A/N: Hello!

I am so sorry for the delay! D:

This chapter was intended to be the last, but even without completion, it landed at approximately 9k words—which is a little intimidating to edit nevermind to read. So, I decided to split them in two. It also made this update a lot quicker as the first section has been written for a while.

I can't say when I'll be able to post the final chapter as my motivation to write has been fickle recently, but I promise you, I will finish "Violets"!

Prior warning: I don't know if I've portrayed a child/toddler's behaviour and speech accurately. I studied children's linguistics before university, so maybe looking over my old transcripts helped? I'm not sure, haha :S

Lastly, thank you for your reviews and for your favourites and follows! Especially to XxBlue and CrimsonxX who always leaves lovely, supportive reviews on all of my Harvest Moon stories, and to the Guest reviewer who loved my portrayal of Molly. You guys are fab-u-lous.

allyelle~

.:. Four .:.

Two Years Later

Similar to the comical banana slip in cartoons, Molly's foot landed on a toy truck and she lost balance. The wheels skid from underneath her and she yelped, expecting to feel hands on her back as she was steadied. Instead, her body thudded against the hard wooden floor while the unmistakable sound of a snigger reached her ears.

"Try not to spill blood on the floor. I mopped yesterday."

Chase was, as always, a classic prince charming. Bored, lidded eyes peered over the head of the toddler within his grasp to the unsightly display of sprawled limbs. Molly gave up on the appearance of an extended hand and scrambled to her feet, dusting invisible dirt from her palms.

"Sorry, Cinderella."

The farmhouse was cluttered with various toys and dolls, blankets and beakers. It was hard to believe that it was cleaned and tidied everyday. Violet had formed a naughty but curious habit of throwing everything she held. Spoons, shoes, hairbrushes and toys were no exception. It was as though she was enthralled by the basic movement of her arms, even though she was almost three.

Usually the mess would be cleared with clumsy, pudgy fingers, but her father proved a more interesting distraction today. The duo inhabited the kitchen, the chef holding her above two bowls on the dining table. He had cooked one—a colourful noodle stir-fry—while the other was a bowl of creamy pink ice-cream.

Hair the colour of caramel—a fusing of theirs—her feathery curls would bleach a natural ombre during the summer months, a palette of beige and sandalwood. Her smile was his; crooked and cheeky, an arch of a crease formed on one side. Framed with long dark lashes, her eyes were as violet as her name, the personality bubbling within swirling with childhood innocence. Thoughts of the lush meadow speckled with daises where she giggled and ran, the sweetness of her father's cooking when she returned home, enveloped with safety at the simplest gestures; joined hands or the firefly glow of the nightlight.

"Lettie," he began, using the nickname abbreviated from the suffix. It became habitual as Chase disliked the formality of 'Violet' even though the name was of his choosing. "Pick one. Cry. Move. Do anything to reassure me that you won't grow up like your lunatic of a mother."

"Food, food, food," she sang, swinging candy-cane striped legs. "Nice, nice, nice."

Chase released a hefty sigh. "Thanks for the insight."

Molly whisked her attention from the propped open suitcase beside the couch to the doorway. "I will have you know," her tone was strident, arms furled into the fabric of one of the toddlers dresses and unknowingly forming creases. "That I am not a lunatic. The word is eccentric, thank-you-very-much."

"I'm afraid," he craned to inspect the slightest change in the toddler's expression. Her bottom lip protruded in thought as hands swiped the wispy tresses which escaped hair-pins. "Eccentric doesn't justify that thing you call a personality."

"Lots and lots of dirt snakes!" Violet giggled as though struck by a fantastic idea, the sound squeaky and lilted. She gestured to the stir-fry, voice lisped due to her missing front-teeth, every rolling vowel sound raspy and mispronounced.

"What?" Chase choked on a laugh. "You mean worms?"

"Roy likes worms."

