Five
His alarm went off before sunrise. Liam woke easily, breathing in the cool, salted air as he walked along the beach, stones shifting beneath him.
In the darkness, it was hard to spot the time-lapse camera he’d left atop the hill. He walked up to check on it, reviewing the comings and goings of ships and birds and lounging seals.
The walk up the hill was familiar to him now, and he rarely stumbled carrying canvases and his bag of paints. He liked to be there as the sun appeared, ready to capture the colors and shadows just as they were.
He set up, paintbrush in hand, and scanned the horizon. Should he focus on the water again?
No. He already had five landscapes like that. Maybe the boat tied up at the dock? It had interesting curves…
Liam dipped his paintbrush and made the first strokes, watching as the sun’s rays glimmered off the polished hull.
minutes in, he set his paintbrush down. This wasn’t right. No one needed this painting. He didn’t want it, and no one would want to buy it. Or at least, he didn’t think so. He had yet to try his luck at the farmer’s market.
He took the canvas and chucked it to the ground. It was just an eight by ten. Nothing special. He was running low on five by sevens. People liked those – they fit into luggage easily. Great to sell to tourists, little mementos of the places they’d been.
He’d keep one of the paintings from this island. Maybe send it to his mom for safekeeping. It was a charming place, despite the difficulty in getting here.
Liam had almost turned down the residency. It made no sense to him – a Hollywood star hiring an artist in residence just because they’d had a pleasant conversation about wolves for an hour or two?
Unheard of.
He set his paintbrush down. Maybe today wasn’t a day to paint. His motivation was wavering. He’d initially thought he’d need to sell a few paintings at the farmer’s market to get by for the month, but surprisingly, Russell’s promise of a stipend came to fruition. That morning, Liam had gotten an email from his bank: Large deposit credited to your account.
The sum was generous. Shockingly so. More money than Liam had had in over a year. And Russell really meant to give him that much every month? Maybe it was the sum for the entirety of his residency.
Once he got over the shock of seeing the number, his suspicions started creeping up. Russell clearly wanted something from him. The money had to be a bribe, trying to convince him to make a documentary about the whale – an idea Russell had floated after they’d met.
Liam stood, stretching. Filmmaking wasn’t his thing anymore. He’d told that to Russell at the time. Russell seemed to think he was playing hard to get.
“You’re telling me you’re a filmmaker, yet after two hours of us talking, you still haven’t tried to shove one of your scripts down my throat?” Russell had asked him over beers.
“I don’t have any scripts,” Liam said with a shrug.
“Have you made any films?”
“I used to make short films, yeah.” Liam looked up from the menu. “Nothing with wolves, though.”
That made Russell laugh. Liam passed along the link to his website – it still held all his old work – and thought nothing of it. The next day, Russell had called to chat about a potential Lottie documentary.
“No pressure, and your residency is unrelated,” he’d said, “but you have a keen eye, and I like your style. I think you could put together something amazing about our little Lottie.”
Liam thought Russell had to be exceptionally desperate to entertain the idea of hiring a nobody like him to make this documentary. The most Liam would offer was, “I’ll think about it.”
He made his way down the hill, walking by a builder who nodded a hello. Liam nodded back. The people were friendly here. Cheerful even, if in a gruff sort of way, and always busy.
Maybe Russell was overpaying them, too.
He walked along the buildings dotting the shore. These were picturesque and deserved a closer eye. In truth, there was too much to paint here. It was hard to pick.
Even if he wanted to film a documentary, what was there to tell? The days were all the same. Birds flying overhead. The foreman arriving promptly at eight. Researchers zipping in and out on boats or on Joey’s seaplane.
Maybe Russell had asked him because no one else was interested. Or maybe Russell was so difficult to work with that no one with half a brain would take the project. Why else would a Hollywood star need help from someone like him?
Liam spotted a delightfully plump seal lounging on a rock. He grabbed a canvas and set himself up, painting the round belly and shining whiskers.
He’d nearly finished the seal when he heard a rumble of voices. He looked up. The foreman was on the dock, throwing his hands in the air. Liam had never heard him raise his voice, and now he was gesticulating wildly and shouting into his phone.
The seal looked up, lazily casting a glance toward the sound before settling back down.
Something was up. Perhaps this was the sign of the first, and only, drama this island would see.
Fights always amused Liam. Not physical ones – Liam despised violence – but arguments. They were hilarious to witness from the outside – the red faces, the gestures, the spit flying from mouths. Adults behaving like toddlers.
Shouts bounced off the rocks and echoed in his ears. The foreman wasn’t out of control by any means, but it could turn into something. Liam stood up and went back to his room, dropping off the seal painting. His video camera was in his suitcase, untouched. It might be worth taking it out, even if he didn’t plan to do anything with the footage.
He pulled it out and turned it on, recording as he walked down to the dock.
“Morning, Liam,” the foreman said, his boots hitting the wooden dock with heavy strides. His face was flushed, his tone more clipped than usual.
“Morning. Everything all right?”
“Not really.” He jerked his head behind him. “I’ve got three boats blocking our dock, and I was supposed to get a delivery today.”
Liam took a few steps forward and peered into the nearest boat. Crinkled beer cans and food wrappers dotted the floor.
“You didn’t happen to see who left these boats, did you?” the foreman asked.
Liam shook his head. “They must’ve come in late last night. They were already here this morning.”
“Typical,” he sighed, lifting his phone to his ear. He held up a finger, a signal for Liam to wait. “Hey, Mackenzie?” He said into the phone, “We’ve got a problem.”
He waved a goodbye and took off down the dock, his steps heavy and swift.
Liam stared at the boats. He had assumed they were allowed to be there. They looked like luxury boats, clearly good for partying.
It was funny to see the burly foreman calling Mackenzie for help. What was she supposed to do about it? Was she going to show up here?
Hopefully not. Liam would have to hide in shame. He’d hoped to never have to face her again after how he’d spoken to her at the tea shop in his grumpiest state.
He stood on the dock, filming the mess inside the boats, and within half an hour, the mysterious boaters had returned. They flip-flopped past Liam, laughing and yelling, ignoring him like a discarded beer can.
It would be easy to walk away. It wasn’t his business. But then…he had some responsibility to this project, even if he didn’t want to make a film about it.
This is how it starts. This is how Russell manipulates you.
He pushed the thought away and walked toward them. “Excuse me. Are these your boats?”
There were five men who, at first glance, appeared to be wearing a uniform—white, short-sleeved, collared shirts, differing only by slight variations in their colored stripes. Only one turned to look at him, quickly averting his gaze.
Two women walked past without a glance at him, their chins high, their eyes blocked with dark sunglasses.
Liam took a step closer. “Are you friends of Russell’s?”
The other patrons loaded into the boats, but one man stayed on the dock. He turned and looked at Liam.
“Listen man, you need to relax. You being stressed out is stressing me out.”
Liam looked over his shoulder. “I’m stressing you out?”
“Yeah, you. Just relax, man.”
“I’m quite all right, thanks,” he said. “But you need to move your boats.”
He scoffed and hopped onto the nearest boat. “Okay, bud. Go back to England, have some beans and toast for me, yeah?”
One of the other men laughed.
Liam sighed. They were even dumber than they looked. He stood, debating what to do, when the buzz of a seaplane floated in.
He looked up. It was Joey, coming in for a landing. The plane made a splash, gliding on the water. Liam squinted. Mackenzie’s face was in the passenger window, her glare visible even from afar.
Oh, dear. As much as he wanted to hide, he needed to see what happened next. He picked up his camera and focused on the plane.