“Brandy, you’re a fine girl,” Burt slurred.

“What a good wife you would be,” Bob agreed.

“Your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea,” Tom said.

“Thanks, guys,” Brandy said. They said these things as a tip, but she’d rather have money. She hid her sniffles, saying: “Last call, boys.”

After locking the bar up, she headed home, fingering the braided chain made of finest silver from the north of Spain. Carved into the locket is the name Nick, the man she loves. He’d been here last summer, bringing gifts, from far away, but he made it clear he couldn’t stay. No harbor was his home.

She had watched his eyes when he told his sailor’s story. She could feel the ocean fall and rise, she saw its raging glory. And she knew she’d never compete.

At night, when the bar closes down, Brandy walks through a silent town and loves a man, who’s not around. In memory, she hears his honesty: “Brandy, you’re a fine girl. What a good wife you would be. But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea.”