Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
TIMBER
The storm pelts the community center. Tommy's and Lucas's parents pick them up, leaving the building emptier than it was just moments ago.
“Should we go to May’s for a visit and hope the rain stops?” I ask Hailey.
She races to get her coat while I gather the flyers the kids made that morning. I like all of them, especially Hailey's. It's full of smeared blue and green paints, like the ocean where her dad sails. There's a sun in one corner made with yellow handprints. She proudly told me the gray spot was supposed to be her dad's boat, and the sun was happy about the potluck. We make our way out the door and into the storm. The wind fights with our coats as we hurry through the heavy rain. I keep the flyers safe in a folder close to my chest
Reaching May's diner, the warm air slices the chill. Inside, the storm seems distant. Dusted with flour from her baking, May smiles and waves toward an empty booth. “You two look like wet cats.” She reaches behind the counter, pulls out two towels, and tosses them to us. “Dry off, and I'll get you some drinks to warm your bones.”
While May fixes us hot drinks, I admire the proud handiwork of the children. May serves us cocoa for Hailey and coffee for me, with the scents weaving through the cinnamon-infused air.
“Well, look at these masterpieces!” May says.
“We plan to post them everywhere, like you suggested, but the weather needs to cooperate.”
May carefully selects one for the window and pins it up. I can't see it from where we're sitting, but Hailey's face lights up, and I know it's her art on display for the whole town to see. The other flyers lay on our table, a splash of vibrant creativity among the white ceramic mugs and the dark wood. There's a picture of the community center, stick figures holding hands around it, and on another, a garden with flowers bigger than the people tending them.
Peering out the window, I can’t shake thoughts of Kane out at sea. The diner’s cozy chatter fades as I imagine the storm’s fury he must be facing. Hailey’s here with her cocoa, happily drawing, and I hide my worry behind a steady smile, trying to keep the storm in my heart from showing. But inside, I'm on that boat with him, experiencing every wave and gust, hoping he's okay. I hold on to the hope that he'll come back to us. I’m trying to stay strong, for Hailey’s sake .
Leaning on the table, May says, “Where's that man of yours?”
“You know he’s not mine.” In my mind, the words form a different truth. The thought is a wishful what-if or maybe that I tuck away into a corner of my heart. I look to the window where the rain pelts the pane. “He’s still out there.”
Unfazed, May smiles and brushes flour from her hands onto her apron. “Well, wherever he is, he's a seasoned fisherman and can weather anything thrown at him. You don't have to worry about that one.”
And just like that, she shifts my worry to confidence regarding Kane's ability. “You're right,” I agree, watching Hailey from the corner of my eye. I’m looking at things from a position of inexperience. I remind myself this is familiar territory for him.
The noise of the storm fades, leaving silence behind. We should head out. I gather our belongings and tell Hailey, “It's time to go.” She springs from the booth, clutching her napkin artwork.
“It's time for us to leave,” I tell May, catching her attention as she cleans the counter.
“Drive safe, Timber,” May says.
“Will do. Thanks for the cocoa and coffee. What do I owe you?” I reach for my wallet.
May shakes her head. “Nothing, it was my pleasure.” She looks at Hailey. “Thank you for the art. It made my day.”
I nod, appreciative, and Hailey echoes a “thank you” as we leave .
Outside, a fresh canvas unfolds where the storm has passed. The ATV seats glisten with raindrops, and I sweep the moisture away. Hailey climbs into her damp seat, undeterred by anything. After buckling her in, I start the engine and we begin the journey home. I’m looking forward to a peaceful evening. I think about Kane returning, his clothes damp and his eyes tired, but he’s safe. I can almost hear the clatter of dishes as we clean up from dinner. The low hum of our voices fills the kitchen. In my mind, we’re laughing while Hailey tells him about her day, and everything seems complete. I imagine us sharing stories and the comfort of being together, the storm nothing but a memory.
Once we arrive, I park the ATV. “Let's go in and think about dinner.”
“Let's have ice cream and cookies,” she says.
I chuckle and lead the way to the house. “Let's start with something warm—grilled cheese and tomato soup—and then we'll talk about ice cream.”
Her face falls but recovers fast. “Okay, and a movie night?”
Stepping into the kitchen, I'm hit with a sense of gratitude. The warm glow of the lights, the hum of the refrigerator, and the certainty of the gas flame are all luxuries that are comforting tonight. “That's a deal.”
As I cook, there's a cozy normalcy to it all, a stark contrast to the cabin's solitude. I think about Kane coming home, how he'll step through the door with stories etched by the sea—tales of close calls with the waves or the thrill of the catch .