"They're noodles, kid. Things you can eat. You can't eat worms. I don't know what Blondie's doing with her brat, but we don't live in a close proximity to the clinic."

"Daddy, look," her small hand bundled as she grabbed a fistful of Chase's hair. He scrunched an eye in pain. "Runny."

He lowered his gaze to the bowl of ice-cream. "It's melting. It's also what happens to your mother when it rains."

Molly humoured him with a cackle as she observed him shift Violet from one bowl to the other. She decided to intervene when she began to whimper, indigo eyes welled in tears. She appeared dizzy, palms slapping his forearms.

"Oh, stop taunting her," she reprimanded as she snatched the ice-cream from the table. Violet watched her every move, like a tense scene in a movie, lips parted and drooling. Saliva dribbled onto Chase's arm and his expression soured, wiping it on her bib. His eyes were fixed on the farmer, brimmed with vexation, silently blaming her for soiling his uniform.

Chase possessed very little in the art of patience, but he was surprisingly good with Violet—if both of their moods suited. He was her favourite nonetheless and she would frequently cry when he left for work. Occasionally, when his ears couldn't withhold the sound of her shrieks or when he couldn't shake her viced grip from his leg, he would take her with him. He clung to the excuse that customers were more inclined to leave tips when he had a baby strapped to his chest. However it was always short lived; Molly would receive a call from Kathy within minutes of his arrival. Kitchens and babies didn't mix.

"Have you packed?" inquired Molly, but with the arch of her eyebrows, she knew his answer.

"What do you think?"

"I think that you were waiting for me to do it," she exhaled in resignation, clanking the bowl onto the table. "What do you want me to pack? I don't know what the weather's like in the city, so layers and maybe hats and scarfs because it gets cold at night and—"

"Okay, mum."

Chase rolled his eyes and Violet latched onto his glasses which were folded into the front of his apron. She fidgeted in his grasp as she shoved the spectacles onto his face with rough, clumsy force, almost impaling his eye with the arm of the frame. He met her gaze with a frown, curious at her unusual fight for attention.

They were going on a weekend trip to the city. The entire town had pitched in and purchased boat tickets as a wedding present, but two years had passed and they were threatening to expire. The right timing never seemed to fall: Molly was pregnant, a newborn on a trip would be near impossible, Chase worked and her farm couldn't be left unattended. Kathy breached the subject and offered to cover for them. But there was a catch; she was appointed babysitter. It wasn't a burden; Roy and Violet were the best of friends, as the little ones claimed.

"Fine! Freeze in your stupid sandals!"

He smirked, hoping for a flare in her temper. "Gladly."

She huffed, lips parted in reply, yet with a passing glance at the clock, she whacked his arm.

"God, Chase! It's half-past! Get to work or Kathy is going to be on my back and Hayden is going to fire you and we'll be cast out and exiled because farming doesn't bring in all that much money and—"

"You're really off on one tonight, aren't you? Hit your head when you fell?"

"From heaven?"

"Took the words out of my mouth."

He placed the toddler onto the floor and she skipped into the living room, the sound of rustling indicating that more toys were indeed forming the path for a casualty. Molly twisted her torso to the doorway. "Violet! Clear up the toys you have out before you take anymore out please!"

A whine and a moan followed. "Looking for Monkey!"

Chase twinned her moan and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Someone needs to tie that blasted thing around her neck."

"Chase."

"Look under the couch!"

It was silent for a beat until she began initiating one-sided conversation—Monkey had been found. The plush was a gift from Candace, patched in multitudes of fabric—floral-printed velvet and silk—but it differed after a few months. The seamstress had repaired it countless times with new materials, the stuffing inside thinning and the ears tethered by threads. Like many children possessed comfort blankets, this was hers. Refusing to be washed, the body was dirty and splotched in unidentifiable stains. It became a joke between them to how many times she lost it. It was as though Chase had inserted a tracker; without fail, he always knew the whereabouts.

