14 Finding My Place in the World
14
Finding My Place in the World
I turned to where I’d heard someone shout my name and saw Adele and Sid walking to our table.
“Hey!”
Adele hugged me so tight she squeezed a giggle out of me. I hadn’t expected such affection from her, and it made me feel a little awkward. I was almost moved to tears as I hugged her back.
“Honey, are you all right? That storm was worse than anyone expected, and we were worried about you. We went by your house and it was empty. I almost made Sid knock the door down.”
“Almost,” Sid interrupted her with a smirk. Adele gave him a playful slap on the chest. “Luckily we saw tire tracks going in the direction of the village, and I managed to convince her you had probably come down here.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she repeated. “You must have been scared, all alone there.”
“Relax, I’m fine. Plus, I had an unexpected visitor.” Trey stood up as I introduced him. “This is Trey, a friend of mine. This is Adele and Sid. They live on the island.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“The same, young man,” Sid said, reaching out his enormous hand.
“Oh, but you’re eating!” Adele almost shouted apologetically. “I’m so sorry for interrupting you.”
“It’s fine. You can join us if you like.”
“Yes, please do,” Trey seconded me, to my great relief.
We didn’t need to say it twice.
Sid pulled over two empty chairs, and we moved our plates aside to make room for them. Carlie came over, playing nice again, and Trey leaned in close to me.
“So first you introduced me as your brother-in-law’s friend. Now I’m your friend. Should I be getting excited about what comes next?”
I looked away, abashed, my defenses crumbling at my feet. Maybe I needed a break from them, though. Maybe there was no reason to keep them up. Maybe the line between bitterness and forgiveness is thin. Maybe it’s easy to imagine what you’d do in this or that situation when you’re living it in your mind, but when it actually happens, you have no idea how you’ll react. Because there are many shades of gray, and many colors in the mix, too.
“That depends,” I said softly.
“On what?” His face was very close.
“You think I’m going to make it that easy on you?”
“I’d be disappointed if you did.”
“Well, far be it from me to disappoint. I’m going to try to make you proud.” Looking at him, I saw something in his expression I had prayed to find there before.
“What do you do, Trey?” Sid asked.
“I’m an architect.”
“Ooh, a creative type. I like that. Have you worked on any projects we might know about?”
“No, sorry. I’m just starting out.”
Trey described his work and everything he hoped to do in the future. It was hard to listen to him. I was distracted by his good looks, his voice, his pronunciation, the elegance of his hands when he gestured, the echo of his laughter. But then he said something that did catch my attention: a plan he was working on to raise funds for some of the First Nations communities in the Maritimes to improve their dwellings, schools, and public buildings through the profits of his architecture projects.
I was impressed. I had no idea he was someone who would willingly give his time to others. I’d always thought of him as frivolous, living a life of girls and parties, blowing money on cars and trips like the stuck-up rich kid he’d always been in my mind.
I was sitting next to a virtual stranger. He was so different from how I remembered him. So much more complicated. And I wanted to know him now, to peel back all the layers until I knew the deepest parts of him.
Sid seemed to think highly of Trey, too, and offered to help him in the future in any way he could.
“Sid, that would be amazing. Thanks.”
“No worries, man. I’m Mohawk on my dad’s side, Paiute through my mother. I would do anything to help my brothers and sisters.”
Sid went on to tell us a bit about his life. He’d been born on the outskirts of Brantford, on the Six Nations reservation. In his teenage years, he went to live with an uncle on his mother’s side who made his living doing odd jobs on a ranch. In his free time, he did wood carving, sculpting traditional figures and symbols that he’d sell to tourists. He taught Sid how to work wood, and Sid took to it, and he liked being paid for his creations. Soon carving was how he made his living.
“So what brought you to Petit Prince?” Trey said.
“I came here for a relative’s funeral and I stuck around a while to help out the family. Then Adele showed up in my life and, well, we just stayed.”
“You left everything behind, too?” I asked.
Sid shook his head and scooped up a spoonful of blueberry flan. “I didn’t leave anything. I found everything here.”
He leaned over to Adele and kissed her on the cheek, and I thought my heart would melt.
Ridge came by with a bottle of liquor and a tray of glasses. I realized the place had almost totally emptied out.
