No Sunshine When She's Gone by Kate Angell

front door. Goose bumps skimmed her arm. Heat touched her everywhere.
    Aidan looked amazing, she thought, in his dark green pullover and khaki walking shorts. His topsiders were as broken-in as his work boots had been the previous day. He didn’t wear socks.
    A turn of the key, and the women followed him inside. Aidan began the tour. The houseboat had wide windows and bamboo blinds. Finished in maple, the compact space was decorated in summer-sand tones. The vessel had all the amenities of home. The living room connected to the galley, which was small, but modern. The orange countertops reflected Shaye’s quirky personality. The center hallway led past two bedrooms. Both were fully furnished.
    Shaye had installed a hot tub on the upper deck. A basket swing hung between two tall poles. The lush foliage of potted plants provided greenery and privacy. “My sister stops by every week to water her plants,” Aidan told them. “This was her sanctuary.”
    Here was a place to meditate, Jill thought, or to sunbathe nude. The thought of no tan lines made her smile. She looked at the sky, painted a pale blue, and let the sun’s rays play over her face. The air was still. Warmth and happiness soothed her soul. She could breathe here. “So serene,” she said, running her fingers over the canvas cover on the hot tub.
    Aidan pointed aft. “The water slide is your emergency exit,” he said. “The fish finder is wired for security.”
    Jill’s heart swelled. The houseboat was perfect. It welcomed her home. The two decks combined the freedom of the ocean with the security of solid ground. She could be happy here. She hoped Carrie would agree. She turned to her friend, wanting her approval.
    One look at Carrie and her hopes for living on the Horizon were swept out on the tide. She stood across the deck, clutching the blue railing as if her life depended on it. Her shoulders were slumped, and her face was ashen. Her breathing came in puffs. Carrie appeared on the verge of collapse.
    Jill hurried toward her. Aidan was right behind. She gently touched Carrie on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked, deeply concerned.
    “I’m queasy.” Carrie’s voice shook. “We’re land-docked, but I feel the houseboat sway.”
    Jill’s stomach tightened with worry. She knew the cause. “It’s your ear, isn’t it?”
    Carrie managed a nod.
    Jill felt sick herself. The abuse of Carrie’s alcoholic father had left her gripped by dizziness and nausea at inopportune times. Land seasickness was as bad, if not worse, as being on the water.
    “Help me get her off the houseboat,” Jill appealed to Aidan.
    He was there for her. Taking Carrie by the hand, he carefully led her down the narrow staircase to the lower deck. It was slow going. Carrie grasped his shoulder from behind, steadying herself. Jill came last; empathy for her friend made her own knees wobbly.
    Carrie stopped in the hallway to catch her breath. She pressed her hand to her heart, her eyes were misty. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispered to Jill. “I’m so sorry.”
    “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Jill assured her. “We had no idea the houseboat would affect you this way.”
    The Horizon was no longer an option, she realized. She swallowed her disappointment. They’d find somewhere else to live. Carrie was far more important than the houseboat.
    She was close behind Aidan as he assisted Carrie down the boarding ladder and back onto the sidewalk. Carrie leaned against his side until her head cleared and she regained her land legs. Aidan stroked her forehead, like a father would his child. He was a kind man.
    “Better now?” he asked, looking down at her.
    “Much,” said Carrie, although her voice was still weak.
    Aidan released her, and Jill hugged her friend so tightly she wrinkled the pin tucks on Carrie’s white poet shirt. “You frightened me,” she said.
    “I scared myself,” Carrie admitted. “I felt claustrophobic on the