Ushering him towards the door, she thrust his coat into his arms.

"It's barely autumn," he complained and reluctantly shimmied arms through sleeves. She flung a scarf around his neck and his expression soured, looping it twice and shrouding his face. "You're going to cause strangulation," he muffled. "Stupid," he said after a moment, voice holding a laugh. "This is your scarf."

"What? No it isn't."

"It smells of your perfume," he pulled it down and sucked in air, as though he had been buried alive. "Plus, it's distasteful, so it most definitely belongs to you."

"It's literally a plain grey scarf, Chesney."

The quirk of his lips were haughty, but his eyes shone, the only indication of his heart. His eyes were always expressive; the solitary window into his emotions. Everything else remained painfully stoic: his stance, his voice, his persona. The icy bitterness in those irises had thawed with her overpowering affections. A balance had been resorted; the boy who couldn't love needed the girl who loved too much.

The patter of feet against wood reached their ears; Violet's small figure peeping from the doorway. "You look like snowman."

"And I have the heart to match."

It took Molly a moment to comprehend what she meant. Then she realised; it was the scarf they used to decorate the snowman with the previous winter. Every word that left those pink lips were of intrigue—vague and cryptic, a riddle into her thoughts.

Monkey's poor head trailed along the floor and bounced against the bread-crumb trail of toys, a hand clinging onto it's leg as she capered to the door to join them. She halted when she reached her mother, tugging the hem of her dress in a silent demand to be picked up. She flashed her usual gap-toothed smile and Molly weakened, scooping her into her arms and tickling her side.

"But it okay," her palms slapped Molly's cheeks, the tips of their noses touching in an Eskimo kiss. "B'cos Mama's heart is warm like... like sun. Like sun on toes."

Molly stifled a laugh. "On your toes?"

She nodded in vigorous earnest, head nestled into the crook of her neck.

"Are you hearing this?" said Chase as he slouched against the wall, voice holding a whisper of amusement. "Apparently you're a nice person."

"Little Lettie is an excellent judge of character, aren't you?"

He scoffed, a hand rattling the door handle. "Before I vomit over your baby-talk, I'm leaving."

"Have fun," she teased, tucking the scarf into his coat, much to his displeasure. "Oh, Chase. Make sure you tell Kathy that the key to the barn is under the plant pot."

He palmed his forehead. "It's a miracle we haven't been robbed with the extent of your imagination."

Violet emitted a whimper. "Miss you," she extended a hand and he caught it with two fingers, a flicker of pain in his eyes.

"I'm not emigrating across the globe, kid," he joked, but his smile was small and feigned to keep her tears at bay. He kissed her brow and murmured an affectionate verse and like a spell had been broken, her mood lifted, her face a beam of sunshine.

"Be good," the toddler warned in her baby-voice, reciting the words of her elders.

Chase slid a hand over his mouth as he laughed, watching as she squirmed out of Molly's arms and sprinted into the kitchen. "She's deranged," his head shook, turning to face the farmer. Slowly, his eyebrows pinched and his expression morphed with dread. "What day is it?"

"Friday," her voice held suspicion. "The day of fun."

He groaned. "I'm cursed."

"And stalling."

"So would you if you faced a night of drunken lunacy."

"I'll wait up and you can tell me all about it."

"It'll get deep and depressing. Make sure there're tissues. Somebody will insult these hair-pins."

A hand clutched her chest in mock sympathy. "The tragedy."

"I can imagine their wrath," his eyes averted to the clock and he grimaced. "See you later."

She held the door as he stepped outside. "Bye-bye."

"Oh, Dolly."

Hesitantly, he swivelled to face her once more, the mischievous slant to his lips making him appear younger than his years.

"What?"

"Don't even think about feeding her ice-cream. I'm trying my best to alter genetics here."