“How about a drink for you all? On the house.”
“That’s very generous. Thank you, Ridge,” Adele said with a smile.
“Hey, Peter, come on over here and join us,” Ridge said to a customer having his coffee at the bar.
They pulled over another table, and Ridge served us. Peter turned out to be very nice. He was from Petit Prince, but two decades ago, he left the island for college. Once he graduated, he moved to New York, where he worked for a PR agency until he had two heart attacks back-to-back and decided to rethink where his life was going. He’d been home for less than a year, and now he grew potatoes and fished for lobster.
The door opened, and an older woman of medium stature with white hair and big blue eyes walked in. Her expression was stern, even annoyed, as she called out: “So this is the generation that’s supposed to take this country forward? Thank God I’ll be dead by then and won’t have to see it.”
Ridge laughed, a little buzzed. “Come on, Emma. I’ve got a bottle of moonshine set aside just for you.”
“If it’s as bad as that fish you cook, I’d just as soon drink the dishwater.”
“You’re heartless.”
“I’ve got my teeth, though. At my age, that matters more than a heart.”
We all cracked up, and the longer we sat there, the more I lost track of time, forgetting my worries and my constant, painful self-awareness. Sometimes, to find the answers you need, all you have to do is relax. Being there, I realized I wanted to feel the way those people did. They weren’t afraid of anything. They were happy with their simple lives, with moments like this one, with the honest pleasure of sharing a bottle of liquor.
I wanted that: a modest life.
I wanted a new beginning.
I wanted to be strong enough to achieve it.
I wanted to fill the emptiness in my life.
“I’m going to go take a walk,” I told Trey.
He looked up from the blueprints he’d gotten at the town hall. He’d been going over them for more than an hour, drawing new additions, making measurements. I’d been watching him, but I couldn’t make head or tail of what he was doing. For me, it was just lines and more lines.
“You want some company? I could leave this for a bit.”
“Nah, no need. I’m just going to go up and down the beach.”
“Okay.”
I walked out barefoot, stepping down from the porch to the damp grass, which tickled my feet. Once I was on the sand, I traced out the line of the shore, enjoying the coolness as my heels sank in. It was afternoon, and the sun had begun to drop on the horizon. I was ready to declare an end to the day and get some rest.
The sea murmured softly, and I got lost in memories that had been dormant for a long time, moments I had pushed aside to avoid the feelings they provoked in me. My dreams when I was a little girl and I still believed in magic and the impossible felt within reach. The time when I felt loved and protected, and a good-night kiss and a gentle look were all I needed to drive my fears away.
But suddenly there were no more kisses, no more smiles, and the fear came back. Fear of the dark, of solitude, of a world that had stopped all at once. Cold, unreal, without a trace of magic. Without meaning, without a center, because she had left it.
Ever since childhood, there were things I didn’t understand: my father’s cold looks, his shouting, his constant disapproval. Like an eraser, they blurred me at the edges and made me something vague and distant from what I truly was. As I grew older, I tried to rediscover all that. I drew myself from different perspectives, in different colors, trying to find an image of who I was that he would approve of. I never did, and I got lost on the way.
Maybe Grandma and Hayley were right. That was just a mirage. Trying to be everything others wanted from me, trying to be appreciated, valued, and loved, I distorted myself so much I couldn’t recognize the real me behind the mask.
But I needed to find that person now, rediscover her, listen to her. Ask her what her dreams and desires were. Understand her. Get to know her. Help her to stop being a defenseless little girl. Learn with her to make my own decisions without thinking of anyone but myself.
Swimming against that current of thought, I reached the pebble beach. I remembered there what Adele had said. After a strong storm, you might find glass on the shore that had been cast up by the powerful waves.
Instead of thinking, I let my mind go blank and looked for mermaids’ tears among the stones.
I found a small green one and weighed it in my hand, stroking its edges with my thumb. It was round, but slightly rough. I put it in my pocket, along with several others I came across afterward. Not a bad haul.
In the distance, I saw the first star of dusk against the gray and purple shadows of the sky. If I didn’t hurry, night would fall before I made it back.
I went inside and saw the table had been set for dinner. Delicious aromas came from the kitchen. Trey had been heating up the leftovers from the restaurant that Ridge had boxed up for us.