The soup bubbles away and the sandwiches crisp up nicely, but there's a knot forming in my stomach with each passing minute. Hailey's voice is a bright thread through the growing dusk, yet my eyes keep looking at the clock. It's later than I expected.
At first, I tell myself when he said he'd be home “late,” the definition of “late” was loose, especially for a fisherman. But as the evening wears on, “late” starts to seem more and more like “too late.” A chill seeps in, not from the evening air, but from the worry that's pooling inside me. Then again, I volunteered to feed Hailey and bathe her. Somehow, I must have expected he’d miss dinner and bedtime.
I consider calling Eliza, but I dismiss the thought. What would I say? That I'm worried because he's not back at the time I arbitrarily decided was “late?” I'd sound foolish, paranoid.
We sit down to eat, and the savory scent of melted cheese mingles with my rising concern. Hailey is blissfully unaware, her spirits as high as her laughter, but with each chime of the clock, I glance toward the window, half-expecting to see Kane's silhouette.
Post-meal, we set the plates and used soup bowls in the sink. “Next up is movie time.”
Hailey nods enthusiastically, and for a moment, I let her excitement push away the cold knot of worry in my stomach. We settle on the couch, the opening credits casting a soft light in the dim room, and for the length of the film, I immerse myself in the adventure, sharing laughs and glances with Hailey.
Yet, even as we watch Willy Wonka , a part of my mind ticks away with the clock on the wall. I hoped Kane would join us, laughing at the silly parts. But the space beside me remains empty.
Movie time shifts to bath time. I run the water, making sure it's just the right temperature, and Hailey splashes among the bubbles. Her carefree joy is a stark contrast to my growing unease. The sound of wind against the house prompts me to check the window, and the dark outside offers no comfort.
I tuck Hailey in, her room bathed in the pale blue night light she can't sleep without. “Dream of ice cream castles,” I say.
“And chocolate rivers,” she adds, already half in dreamland.
Downstairs, the silence presses in. I curl into the couch, drawing the blanket tighter around me, trying to recall May's words. “He's a seasoned fisherman.”
But Aurora and her troublesome engine are haunting me. Kane has been late before, but never this late. I have never been on the troller myself, but from Kane's frustrated updates, I know it has seen better days. He's skilled, no doubt, but even the most experienced sailor can't always predict the sea's whims.
Another gust of wind lashes the house, more ferocious than the last. Instinctively, I rise and peer through the window, searching for any sign in the pitch-black night. The clock ticks on, a relentless reminder that time—and perhaps the sea—waits for no one.
It's ten o'clock now. The void of Kane's absence fills the room like a tangible presence, and I can't sit idle any longer.
With a trembling hand, I reach for the phone, and dial Eliza's number, hating that I might disturb her rest, especially now, with a newborn in the house. The line clicks, and after a couple of rings, a groggy voice answers.
“Hello?” The man’s voice is thick with sleep.
“Who's this?” I ask.
“I'm Matt, who's this?”
“It's Timber, the teacher covering Eliza's summer program,” I begin, my voice betraying my worry. “I'm sorry to call so late, but it's about Kane—he hasn't come back, and the storm...”
Matt's sleepiness vanishes, replaced by a sharpened tone. “Kane's still out? That's not like him. He knows better than to risk the storm. That damn boat.”
His words confirm my fears, sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the night's chill. The room spins slightly, and I brace against the kitchen counter, my concern for him growing into a knot that threatens to choke me.
“I'll alert the Hollisters. We'll start looking for Kane now. Don't worry, Timber, we'll find him,” Matt assures me, but the edge in his voice is unmistakable. This is serious.
I hang up the phone. The taste of metal fills my mouth, the early signs of panic that I try to swallow down. Despite the complexity of our attraction, the idea of Kane's absence becoming permanent is unbearable .
With Matt's assurance that they will search, there's nothing I can do but wait.
Throughout the night, I am stationed on the living room couch. Every creak and whisper of the house calls me to the window, searching for signs of his arrival. But as the first light of dawn washes the room in a pale glow, the reality that Kane is still out there, somewhere, hardens like ice in my stomach.
The thought of Hailey, possibly without her dad, sends a shiver down my spine. Her mom's distant, Eliza's got her hands full, and her uncles ... they're great, but they're not Kane. It would upend everything. Could I step in? Should I? These questions churn in my mind.
I’ve got responsibilities, too—my job, this town, other kids who count on me. But as the minutes tick by, the temptation to hunker down next to the phone, to call someone, anyone, grows. Yet I force myself to stick to the routine, for Hailey’s sake, for normalcy.
With a heavy heart, I wake Hailey. She blinks up at me, her first words are a sleepy question. “Where's Daddy?”
The truth hangs heavy on my tongue, but she deserves more than a well-meaning fib. I kneel beside her bed, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Daddy's been delayed, sweetheart. There was a big storm, and sometimes that can happen. People are looking for him, and we hope to see him soon.”
