Chapter 21

Chapter

Twenty-One

With the lastof the cider on the island, I can finally relax.

Nothing can go wrong now.

I mean, I guess I shouldn’t tempt fate. The barrel could roll right out of the golf cart trailer and smash open. But the road is pretty flat between the loading ramp and the orchard.

If we had to go down Holy Fudge Hill, we wouldn’t even be trying this.

“Can you ratchet your side a little more?” I ask Berty, wiping the sweat from my forehead as Murph closes the back of the trailer and drops the pins in place. The strap over the barrel goes a little more taut, and I nod and hold up a hand. “There.”

Berty straightens up and leans against the barrel. “Doug’s going to kill me when he sees this shirt in the laundry,” he laughs. All three of us are covered in dust, dirt, and oil, but Berty is the one who dressed up for the occasion.

Will, the owner of the orchards, came to oversee delivery of the last barrel of Sunrise Cider. That meant Berty wanted to be here to greet him, and he insisted on bringing Ladybird—the island’s only car, a classic red VW Bug.

He was right, I have to admit. It was a nice photo of Berty shaking hands with Will, me half-hiding behind the barrel, and Kieran standing proudly beside it.

But having Ladybird in the background made the photo instantly iconic for anyone who knows Sunrise Island.

Sunrise Cider really is back.

“God,” I stifle a yawn. “This has been the longest day on Earth.”

Will moored his boat at the dock today, so while we load up, Kieran’s walking him back along the beach.

“It sure has. Is that it here?” Berty asks me. “You won’t need a hand unloading?”

“Nah. I think we’ve got it. Murph, you happy?”

He steps back and folds his arms to walk around the trailer, checking all of our straps.

I still don’t have a golf cart of my own. Nothing has come up on the market—AKA the notice board posted in the ferry waiting room. And I know better than to borrow Frog, the beaten-up old loaner kept by the community group, which is more likely to break down than not.

For today, I’m borrowing Murph’s golf cart, which also happens to be one of the few powerful enough to tow a real trailer. Even so, we’ve had to take one barrel at a time. But slow and steady is about to win the race.

“Yep,” Murph finally grunts.

The three of us nod, clapping each other’s backs and shoulders to celebrate a job well done.

“Good work, son. Your great-grandparents would be proud, you know,” Berty tells me, putting a hand on my back. “And so would your grandma.”

I smile back, glancing past him to the darkened beach. “Thank you. But I didn’t do it alone. This all happened thanks to Kieran.”

“Mostly all,” Murph mumbles under his breath, and I grin.

He’s right. Kieran did forget about some of the practicalities. He thought the cheap runaround boat we borrowed from Berty and drove to Gabriola a few weeks ago would actually be able to handle the weight of a full barrel.

But that’s what I’m there for, to call up Murph. And Murph’s there to tell us when high tide is—in this case, ten o’clock at night.

I can’t wait to sleep for a year—or at least until dawn, when I’ll have to start getting ready for our long-awaited visitors.

Even though Kieran and my new orchard-owning friend are out of sight, I can still hear my boyfriend’s laughter as clear as day. It makes all of us trade looks of amusement.

“He’s a keeper,” Berty says and whistles at me, like I need any reminding.

“I know. What would I do without him?” I wipe the sweat from my forehead, plucking my damp shirt away from my chest as I roll up my sleeves to cool down.

All of a sudden, the normally-loud Berty murmurs sympathetically under his breath like I’ve just announced his death or something. “I don’t want to find another bartender, either. You two figure something out, you hear me?”

Berty points at me, joking yet half-serious, and I stare at him with a slow frown.

What the hell does he mean? Figure out whether he’ll quit the bar to work for the business? But he said “either”. Figure out our relationship?

Murph gives nothing away, but he loudly clears his throat.

Berty winces and hastily backtracks. “I mean, uh—don’t worry about that yet, kid. Just live in the moment. If things are meant to be, they’ll be. That’s what I told him the day you met.”

It’s like searching ancient texts for the answer to a riddle, only I haven’t actually found the whole riddle, either.

“You did?” I echo, scratching the back of my head.

Berty nods quickly, intensely, like he’s trying to get something important across. “He was gonna hand in his notice, did you know that? Find somewhere else for the last two months of his visa.”

For the… what?

“But he’d just met you, and… I could see it in his face. He’s changed, hasn’t he, Murph?”

Berty keeps talking, but his words slip through my brain like the lap of the waves against concrete, and the steadily growing ringing in my ears.

I’m in shock. My hands are slowly curling into fists by my side as I stare into the distance. The pieces are falling into place way too fast… and my heart will not be spared.

Three weeks ago, Kieran said that he was coming up on a couple of years in Canada.

I was born in Canada, so I don’t know a lot about how it works. But a working holiday visa lasts two years, doesn’t it? During my gap year, I met kids my age who were doing it. And there’s no extensions. I know that for sure.

Shiiiiit.

Kieran has been hiding something from me. But it’s not a shadow of his past, like I assumed—something I could help with, if he let me in.

It’s his future.

When was he going to tell me? When he packed his fucking suitcases?

Murph’s voice breaks through the heat of anger building in my chest. “The trailer’s right next to Ladybird. You wanna move her so we can get out?”

Good call. Berty carries a cleaning cloth in his back pocket to wipe away specks of dust. The threat of a whole loaded trailer careening into her is enough to stop him in his tracks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, kid?” Berty hugs me tightly, and I try to pat his back like a normal human instead of a disjointed robot.

“Sure. Tomorrow. Yeah.”

I’m still staring into the distance as the engine purrs to life and Berty takes off for home in the old Bug.

Home. I gotta get home, too. And get the barrel home.

“The tide won’t wait,” Murph interrupts me at last, jangling the golf cart keys in his palm.

“Right. Right, yeah.”

The barge is moored up here at the loading ramp, and he doesn’t want it getting stranded.

And, actually, that’s the perfect excuse.

“I can handle this barrel by myself if you wanna go moor up for the night.”

I can’t force a smile—not even close—but I do at least make myself meet his eyes.

Murph frowns slightly, his gaze flickering with concern.

Come on, man, I plead without words.

I know he’d keep me company without ever saying a word, but… that’s not what I want when I’m barely keeping the pieces of my heart together.

I want to be alone when it shatters.

“Take it easy,” Murph says, finally handing over the keys.

Yeah. Easy. Sure.

“Uh huh,” I mutter, weighing up the keys in my palm as I try to figure out how to get the keys back to him, all while trying to hold in the scream in the back of my brain that doesn’t seem to want to stop.

“Park on the road, leave the keys under the seat. I’ll pick it up at dawn.”

“Cool. Yeah.” Despite the ache that threatens to rip me apart, I swallow hard with gratitude. Murph’s a good friend to me. A lot of people here have been lately.Just like Kieran predicted.

Ironic, huh?

Murph stops me with a hand on my bicep. “Listen to your heart,” he says quietly, and that’s all. He lets go and raises a hand. “Good night, man.”

“Night,” I mumble back.

As he strides down the slippery concrete to the water, I slide into the golf cart seat and start her up, blinking as the road turns a little bit blurry.

Keep it together, Gage.

Once this barrel is home, everything will be ready for the festival tomorrow... and what was supposed to be the best day of my life.

How could it have all gone so wrong?