loosely around their shoulders, watching the waves lap up onto the shore as the tide went out.
At the café, they found a table near the edge of the deck. Service was quick, and their drinks were in their hands in a moment.
Their conversation began with easy questions, each answer opening another small door. Quinn gave them the condensed version of her life. Moving every few years as a child with Air Force parents. Starting employment with Homeland Security, meeting Robbie and later, after moving to Vermont, Riley. And this trip, her first time in Australia.
Liz and Connie filled in their own pieces without hesitation.
“Seattle, originally,” Liz said. “A long time ago.”
“Fifteen years here now,” Connie added. “We said we’d try it for a year.”
“We’re still trying it,” Liz said.
Quinn smiled. “Seems like it stuck. How long have you two been together?”
Liz and Connie exchanged a glance.
“Twenty-five years,” Connie said.
“We’re giving it a bit more time,” Liz added.
“Still undecided,” Connie said.
Quinn laughed, and this time it stayed with her.
“So Homeland Security?” Liz asked without a complete question.
Quinn leaned back slightly.
“Yes, Homeland Security.”
Connie raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a casual profession.”
“It was never a casual job.”
“What kind of work?”
Quinn hesitated, then answered.
“Identity protection. Border work. A lot of pattern recognition.”
“Tiring?” Liz asked.
“In the end, yes.” Quinn paused, then added, “But I was good at it.”
They didn’t ask her to explain it further. The conversation shifted easily.
“We lived in Hawaii for a while,” Quinn said, looking past them toward the water. “Years ago. When things were… better.”
“With Robbie?” Liz asked.
Quinn nodded.
“We met there. Both working. It was good.” She let out a small breath. “We were together about three years before everything moved.”
“Work?” Connie asked.
“Yes. I went to Vermont. She went to Japan.”
“And that was the end of it?”
“For a long time.”
Quinn rested her hands lightly on the table, fingers still. “Seven years,” she said. “We didn’t see each other. Then she reached out.”
Liz didn’t interrupt.
“We talked for months. VID calls. A lot of them.” Quinn gave a small, almost amused shake of her head. “It felt… real again. Or close enough that I wanted to believe it was.”
“And you decided to try again,” Connie said.
Quinn nodded. “I took early retirement. Went back to Hawaii. The plan was to go back and forth with her to Japan.”
“How was that?” Liz asked.
Quinn considered the question.
“Lonelier than I expected,” she said. “Japan wasn’t… what I thought it would be. Not that way.”
She paused.
“I found myself alone more than I thought I’d be.”
“And then?” Connie asked.
“I went back to Hawaii. To the house we had before.”
The word house didn’t quite land right.
“Our place,” she corrected. “The hale.”
Liz nodded once.
“And after that?” she asked.
“I called Riley,” Quinn said. “Asked her to pick me up at the airport.”
“Riley?”
Quinn smiled. “My best friend. I met her soon after I moved to Vermont.”
“I stayed in Echo Canyon with her for a while,” Quinn continued. “Then Robbie called again.”
She looked out toward the water.
“She wanted me to meet her here. In Australia. Said we needed time together. Just us.”
“And you came,” Connie said.
Quinn nodded. “Of course I did.” The words settled between them. Quinn looked down at her glass.
She sat with them for a moment, then added, “By then I knew more than I had the first time.”
Liz waited.
“But I still wanted…” Quinn stopped, then tried again. “I thought if we had the time again, like we did in Hawaii, it would come back.”
“The way it was,” Connie said.
“Yes.”
Quinn let out a breath.
“It didn’t feel like that.”
Silence settled at the table. The two women didn’t take it any further. They stayed longer than they meant to.
The conversation drifted back toward lighter things. Travel stories. Food. Places that surprised them.
At one point, Liz said, “We’re heading down the coast next week. We do a small cruise down to Tanzania.”
“Every year,” Connie added. “It’s our reset.”
Quinn looked at them, but let it go for the moment. “That sounds good,” Quinn said.
“It is,” Liz said. “No decisions to make. Just show up.”
Connie smiled. “You’d like it. You could come.”
Quinn’s nod was almost imperceptible. But she didn’t answer. She didn’t dismiss it either.
They took the same ferries back. This time, they sat in the sun, the energy quieter, the day settling around them. Connie pointed out something along the shoreline. Liz responded. Their conversation moved in small, easy rhythms.
Quinn leaned back, letting the warmth settle into her shoulders. She listened without needing to follow every thread. No one asked anything more of her. That was something she wasn’t used to.
At Barangaroo, they stepped off together and moved with the crowd before slowing near the edge of the dock.
“This was a good call,” Connie said.
“It was,” Quinn said.
Liz looked at her. “We’ll be around a few more days.”
Quinn met her eyes. “I’d love to see you again.”
Liz smiled. “Good.”
They stood there a moment longer than necessary, then, with a hug, separated, each heading in their own direction. Quinn watched as Connie and Liz reached for each other’s hands, their heads leaning together as they walked away, already laughing.
Back at the cottage, Quinn set her things down and stepped out onto the lanai again.
The harbor looked the same. Nothing had changed. But something inside her had shifted. Only then did she realize her shoulders had dropped.
For the first time since everything had started to come apart, she wasn’t holding all of it alone.
—-———
Most weeks, full chapters are shared with Story Insiders on the veranda.
Today, I’m pulling up a few extra chairs.
Chapter 8 is open to everyone in the Veranda Open House.
To always have a seat on the veranda, I invite you to…