Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

The rain isabout to start, and evening is setting in. Plus, my stomach is growling. I haven’t even decided which can of soup to heat up for supper on my little camp stove.

“There,” I grunt, tossing the last sheet of plywood onto the pile. I haul the tarp across it, and then I peel off my work gloves and slap them against my thigh. “Time to see what I signed up for.”

I turn back to the orchard cabin, propping my fists on my hips to study it.

The little log house has spent most of the last forty years as a glorified storage shed. Now that I’ve pulled the plywood off the windows and brought a lot of the boxes outside, I can see where I’ll be living… while there’s still a little light left.

I’ll be happy as long as I don’t have to pitch a tent in a shed… so to speak.

Once I duck through the doorframe, I stop to admire the place.

It’s actually really pretty in here. Dusty as hell, obviously, but I can see the potential. The sunset helps, too. Great-Granddad Hank put the biggest windows right here so they’d catch the evening light.

To the right, a third of the main room is the empty kitchen. I’ve shoved my backpack and groceries there. The other two-thirds is the living room… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Despite all the boxes I’ve hauled out, it still looks like a shed right now. Until I fix up the lean-to, I’m keeping anything in here that wouldn’t like the rain.

That means sharing my space with cardboard boxes, machinery, tools… and spiders who basically have adverse possession by now.

Oh, God. Don’t think about that, or you’ll never get to sleep.

A guy as big and tough as me definitely shouldn’t react to spiders the way I do. I offered them a deal so I could cope with this afternoon’s clear-out: I’ll avert my gaze and pretend not to see them, as long as they scuttle their butts right out of here.

Not sure that’ll work, but it makes me feel better.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that this place is filled with everything I need to pull this off. But I can’t exactly kick back and relax on that rusty old lawnmower.

I can’t even imagine the look on anyone else’s face if they walked in here. And by anyone, I obviously mean Kieran.

God. Little fiery Kieran.

I spent the whole walk home thinking about the bartender. And blushing like crazy. His teasing lilt, the warmth in his eyes, the way my chest flip-flops whenever he brushes past my arm…

Kieran’s a lot. Enthusiastic, sweet, and driven. Hot as hell, too.

Just the kind of pocket rocket I can’t resist. If I’m not careful, he’ll wrap me around his little finger in a heartbeat. The way he was flirting with me, well… I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s my first house guest.

I’ve never had a neighbour who so obviously wants to lend me his sugar.

A dripping, plopping sound jars me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, shit. Rain’s here,” I mumble, rubbing my chin as I look up at the roof. Within seconds, it’s a steady pitter-pitter.

Guess I don’t have to wait long to find out if this place is watertight.

It’s even darker in here than it was a minute ago. With the sun setting behind the mountains on the mainland—technically Vancouver Island, but nobody here calls it that—I’m quickly losing the light.

And with it, my chance to see if the bedroom and bathroom are merging with the forest floor, or occupied by raccoons.

“Come on,” I breathe out as I cross the main room to the little hallway. I head to the end first, carefully twisting the old knob and opening the bathroom door.

Phew.

Everything is mint green, and so outdated it’s probably back in style. But there’s nothing obviously wrong—and no furry critters living in the bathtub. God, I’m glad they built things well in the old days.

“Two for two?” I open the bedroom door, holding my breath until I can see in…

It’s a dusty, dry, critter-free bedroom.

“Yes!” I pump my fist.

I see something in the corner. A few wooden crates, covered in a thick layer of dust. I take a step closer, and then I see that all of them are labelled Sunrise Cider… in Grandma’s neat, loopy handwriting.

My heart tightens like a bowstring, and I stop in my tracks and swallow hard.

All of us have had a year to adjust to life without Grandma. By now, I’m familiar with the ebb and flow of grief. It’s like the tide, pushed this way and that by an unseen and unpredictable moon. It won’t drown me. I just have to wait for the tide to go out.

Maybe I’ll camp out in the kitchen. Just for this first night.

Tomorrow morning, I can tackle the crates. Get my stuff set up in here, and maybe even get an air mattress.

That’s better than a tent in the orchard, huh?

With one last glance at the wooden crates, I close the door again and lean on the doorframe with a sigh.

It’s the strangest feeling, living in my great-grandparents’ first house and following in their footsteps. I just hope I can do them proud.

One day at at time. I’ve done everything I can for today.

I’m soaked in sweat, dusty and dirty from hauling all that stuff around. I have to get cleaned up… and with no running water yet, I’m saving my jugs of water for dishes and cooking.