The sound of thumping footfalls resounded from inside. They craned to see Violet, lounged on the couch with the bowl of ice-cream, flicking through the channels on the television until she reached the cartoons. She tossed her head back and laughed, spooning the pink ice to her lips, the majority slipping down her chin and staining her front.

She noticed their stare and her lips formed a perfect 'O' shape as a finger tapped her wrist. "Late!"

Molly laughed and turned her attention to Chase. "Looks like she made her decision, huh?"

He cursed and slammed the door shut behind him.

.:.

Pascal was waiting at the docks the following morning, pipe in hand while rings of smoke puffed out like clouds. Violet's eyes sparkled as she followed the steam, mystified as it finally evaporated into the atmosphere. Chase lifted the suitcase onto the boat and pulled Molly up with the other hand, the vessel rocking with the addition of new weight.

"G'morning to ya," the captain dipped his hat. "To tha city, is it?"

"I thought a trip to Mars would be interesting—"

Molly digged an elbow in Chase's side, holding Violet with the other. "Yup, that's us," she saved, smiling.

Pascal's eyes flitted to the endless expanse of ocean, the sun glistening the water in ripples of diamonds. "It's a choppy one out there, but don't worry. I'll get ya there in one piece."

Molly nodded and the trio meandered to the front of the boat. Chase slouched against the rail, idly watching Violet who gaped at the movement of the waves, the sight so wondrous that she felt the need to exclaim "wow!" repetitively and at such speed that the vowels slurred. She was a bundle of energy in the morning, like a clockwork toy whose tune would mellow as the day persisted.

"Hey, kiddo," he nudged his head towards the sea. "What lives in there?"

"Fishies!"

Chase expected Molly to volunteer a whimsical comment, that mermaids lived within the depths with their rainbow hair and magical powers, or pluck up a narrative about the Lost City of Atlantis. Conversely, she was seething, like a bull taunted with red. A baby bull, of course, one you were more inclined to rub behind the ear than flee.

"Honestly, Chesney," her tone was clipped. "Is it beyond your capability to answer anything earnestly?"

He frowned, stunned by the sudden change in her demeanour. Then again, she screamed at him earlier for forgetting to pack socks. An apology wasn't spared when he reminded her that socks and sandals were a horrifying combination.

"No," he answered with an aura of confidence. "I'm seriously serious."

"What?" she pressed, hair swooshing above her head, the spray of water creating the illusion of sparks. "Give me an example."

"You look dead."

She let out a breath and closed her eyes, a wry, minuscule smile playing her lips. Her anger had simmered and she looked pitiful. "I feel like it," she murmured.

Her pallour was pale and sickly, the freckles which peppered her cheeks appearing darker, as though coloured in by marker. A thin layer of sweat coated her forehead, even with the coldness of the breeze. Chase took the toddler from her and she immediately slumped down onto a crate, breathing shallow and ragged.

"Elaborate, so I'm not contacting the morgue in the next hour. I don't know boat-body charges."

"Okay," she peeped from her hands. "I feel like I've been trampled by a thousand hooves, been forced to eat my own cooking and left outside in the rain. No, a storm, with the threat of flying, impaling objects."

"Firsthand experience?"

Her glare was a laser and he felt the sting. "My own cooking, Chase. Mine. Imagine."

He exhaled wearily and rubbed the back of his neck, the other hand clasping Violet's. She was oblivious to their dispute as she lived in her ocean fantasy. A little merchild, shouting odd noises at the sea in the hope of attracting dolphins. He assumed it was dolphins and not the devil; not that anyone would know from her pronunciation.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm not sensitive, alright? I get it. You okay?"

"I'm fine, just... sea sick, I think," her words were hushed, almost washed away with the crashing of waves. "I'm going to empty my guts. Be right back." Adhering to her claim, she rushed inside, leaving the swinging doors to the cabin in her wake.

Staring at the place where his wife had departed, he was unaware to the insistent tugging on his hand. Windswept hair and rosy cheeks, Violet stared up at him with a crease settled between her brows.

