Chapter 3
Sophie
Imanage to pull myself out of my funk with Kate and Lyra’s help.
Also, a few drinks might have done the trick.
So when I finally say good night after the cake and the singing and Fenella making a nice speech that somehow made the night all about her, I’m back to smiling as I walk home.
And thanks to the few drinks, it doesn’t feel all that cold out.
The town isn’t a busy one, but when there is something like Silas’s party going on, the downtown square can be a noisy place.
Considering the January temperatures, it’s not uncommon to find groups wandering around the streets, with drunken singing waking up those in the second-floor apartments over the stores.
Unfortunately, it’s also not uncommon for cases of frostbite after a big party weekend.
Years ago, after Jonathon McKibbon’s twenty-first birthday celebration that involved a pub crawl to four of the five drinking establishments, they found Morrie Chester frozen where he’d fallen into a ditch outside town and passed out.
Miraculously, doctors revived him, but he’s never really been the same since.
It’s January, and it still feels like Christmastime even though most of the trees are gone. Lights are still lit on fences and houses. I can see stockings through the windows even though they’re deflated and empty.
Battle Harbour was designed as a square, with the sometimes angry and always beautiful Atlantic Ocean on one side, and residential homes surrounding the downtown as the square increases in size.
The farther you get from the downtown, the more run-down the houses are.
Catch a Pet, the animal shelter that Stella runs, is on the first street behind the downtown core, and my apartment is one more street back, and on the other side of town.
It’s a bit of a walk, but I don’t mind it.
I left the party soon after the happy birthdays were sung. Kate gave me a ride to the shelter so I could do the last of the night check, and I told her not to wait. Considering four out of five of the royal siblings were celebrating, Kate was in full babysitting mode.
My friend works a lot.
I do a quick check on the animals—the litter of puppies Stella rescued from the woods behind the castle, the two strays looking for homes, and Bear, the hundred-and sixty-pound Great Pyrenees who has made it clear that the shelter is his forever home—and the cats upstairs in the cattery.
It’s also loud in the shelter, with the music constantly on and the cacophony of animals.
But now that I’m outside in the cold air, walking home, it’s blessedly quiet.
I like music, and the animals. I like noise and being social, but I’ve worked straight through the holidays since no one seems to cook, and other than Al’s Pizza and Deli, fish and chips is the easiest offering for takeout, and I’m tired.
I just realized how tired I am.
That could be because of the few drinks I’ve had.
All I’m thinking about is getting home to my bed. But that’s before Stella calls.
“I’m furious with Kate,” she begins when I answer her call.
“What did Kate do?” I demand, ready to defend my friend.
Stella’s always been a little uneasy with Kate since Kate was Gunnar’s first official love.
As much as I keep telling her that she is Gunnar’s now and forever love, Stella is still a little insecure that Kate keeps such close contact with the family.
“She hired Ajax to deal with the Castle Cats. Ajax works for me! Kate stole them.”
“Ajax works part-time and wanted more hours, which you couldn’t give them.
The plan is for them to do both.” Imagine living in a home that employs a person to look after the cats?
From what I heard from Kate, Ajax will be responsible for feeding and litter changing, as well as being the official photographer and maker of the TikToks and reels for the cat’s social media account.
The six share one account, and it’s become very popular.
“They’re good with cats,” I point out. “And they’ll have time to work for you as well.
They would have done the last of the night check in but you gave them the night off for the party,” I can’t help reminding my sister.
Ajax is still at the party while here I am walking the streets after doing their job. And I don’t get paid for it.
Stella doesn’t pick up on it. “Is everything okay at the shelter?”
I love the rescue dogs and I’m happy to look after them, but Stella also hires people to look after them. They just happened to be invited to Silas’s birthday.
“Everything’s fine. Ajax and Lenny got them all fed and watered before they left, so I just cleaned up the puppy papers and let the dogs out for a pee.”
“Why did you leave the bar so early?”
“To check on the dogs,” I say louder than I mean to.
I can practically see the suspicious look in my sister’s eyes. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Something must have happened.”
“Nothing has to happen for me to leave early,” I say impatiently. “And how do you know it’s early? You’re on the other side of the world.”
“I know what time it is at home. And—really? You’re always the last one to leave any party because you make sure everyone gets home all right, and it’s all cleaned up.”
Stella does have a point. She also thinks I’m too nice for my own good. My sister is cynical and often grumpy, and she worries that I do too much for others.