Luckily, I live on an island. The beach is on my doorstep, meaning a bath is never far away.

“Flip-flops…” I mumble, digging them out of my backpack. Then I start to peel all my dirty clothes off.

I didn’t bring my swim trunks, but… it is raining and nearly dark now. I bet I’ll have the beach all to myself.

Besides, I’ll have to be quick—the harbour will be freezing. A quick dip sounds like heaven after the day I’ve had, but I don’t want to risk lighting the chimney yet. And getting hypothermia on the first night would be a bad luck omen.

I dig my towel out and leave it on top of my bag, and then I laugh to myself as I tiptoe outside. You can’t really see the road from here with the grasses and bushes so overgrown, but I don’t want to give any sweet old ladies a heart attack.

The coast is clear.

My heart racing, I keep one hand over myself—for modesty and support as I dash through the meadow—and then I pause at the rocks near the top of the beach to make sure there’s nobody.

Perfect.

I stride down to the water line and kick my flip-flops off, gritting my jaw as I step into the cold surf. Out here on the beach, I’m not sheltered by any tree branches, and the rain is steadily soaking my hair.

Holy shit, that’s cold.

I don’t even want to imagine the colour of my nuts in a minute. But I can’t just hang out naked on the shoreline forever. Gotta push through before I second-guess myself.

“Here goes nothing…” I groan, striding further into the water without letting myself stop. Thank God nobody’s around to hear the yelping noises I didn’t even know I could make. “Shitting fuckweasels. It’s supposed to be spring!”

My legs are numb, and the water’s up to my thighs. There’s no bracing myself for what’s next. All I can do is groan at the top of my lungs.“Ooh, oh, oh—fucking fuck me!”

At least that’s the worst part over with… and I’m no longer in danger of flashing anyone who’s out for an evening stroll.

The rain seems louder, pattering against the swell of the tide. When I’m in up to my chest, I close my eyes and duck under the water to rinse my hair and face.

Is it totally weird if the water feels… comfortable now? I’m not a masochist, I swear. I’ve probably just KO’d every nerve ending in my body. But I’m not in as much of a rush to get out as I thought.

It sounds cheesy, but the cold is life-affirming. I feel awake—alive, in a way I’d forgotten was possible throughout the rush of the last few years of life. I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.

I swim a little deeper, enough that my feet are no longer touching bottom and I can tread water. Then I turn to look at Sunrise Island again, and I find myself smiling.

The island’s shoreline looks so different from here, even though I’m not that far out. The rocks and the beach loom largest, and the trees beyond tower above them. Beyond, thick clouds streak the darkening night sky, painting it every shade of purple and blue.

It’s breathtaking.

I tread water, turning in slow circles to take in the view.

There’s just one thing missing.

I’m so lucky to have such awe-inspiring scenery to myself. But a part of me I’d almost forgotten until today—this moment, I guess—is awake again. And I can’t help wishing I had someone to share it with.

Someone else to fall into this spell right by my side. I could look at him one day and just say, Remember that first night on Sunrise Island? And I wouldn’t have to explain a thing. He’d just smile back at me and take my hand and look at me the way my great-grandfather’s watching my great-grandmother in the one precious photo I have from their wedding, a week before they moved here.

I’m doing the same thing they did and throwing myself headlong into a dream I’ve always not-so-secretly had, ever since I was a kid. Trusting that, even if I don’t yet have anyone to catch me like they had each other, someone will be there for me when I need it.

If that makes me crazy, so be it.

The rain is picking up, pounding into the water so noisily that it splashes up against me. I’m wiping water out of my eyes.

I’m laughing, and I don’t even know why.

How wild is this? It’s actually happening.

Whatever lies ahead, however long and lonely the time before I find someone to share my path… I’ll remember this first night on Sunrise Island. And I hope it’ll still make me smile.

I breathe out deep, before swimming back to the beach. The chill is starting to get to me, and I’m clean as I’m going to get. Time to huddle over a hot can of soup to warm up.

My feet slip against the pebbles as I find my footing and push my way out of the water until I’m only ankle-deep in the surf.

Wait. What’s that?

A figure in the orchard, cloaked by darkness and standing by the boulders at the top of the beach. There’s just enough light for me to see a bright pink umbrella—and bright pink hair.

Oh, shit. It’s Kieran.

He’s watching me stride out of the ocean dripping wet, totally naked—and so cold that my package is trying to retreat right back inside me.

I’m never gonna live this down.