"Why?"

Chase glanced downwards, sweeping her off her feet and tickling her nose with the end of her ponytail. She had inherited Molly's ski-slope nose, one that had blossomed with freckles the previous summer. Her face crinkled and her lips broke into a crooked smile, bouncing her patent shoes on the rail.

"Why what, kiddo? Why is she sick?"

"Uh huh," she nodded, turning her head to look up at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "People just get sick sometimes."

Violet's nodding lost it's strength, sombre with the pucker of lips and downcast eyes. Chase inwardly cringed.

"She's fine," he reassured. "Just dramatic. She'll be back soon."

The toddler relented with a pat on his head and wiggled out of his grasp, skipping over to the bag Molly had left behind. With two hands, she heaved out blankets and toys, tossing them haphazardly onto the deck. Chase cursed and picked them up, bundling them underneath his arm.

"Lettie," he groaned. "Stop—what the hell are you looking for?"

She blinked like a deer caught in headlights. "Juice," was her answer, continuing throwing sunglasses and scarves over her shoulder.

"You're a nuisance," grumbled Chase, crouching down and snatching the bag out of her dangerous hands. "If you wanted juice, ask me for it."

Tilting her head, she crossed legs and pressed Monkey to her chest. "What's it?"

"Orange."

Her eyes were two gleaming amethysts, hands clapping as he extended a beaker. Clambering to her feet, she resumed dolphin watching, the plastic cup and her plush teetering precariously over the rail.

"Kid, sit down or your juice and Monkey goes."

She exclaimed with protest. "No!"

Chase crossed his arms and narrowed eyes. Violet's irises welled at his unyielding stance and reluctantly, she climbed down from the railing in a sulk, stomping past her father and sitting down on a chair in the middle of the deck. Monkey sat next to her, a competent listener to her babbling fury. With amusement, Chase sat on an opposite chair with a hand cupping his cheek. Meanwhile Violet angled her chin and stubbornly avoided his gaze, tiny fists bundled at his snort.

"Dad!"

He was stoic to her anger, but his indifference only acted as fuel.

"I'm cross!" she whined, twinning her mother's unimpressive temper.

Chase flicked his hair back. "So am I."

Panic flashed in her eyes, lips parted to reveal sparse, spaced teeth. "No," she murmured.

"Yep."

With a tremulous lip, she leapt from her seat and bounded onto his lap. Curled against his chest, she hid her face into his shirt while her small frame shook and tears dampened the fabric. Chase's stomach dropped, a hand resting upon her crown as he hushed her.

Outwardly she resembled him; but her heart was her mother's. Soft, open and fragile, it was easily broken. She felt everything deeply, her mind brimmed with optimistic and fanciful wonder. Chase was a cold, cynical realist and her vulnerability worried him. The cruelness of the world would eventually ruin her sweetness.

"No..." the word smothered as her lids drooped.

"No, Lettie," he mumbled with a sad crinkle of eyes. "I'm not mad."

Soon enough, with each caress of hair, Violet was lulled into sleep. Her quiet breaths warmed his neck and he wanted to drift into slumber himself, but with the whip of the cabin door, he became attentive. Molly had returned to the windy deck, her skirt billowing upwards in ripples of crimson. With flushed cheeks, she gripped the garment tightly while Chase smirked at revealed thighs and a peep of lace.

"Hey," she whispered with a smile as she noticed the dreaming toddler. Stealing Monkey's seat, she crossed one leg over the other, idly bouncing her foot which donned colourful moccasins. She stared at a point past his shoulder, the sun catching her earrings with a gleam. "Wow, Chesney. We're on a boat for five minutes and the deck already bears a striking resemblance to our living room."

Chase cursed and shook his head. "That thing," he nodded to the plush situated on her lap. "Almost went overboard. I saw my life flash before my eyes."

