Rune and I are hunting for shells in the clear shallows of Saltair Beach Park in Kingston. Our sandcastle is done; we just need some decoration. The water is bathwater warm compared to its ordinarily icy chill. That's odd. I ponder this for a moment, confused. It's also remarkably silent.

I straighten and glance back at the fir tree-lined beach. There are no other people here, just the driftwood-scattered sand. No gulls cry out. There's no breeze. I turn to search for the Ferry returning from Edmonds on its back-and-forth path to the Kingston port, off to my right. Instead there's a vast wave swiftly rolling towards us. It's so gigantic I can no longer see the mainland behind it.

"Rune!" I yell, terrified, pointing. He looks up, startled. Taking in his frightened face, I realize I'm in a dream. He's a young teen. It must be that last summer we spent together; he's almost as tall as I am, bare-chested, sporting his favorite bright green trunks.

"We'll never reach higher ground in time," he says, his voice cracking.

"We'll have to swim into it and go under the break to get behind it," I tell him, my heart hammering in fear. But somehow, I know this is the right thing to do. Still, I'm terrified.

"It's too huge," he says, "we won't be able to hold our breaths that long."

"We have to," I say, grabbing his hand and striding deeper into the water toward the wave, "otherwise it'll crush us."

"Okay," he squeezes my hand, "I trust you."

**

While I'm buoyed we take action in the dream, I'm nonetheless rattled. It ended before we got to the wave. What's it warning me about? By mid-morning, I still hadn't shaken it off. It's Wednesday. I should be focused on Horse Girls Heroes so I'm free to enjoy Rune's birthday weekend. Mid-September is coming soon, and though I've got beautiful proof copies of the day calendar, I'm still grappling with all I need t put into play to host a successful crowdsourcing campaign.

Instead of focusing on it though, I'm out in the vegetable garden weeding. I justify my actions, telling myself I'm getting things done before another big storm system arrives, and working off my jittery nerves.

When my phone rings, I hope it's my sister Syd, but it's my Dad.i

"Your mother's over the moon with the results of her photo shoot yesterday. The photographer Pamela set her up with for your retro idea was marvelous; the proofs look fantastic," he says enthusiastically.

"I take it none of my photographers passed muster," I say, not hiding my chagrin but grateful Pamela hasn't mentioned that she ran into me in Lake Crescent only a handful of days ago.

"You know your mother, sweetheart," Dad sighs, "She has a hard time accepting that her children, or her husband, can have as valuable advice as her peers. Just be happy she liked your smart suggestion."

"Dad, I really don't think Pamela's good for her," I start earnestly.

"I know you don't, and I'm with you," Dad jumps in, "but their relationship will fade after this anniversary business dies down again. It always does."

I hope Dad's right, but I have my doubts. The wind has suddenly sprung up so fiercely and quickly that Butterscotch starts to whine. I unhook her from her lead line, and together, we hurry my vegetable bounty into the kitchen.

I really want to talk to Syd about the surreal and scary Pamela encounter, but she's been off the grid camping with Nils as they make their way up North. I wish they'd make it by Sunday for Rune's birthday, but they're not expected until later next week.

I'm not in the right head space yet to finish my crowdsourcing checklist, but I force myself to go into the office anyway. Unfortunately, Rune's soon-to-be-ex-production partner, Liz, still hasn't been forthcoming with any wise counsel about fundraising campaigns. I haven't told him. I'm not sure if he's my lover or my boyfriend. I don't want to make the same mistakes I did with Jack, so I'm not assuming anything. Complaining to him about Liz might feel good, but I doubt it'll help.

At any rate, I prefer to spend our brief time on the phone each night talking about the progress I have made on Horse Girls since he can't talk about the podcast. I prefer daydreaming with him about the favorite novels we'd like to do multi-media storytelling on, and, well, flirting. We're both thrilled at how popular my Howl's coloring page featuring him is becoming on social media. People are starting to share what they've colored, and it's impressive.

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Sitting in my office chair with a glass of iced tea, I smile, thinking about our conversation last night. I've never been in a relationship with a man who's as verbally affectionate as Rune is. I have my very own Wizard Howl, except Rune seems just as interested now that he's landed me. I appreciate that he's taking time to stay in contact. He's crazy busy between his involvement with the Narcissism podcast and doing whatever he needs to do to exit the production company beyond writing the promised adaptation for Julia.

So, yes, our time on the phone at night is mostly for fun. I have done my good deed, though. Rune assures me that the Tyler Perry he knew was a nice guy, was not a player in any way, so Vivienne should at least go out with him once. I've relayed the info, and her hot date is set for Saturday night.