Seeing Hailey's worried frown, my stomach clenches. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, vowing to protect and comfort her. The fear that Kane might not return sends a surge of determination through me—to be a steadfast presence for her, no matter what. Inside, I’m a storm of worry, but for Hailey, I'll be a shelter until he's home.
I maintain a calm exterior as I help Hailey get ready, but inside, my thoughts are a whirlpool of concern. Each time she looks up at me, I wonder if she's searching for the same reassurance I'm aching to give. “Will Daddy be home soon?” she asks again, and I can only nod, offering a hopeful, “Very soon,” even as my stomach knots tighter.
After breakfast, we step out into a world that seems unchanged, under a sky too blue for my inner turmoil. “Let's go feed the chickens,” I suggest, trying to usher in some normalcy. I've never done it before, but I say, “Hailey, can you show me how?” Her face lights up, eager to be the guide. As she leads the way, I follow, grateful for this moment of leadership that makes her feel big and important.
After the chickens are fed, Hailey scampers to gather her things for the day. I stand in the kitchen with bread and bologna. Should I make sandwiches for Kane? The act is like stitching normalcy and hope into the fabric of an uncertain day.
I decide yes, because hope is something you do, not only something you feel. Making his sandwich, placing it alongside Hailey's in the lunchbox, is my quiet act of faith. It’s a declaration to the universe. I expect him back. I’m waiting, we're waiting. It's normal, it's hopeful, it's necessary .
Hailey and I walk in silence to the ATV. I secure her into the passenger seat and climb in beside her. The engine rumbles to life. The path to the community center unfolds with familiarity, each turn a route I've navigated with Kane. What once seemed so vibrant and full of life is dull and lifeless.
As we ride, Hailey sits quietly, her usual chatter absent. She stares ahead, and I wonder if her young mind is trying to make sense of the uncertainty or if she's conjuring images like me. Images of her father, safe and sound, coming home.
We pull in front of the community center, and the ATV grinds to a halt. I help Hailey off, and her hand finds mine, a small act that speaks volumes.
At the door stands May. Seeing her there, out of place against the backdrop of the building instead of her usual spot in the diner, sends a jolt of fear through me. She's a fixture behind her counter, not here. This isn't right. My stomach drops, and I tighten my grip on Hailey's hand, readying myself for the kind of news that can tilt your world off its axis.
We approach, and I tell Hailey, “Why don't you start getting the art supplies out today? I'll be right in.”
Hailey walks inside and I turn to May. “What do you know that I don't?”
"They've received a signal on the beacon. Kane's vessel—it's way off course, further out than it should be."
I feel a jolt of panic. The beacon? Off course? My mind races with what this means and what comes next. The uncertainty is suffocating, but I'm comforted by the fact that he turned on the beacon. That has to mean something good.
“Is he okay?”
“Hard to know until they find him.”
Hearing the hesitation in May’s voice, I search her face for any glimmer of hope, any sign that this is just a precaution, that Kane is okay. I force calm into my voice, steady and sure, despite the tremor of fear that’s breaking through. “They'll find him,” I say quietly, almost in a whisper. “Kane knows that boat, knows the sea. He’ll hold on. He has to.” And I cling to that belief because the alternative is too scary to entertain.
“He’ll come home, Timber,” May says, but her voice lacks the conviction I need right now.
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll wait, and hope.”
Taking a moment, I prepare myself for the day ahead, drawing on every ounce of strength to be the pillar Hailey and the other children need.
As I step inside, the silence of the center is a stark contrast to the tumultuous rush of my thoughts. I find Hailey in the art room, her small hands diligently setting out paints and brushes, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Good job, Hailey,” I say, my voice steady. Hailey’s smile is a small comfort, a reminder of innocence and trust. But then Tommy and Lucas arrive with their parents, and their parents’ masked concern adds weight to the facade I'm trying to maintain. The question in their eyes is as clear as the words they whisper to me. “Any news about Kane? ”
I shake my head slightly, forcing out the facts. “No news yet, but they've picked up the beacon signal and are looking for him.” Repeating it, I'm clinging to the hope those words carry, trying to keep the worry from my voice for the sake of everyone listening. “They’ll find him.”
They nod, grateful for the reassurance, however fragile. They turn to their children, bending down to plant kisses and whisper encouragement before leaving for the day.
I'm left with the kids, their presence a balm to the helplessness that gnaws at me. They gravitate toward the art supplies Hailey has laid out.
“Let's make something special today,” I suggest, hoping to channel their energy into creativity and maybe, just maybe, keep my mind off the waiting, off the beacon, off the relentless sea, off Kane.