I’m not arguing with her tonight, because right now, I do feel like I’ve done too much for her. I could be at home, curled up in bed with a book—
“Martin was there,” I say before I can stop myself.
Stella sighs. “Ah.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does. He’s an idiot, Soph. You’re too good for him.”
I’ve heard it all before, and I’d rather argue with my sister than listen to it again.
I’m too nice. Too friendly. Men are idiots for not wanting, for not choosing, for not thinking of me as anything other than a friend.
I have been friendzoned by most of the men I know, and I’m sick of it.
Martin is the last straw. He’s a teacher at the high school that I met when I volunteered to teach an art class to the grade nines. He asked me out, and it was good. It was so good, and we talked and laughed, and when he kissed me, I felt the tingle straight down to my toes.
I walked home with my head in the clouds.
That was a week before Christmas, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since. I even scraped up my courage and sent him a text. And then after days of being unread, I threw away my self-respect and sent him another one.
This was after a half-bottle of wine and a very long shift at the restaurant, and it wasn’t my best work. In fact, I’m still cringing over some of the things I said.
It’s no wonder Martin didn’t want to talk to me tonight. He didn’t even look me in the eye.
“It doesn’t matter,” I repeat.
“Sophie, it does matter,” Stella argues.
“It really doesn’t, and you have to believe me because I hate feeling sorry for myself, and I’m going to end up feeling like that if we continue this conversation.
And then if I’m feeling sorry for myself, I’m going to go home and eat that entire bag of potato chips that I hid for my next pity party, and I don’t want it to be tonight because I had a hard enough time doing up my jeans tonight and I don’t need to eat a bag of chips,” I finish, breathing hard at my vehemence.
“The stand-up jeans or the sit-down ones?” Stella asks.
“Stand-up.”
“Don’t worry about it, I can never do mine up.”
“It irks me that I wore the stupid jeans because I thought Martin might be there.”
“It seems that everything is irking you tonight,” Stella points out
“Yes.” It’s the only thing I manage because I don’t want to tell my sister that she is also irking me. So much for shaking off the funk.
“Want me to listen to you breathe into the phone until you get home?” It’s what both of us used to do—when one of us would walk anywhere at night, she would call the other and stay on the phone until they were home safely.
It’s not that Battle Harbour is a dangerous place, but we grew up listening to our mother go on about how rough some of the fishermen were.
“No, it’s fine. I’m almost there.”
“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “Talk tomorrow.”
“I thought you were home tomorrow.”
“Day after.”
“Okay. Say hi to Gunnar. Have fun.”
“I won’t, but thanks.”
I take a deep breath as we end the call. For a few minutes, I walk in silence, thinking thoughts about Martin and why he didn’t even look at me tonight.
The crunch of snow, the soft clips of my boots. The faint buzz of electrical wires and the even fainter hum of music in a nearby house.
It’s peaceful here, even with the cold wind blowing, searching for every exposed inch of my skin. It’s one of the things I love about Battle Harbour. There may be a sameness to life in a small town, a lack of privacy and the annoyance of never having someone new to meet, but it’s home.
And then my home is disturbed by the roar of an engine.
I hear the shift of gears and a motor revving like a wild animal coming through the trees.
The latest snowfall has clogged the sidewalks, and not been cleared yet, so I’ve been walking on the street—in the middle of the street, as one often does after dark because people don’t drive that fast and they always watch out for pedestrians.
Also, because it is late, and as a rule, residents of the town have an early bedtime.
I cross to the other side of the street because street safely suggests I should walk against traffic, not have a racing car come up behind me.
Who could be driving like that when the roads are slick with ice?
The roads are icy because it’s January in Landia and the roads will be icy until at least April, when the ice will be replaced by the grey-brown slushy mess that ruins many boots.
Living this far north means snow and ice and frequent falls—
“Dammit,” I hiss as my foot goes out from under me and I go down in the middle of the street.
Painfully.
Like, extremely painfully. There’s a quick snap-pop—so fast that I’m not sure if I actually heard it.
But I feel a stab of pain that races up my leg.
Wouldn’t that be the perfect end to the night if I sprain my ankle?
Grunting in a most unladylike manner, I manage to get to my feet just as the twin headlights round the corner.
Bearing down on me like a monster in the forest. And me, standing in the middle of the street.
I take a step to hurry out of the way, but my foot isn’t working. I can’t put any weight on it, and it hurts—
A screech of tires and headlights are all around me.