My phone chimes with texts from Lorelei. It's a series of new photos of the rescue horses. I flip through them, looking for ways to turn their likenesses into a coloring page. Several are close-ups of two young sweet-faced horses who don't appear more than two years old. One's a white and chestnut pinto, and the other is an interesting mid-tone gray, but its mane is a mix of gray, black, and white. I've never seen a horse these colors before.

Intrigued, I send the photos to my computer to enlarge them and reach for my favorite sketch pad. Gunnar likes nothing more than a big hairy goal, so he and Lorelei are staying with their cousins until Saturday, immersing themselves in all things horse care and barn repair. Somehow he's been persuaded to allow a few of the horses to come live here. This is super exciting. Lorelei's over the moon. It will take at least a month, maybe more, to get the barn and paddocks at the Borstad's ready. In between, there will be lots of visits back and forth. Rune and I have a trip planned to visit next week. I'm hoping Nils will be here in time so that both he and Lorelei can join us.

**

Late Wednesday afternoon, Butterscotch comes in and woofs at me, her signal that she needs to go out.

"Good girl," I tell her and give her a treat from the bowl I keep on my desk. I glance at the time on my phone in amazement. It's 3:30. I've been so lost in my new sketch of the two young horses I'm almost done. I've been drawing for hours.

I stand, stretch, and decide to take the dog out the front so we can walk over to the barn and search for picture frames in Theo's stash that might work for this image. I know I can mock it up with graphic frames online, but I like to keep it real when I can. I also want to find other wooden frames I can paint to match the bright colors of the pillows I bought for the living room. I'd like to frame some family photos and bring even more color into the house.

The wind has calmed for the moment, but it's raining in earnest, and the temperature has dropped again. I stay on the front porch while Butterscotch does her business, and then we dash for the barn.

I'm digging through the plastic tubs of frames, happy with the stack I already have, when my phone rings my mom's tone.

"Hey!" I say excitedly, "Tell me all about the photo…"

"Tell that goddamn Asher Dillion to call off his podcast before he ruins our family, as well as his own," she cuts me off.

Oh no. Franklin knows. My stomach twists painfully. I stand slowly, my knees cracking.

"I don't understand," I start, hoping that playing dumb will help cool her down a little; sometimes it works, but not always.

"You don't. You don't?" Mom nearly screams into the phone, "Then let me make it very clear to you, you blind little idiot. I told you and your sister those boys were bad news. I told you no good would come of your infatuations. Now it's turned out worse than even I could imagine. Franklin's got photos of you, you idiot. What were you thinking?"

"Mom, this is crazy," I say, pacing, remembering the photographer Jack warned me about and the photographers at the cabins. Crap.

"Unless your new boyfriend, and I'm using that term loosely because Asher's only using you to get back at Franklin," she spews at me, "unless his cronies agree to stop their ridiculous podcast by the end of business day tomorrow, horrible stories about our family will start appearing in celebrity gossip sites immediately."

"What?" I exclaim, "Mom, that's blackmail. How can Franklin be your friend and threaten to do anything like this?" I'm willing myself not to cry, but it's not working. Hot tears are already sliding down my face.

"It's business. It's survival of the fittest, Shelby. I've always told you this," she snarls, "Franklin is fighting for his esteemed career, but because of how much he cares for me, he's giving us a chance to stop all this. You've got your marching orders."

"Mom, what in the world could Franklin make up about us? The fact that Rune's dating a nobody won't be news for long," I say, trying to be the voice of reason, looking around blindly for something I can take notes on. But then I realize even if I could find a pen and paper, my hand is shaking so badly, I can't write anything down.

"The pictures make up the stories themselves!" Mom snaps, "How about you and Asher have a secret love child his cousin is raising as his own, but now you're in an ugly custody battle over her? How about Asher's secretly the father of Nils, and that broke up Sydney's relationship with Bill? Let me make it real for you, Shelby. Here are just a handful of the dozens of photos he's got."

Too stunned to respond, I watch my phone in horror as image after image starts coming across. I'm crying in earnest now, using my hoodie to wipe my face. The first few images are from last week. Two are shots of Rune trying to use his body to block the cameras from Lorelei and me, but you can still see us. We're all so grim. The third is of Rune and I kissing inside my car as I drop him off by the Ferry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Mom, what Franklin's doing is insane. Rune can't stop the podcast; other people are involved…"

"I don't care. Find a way," she's using her angriest, meanest voice, "otherwise, I don't have a younger daughter, neither does your father. And I doubt your sister will want anything to do with you either so you can enjoy being infamous all on your own."

The call goes dead.