Molly laughed and Violet stirred, rubbing her eyes with a fist. She blinked several times to rid the sleepy glaze, caramel curls free from the restraint of her ponytail. "Mama," she extended a hand and struggled out of Chase's hold. "Back."

"That's right, sleepy head. I'm back," said Molly as she gathered her into her arms, Violet's knotted, wild hair tickling her chin as she nestled into the crook of her neck. She was never grumpy when she awoke; she was gentle and dreamlike, momentarily untouched by reality's harsh claws. "Did you have a lovely dream?"

Violet stifled a yawn and nodded. "Lovely," she mimicked in a tired drawl. "Yeah..."

"Yeah? And what did you dream about?"

She grabbed Monkey from her mother's knee and cuddled her cheek into its discoloured face. "Monkey dolphins."

Chase snorted. "Monkey dolphins?" He reclined in his seat, lips a secretive, amused quirk. "That doesn't sound healthy."

"Yeesh, the breeding programs these days, huh?"

He lolled forwards, knuckles pressed against his jaw. "Land or water?"

"Water," Molly decided. "But with a little snorkel to breathe. Oh, oh! But it comes onto land to lay eggs and to eat bananas."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation. We'll be directing a blasted national geographic next. A disturbing thing, a monkey-dolphin. Often found in the most whimsical corners of Violet's mind."

Molly threw her head back as she laughed, squeaky and hysterical, it caught the attention of other passengers. Her laugh was the type of sound which made everything funnier. Her laugh made him laugh. Even Violet, whose hair whipped back-and-forth with the relay of her head, caught her mother's infectious giggles and the sound was uncanny.

He wanted to remember small, fleeting moments like these. Ten years had passed since Molly stumbled into the Italian bistro with her tear-stained cheeks and a broken heart, and the next ten, twenty, thirty years would go by twice as fast. Soon enough, Violet would be grown-up and married and no longer would he be searching for Monkey, holding her against his chest while she slept, or cooking her favourite dishes: crispy cakes and special tomato pasta.

At twenty-two, he wouldn't have dreamed he would be sat on a boat, laughing with his wife and daughter. He wouldn't have wanted it. Even four years ago, he wouldn't have wanted it. But fate disagreed; it gifted him with a heart and two girls overflowing with love to fill it.

"Why is that even funny?"

With one hand, Molly clutched her wheezing chest while a finger swiped the tears from her eyes. "I-It's just the thought of your droning voice documenting it! Chase, Chase," her laughter resurfaced and she could barely form words. "Imagine if Hamilton appointed you as the island's weatherman," she attempted to imitate his expression—lidded eyes, pursed lips and the slight curve of an eyebrow. "The sun is out. Don't let your skin get as burned as your chicken... or, or—rain, huh? Or was it merely your watery sauce?"

"You need meds."

Suddenly, he snapped up his head and ran fingers through his hair, as though her words had triggered a memory.

"God, Dolly, I forgot to tell you. Maya—she rang the other day. She's getting married," he revealed as he absently watched Violet who had crawled from her mother's lap and was currently playing with Monkey at their feet. "Next summer, in the city, in one of those big, glass hotels. You know, the really fancy ones. A typical bourgeoisie palace."

"Ooh," her eyes sparkled. "Do you think A-listers will be there?"

"She's not that famous."

"Kasey's lovely though. His Christmas cards are always funny, too."

"The fact that you framed 'dachshund through the snow' never fails to haunt me."

"The living room centerpiece," Molly swooned. "Oh, this is the best, best news," she met his eyes. "Don't you think?"

"Yeah," agreed Chase with a crooked smile, eyes a wistful haze. "It is."

"Dad?"

Chase glanced downwards. "Hm?"

"You cold?" Violet questioned with a fractional tilt of head.

"Not physically," he replied, knowing she couldn't understand the depth of the comparison. "Are you?"

"Uh huh."

