‘Yes, but your books keep you young, Carmen,’ Erin says.
‘Carmen writes erotic thrillers,’ Ailsa fake-whispers, lifting her eyebrows. ‘I’ve learned a thing or two reading them.’
I glance at Carmen, surprised to hear she’s a novelist.
‘Cleo’s a writer too,’ Delta says. ‘Romance books.’
I open my mouth to correct her but different words emerge. ‘More general fiction than romance, really. That’s what I’m working on, anyhow. Amongst other things.’ Even to my own ears I sound flaky.
Brianne sighs. ‘I love a good romance.’
‘Not enough murder for me.’ Carmen curls her lip. ‘I prefer a man with an axe buried in the back of his skull.’
‘Explains why you’ve always been single,’ Dolores says under her breath.
I look down and pretend to count my stitches to hide my laugh. Farmer-ish and hearty? These women refuse to fit in boxes. Good for them. We all fall silent and concentrate on our work for a couple of minutes, lost in thought.
‘Just so I’m clear – you’re not married to Han Solo, then?’ Brianne says eventually, and they all start laughing. And I do too, adding stitches to my needles rather than be drawn further on the subject.
Mack
12 October
Salvation Island
CAN YOU STAND ON ONE LEG WITHOUT FALLING OVER?
I hold my breath, waiting for the phone to connect. ‘Nate?’
‘Dad!’ Nate shouts so loud it’s as if he’s sitting beside me on the boulder. ‘Leo! It’s Dad! Come on!’
‘Hey, buddy,’ I say, laughing though the sound of his voice so far away breaks me. He sounds even younger than his eight years, high-pitched and exuberant.
‘Dad?’ Relief loosens my shoulders when Leo joins his brother on the other line. They’re both here.
‘There’s my guy,’ I say. ‘How are things going back home?’
I listen to them tell me about their days, my eyes screwed shut, my cell tucked into my hood so the wind on the top of the hill doesn’t steal their voices from me. It’s nine in the evening and pitch-black for me, end of the school day for them. Nate aced his spelling test, Leo made the team. Big things and small things I’m missing; it turns my heart heavy in my chest not being there to high-five them. I’d give everything there is to be where they are right now. I hugged them right before flying out and it struck me how narrow Leo’s shoulders still are, how fragile his frame is. So much growing still to do. I had so much shit dumped on my shoulders at his age, it’s a wonder I ever stood straight again. Whatever happens between Susie and me, my boys will stand tall and unencumbered.
‘Mom said we need to go get ice cream now,’ Nate says, his voice edged with worry. That kid loves ice cream more than just about anything in the world. I do him the favour of not making him choose.
‘Then go get it, kid. Tell Mom I said you can have extra sprinkles.’
I trust Susie to give him the extra sprinkles. She won’t withhold them to score a hollow victory over me that I wouldn’t see anyway. Nate blows kisses through the line, laughing as he hangs up, his mind already on ice cream.
‘You sure you’re okay, Dad?’ Leo asks, so grown up my heart fractures.
No, my lovely boy, I’m not, I think. I’m lonely and blue without you, and I miss your mom. ‘I’m doing great,’ I tell him, forcing a smile so he can hear it. ‘I’ve taken some pretty cool photographs and I’ve made a couple of friends too.’
‘Will you send me a photo so I know where you are?’ he says, and I rock inside my coat because I think he might be trying not to let on that he’s crying.
‘Soon as I get off,’ I say. ‘Promise. Love you, bud.’ I hear Susie calling him in the background. ‘Now go get your ice cream before it melts.’
I sit for a while after he’s gone, wondering if he’s okay. It pains me to hear him down, he should be bouncing off the walls with excitement about making the team. Maybe I’ll get in touch with Susie, make sure there isn’t anything underlying we need to keep an eye on. It’s a cold, clear Salvation night. I look west out over the ocean towards where they are, eating ice cream, three instead of four. And then I look down towards Otter Lodge, the welcome light on the porch switched on to guide me home. Except it isn’t home. Nowhere really is right now.
Cleo has her huge headphones jammed on when I head back inside. Her fingers fly over her laptop, a sure sign that my neighbour wants to be left alone. That’s okay, I’m not in the mood to talk either. I’d kill for a long shower, the powerful kind that feels somewhere between a sports massage and being beaten up. A soak in the bath just doesn’t cut it. I do it anyway, but I don’t enjoy being alone with my thoughts so I pull the plug, restless. I’ve made a decent start workwise at last, that’s something positive. It was therapeutic unpacking all my gear, turning it over in my hands, working out how to best capture the first light this morning. The familiarity of the frayed leather strap was like an old friend’s hand resting on the back of my neck this afternoon as I snapped the otters emerging from their den, the blue-black gleam of a seabird’s wing, the comedic scuttle of a hermit crab who’d outgrown his shell. He’ll find another that fits him better soon enough; life is definitely more straightforward for crabs than humans.