"It is a little chilly, isn't it?" Molly frowned, gaze roaming across the deck. "Where did I put the—?" she exhaled in resignation. "The bag. Practically emptied and advertised to be robbed." She rose from her seat and shrugged off her suede, turquoise jacket and draped it over Violet's shoulders before rushing off to collect their belongings.

"Wow, Lettie," he staged a gasp, voicing ringing with mock enthusiasm. The sleeves spilled over her hands and he clasped the floppy fabric between his fingers. "You're turning blue!"

Violet spluttered with panic as she stared at her blue arms. "N-No!"

"Kidding," Chase emphasised as he rolled the sleeves up to her wrists. "Look, all better."

"Don't wanna be blue," she whined, pulling the zipper up and down.

Chase inwardly laughed. She could never watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. "I don't imagine it's on anyone's wishlist either."

"Sweetheart," Molly had returned with the patchwork rucksack slung over her shoulder. "If you throw things on a boat you're going to lose them forever."

"Ever?" she spoke with popped eyes and a puckered lip. "No. Daddy get it."

"Kid, I tolerate you," he was distracted, pulling her onto his knee to adjust the hair-pins which were barely tethered to her wispy strands. He held one butterfly-slide between his teeth as he twisted the hair back. "But there is no way I'm about to jump off a boat for you."

Molly released a dramatic sigh. "This is oh-so-flawed."

"What?"

"You're no Jack Dawson, Chase. The reality of it's painful."

He rolled his eyes. "And unfortunately for you, I'm also alive."

"Shame."

Violet patted her pink, glittering hair-pin, eyes fixed on a point above Chase's forehead. "Where they gone?"

Chase's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a hand raised and gesturing to his loose curls. "What? My hair-pins?"

She nodded. "You look funny."

Stuffing a little hand into the pocket of her corded dungarees, she fished out a spare hair-slide. It had a purple star. She bit her lip in concentration as she fumbled with the metal fastening, finally slotting it into Chase's hair. It was clumsily applied—skewed and messy. But Violet grinned brightly, satisfied with the outcome.

"All better!"

She clapped her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek, and like a transient beam of sunshine, she wandered away with Monkey to prattle nonsense.

Chase's fingers shrouded the star; it hid his shame, yet he hadn't the heart to remove it. "I would, you know."

Molly faced him. "You would what?"

"Jump off the boat. Only if you or Lettie or even that stupid teddy fell in. Not on a whim. I'm not insane."

She nudged his side, eyebrows a skeptic bow. "Even though you can't swim?"

His lips curled. "At least I'd die heroically, right? I can imagine the newspaper headlines—man dies in an attempt to salvage daughter's teddy bear. Chase, the guy who went down in history. I'd finally be your Jack Dawson then."

"No," Molly pondered as she tapped her chin. "You'd still be my Chase."

"That was so cheesy. I actually might vomit."

She playfully poked out her tongue. "Copycat."

Stifling a yawn, she scooted closer and swung her legs over his lap. "I'm so tired," she moaned, flopping her head down against his shoulder. "Watch Lettie, please. I'm going to fall asleep or drift into a coma at this rate. Tiredness is weird. A moment ago I was marginally alive, now I feel so drained. It's like I'm carrying around a ton of bricks."

"It's your own fault," Chase grumbled, absentmindedly turning over her long, layered necklaces in his palm. "You should stop waiting up for me."

She still wore the old, rabbit pendant he presented her with for her birthday all those years ago. Molly kept everything. Photographs, trinkets, bottles and shells. They each held a special, unique memory, and if she threw them away she would forget. Chase didn't understand this way of thinking. If a memory was important enough it would stick in one's mind like glue; a reel of images created with the sole intention to haunt or excite. Physical objects were a cruel summoning for nostalgia.

"Yeesh, sorry for being concerned!" she momentarily lifted her head and he twisted to face her. In their close proximity, he finally saw her creased, sleep deprived eyes, the bruising striking against the paleness of her skin.

She was under the weather, exhausted and sick. Molly rarely caught illnesses. It was always he and Violet who were susceptible to such things. Winter was riddled with the flu, with their sneezes, runny noses and cold hands, and in summer allergies would flare, and Molly would always be fussing with endless mugs of warm lemon and tissues.

"I just want to make sure you get home okay."

He softened. "Really, Dolly," he turned and pulled a cardigan out of the rucksack, noticing the goosebumps pebbling her arms. "And who the hell is going to ambush me? Luke, with an axe? Luna, with a stiletto? I forget, Castanet is famed for its crime. I hear Gill loses sleep over the bursting prison cells."

Molly wrapped the woolen garment tight around her and snuggled into the crook of his neck, her flyaway tresses brushing his cheek. "Shut up. You'll know about it when you get attacked by a feral raccoon."

His chest vibrated with amusement as his attention drifted to her closed, fluttering eyelids. "Are you going to fall asleep on me, too?" His voice was low and deep, whispered against her ear. "What am I, a pillow with legs?"

"You're comfy and warm and you smell kinda nice," said Molly without opening her eyes. "So yeah. You're a pillow with legs."

"Hey," he murmured gently. "You... alright? I didn't ask before."

Molly exhaled and straightened, blinking to focus. The peeping of blue waves manifested though the gaps of passengers and then Violet, sat cross-legged a few feet away sipping juice. Skyscrapers were visible yet distant, appearing to her in an abundance of grey dots.

"I... I think..."

"I thought it smelled like burning."

"Dummy," her uncertainty vanished and she laughed, a hand batting his chest. "That was terrible."

"Go on, what epiphany did you have while puking your guts out. All ears."

She lowered her eyes to a pair of twiddling thumbs. "It's... it's nothing, I'm sure."

"And the thrilling saga continues," Chase droned, a finger running along the pleated fabric of her skirt. "With Dolly's lies."

"I'm so careless," Molly mumbled to herself, slowly lifting her head and giving him a meek smile.

Before Chase could question her cryptic response, he heard Violet's excited, ear-splitting scream.

"Look, look!" she jumped up and down as she pointed to the ocean. "Fineys! They here!"

"What on earth is she saying?"

"Dolphins," answered Chase with a shake of his head. "I think."

"Hurry!" Violet stamped her foot with impatience, gesturing for them to come forward.

"I'm coming, Lettie, have some patience please."

But just as Molly clambered to her feet, Violet, in her euphoric frenzy, knocked over her abandoned juice. The lid loosened from the beaker and the orange contents flooded the wood near her feet. The toddler's giddiness simmered.

"Uh oh."

With wide, surprised eyes, she knelt and cupped her hands in an attempt to scoop the juice back into the beaker. Once she realised the futileness, and she had succeeded in coating her hair and clothes in the sticky residue, she lolled backwards to face her parents. "Sorry..."

Molly's suede jacket would be ruined. He remembered Violet's second birthday when she wore her favourite blue dress. He had fed the toddler food that was far too rich, and consequentially, the gown had to be tossed; vomit was a non-washable stain on delicate chiffon. It was stupid for her to love clothes when her environment allowed them to be destroyed so easily. On the bright side, it always left Chase with ideas for Christmas presents.

"You little klutz," Chase palmed his forehead and sighed. "You're going to smell like oranges for days."

He crouched down beside her with a packet of tissues to clean up the mess. But Violet, uncaring to her appearance, curled an arm around Chase's neck and pointed towards the sea once more.

"Dad!" she gasped. "The fineys! Again, look!"

Chase arched an eyebrow but obliged, and when he saw them, he laughed with pure disbelief. A pod of dolphins emerged from beneath the waves, hurdling their grey bodies in-and-out of the water as they raced beside the boat.

He whipped his head back. "Hey, Dolly—"

But she was nowhere to be found; all that remained was the swinging of the cabin door.