He was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the oven, concentrating on something in his hands. I didn’t realize it was my book until I saw him turn a page. A million butterflies took flight in my stomach when he grinned at something.
I cleared my throat and he looked up, startled. He hadn’t known I was there.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I realize that.”
He smiled and closed the book, holding it up for me to see.
“I hope you don’t mind. I saw it on the mantel.”
“Not at all. You can borrow it if you like, but only while we’re here. I never part from it.”
With a curious expression, he told me, “It’s not my usual kind of reading, but it’s good.” He handed it back to me. “How many times have you read it?”
“I lost count a long time ago. But lots.”
“You can tell. The book feels like it could disintegrate at any time.”
“It’s in that shape because it’s a family heirloom. My mother gave it to me when I turned five. It had belonged to her before, and to my grandmother a long time before that. Mom used to read it to me at night. That’s my favorite memory of her. For lots of reasons that are hard to express.”
Trey’s eyes filled with compassion.
“I think I’m starting to understand some things. Like why your brother used to always call you Pumpkin.”
“You did, too.”
“Yeah, because Hoyt did it and I thought it was funny, but I never knew what the story was. It’s because of the main character and her red hair, right?”
“Yeah. I used to like to pretend I was her. I’d paint freckles on my face and talk in a high-pitched voice. Hoyt would pretend to be Gilbert because I didn’t have anyone else to play with.” I laughed, but with a touch of sadness. “Then my mother died and he had to take care of me. He used to read me a few pages of this book every night, the same way she did.”
“I can understand why it’s so special to you.”
All at once, I was impatient for him to understand me, and I explained, “It is, but it’s not just because of what it means or the people I associate it with. Or because it made me realize I wanted to be a writer. It’s also the story itself. It’s Anne. I feel like we have things in common, and the things we don’t, I wish we did. I wish I could be more like her.”
Trey turned his head to me, and I felt he was looking inside me, seeing into my soul. I’d had that impression more and more frequently lately. He reached out and grabbed the book I was holding tight to my chest, and when he did, his fingertips brushed my cleavage. When he withdrew his hand, I felt a burning there.
“You know what? I think I will read it.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” The oven’s buzzer sounded and he turned it off. “So wait—you just said you want to be a writer?”
I felt faint. “No.”
“Yeah. You literally just said it.”
“Okay, I said it, but I don’t feel like talking about that with you.”
“Why not?”
Trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t require me to confess anything, I drew a blank, and I finally blurted out, “Just because.”
He grinned mischievously. His mischief was infectious. But he didn’t pry; he just took dinner from the oven while I watched him, and my stupid, innocent heart remained attentive to his voice, his every word and movement…those eyes that seemed to see every single thing I tried to hide from him.
We sat at the table, where Trey opened a bottle of Riesling he’d found in a small wine rack in one of the cabinets. It was exquisite, and a perfect pairing for the fish.
Setting my fork down and wiping my lips with my napkin, I said, “This morning, when you were talking with Sid about your job and the projects you had in mind…”
“Yeah?”
“I had no idea about all that. All those things you’re describing, they…they just…”
“Spit it out, Harper.”
My feet were dancing nervously under the table. “I just assumed you’d end up working for your dad, designing fancy apartment buildings and five-star hotels for oil billionaires. Piling up money so you could blow it on stupid shit like one of the Kardashians.”
He almost spit out his wine, and he laughed so loud it echoed through the room. “I’m really starting to worry about the image you have of me.”
“Well, don’t, because it’s starting to be obvious I have no idea who you are.”
“There’s something we can do about that,” Trey said, turning somber. “Ask me whatever you want. Shoot.”
I sat back and thought it over before beginning, “You’re working on a project to raise money for First Nations communities.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve read a lot about the situation on the reservations. The folks living there just want the chance to preserve their culture and identity for future generations. The government does next to nothing for them. So someone else needs to step in.”
“And that someone is you?”
“Me and other people. I’m just one of many.”
“Why?”
“I just answered that question.”
“I mean why are you worried about what happens to those people?”
He lifted his napkin from his lap, dropped it on the table, and took a sip of wine before refilling both our glasses.
“I visited a couple of the Mi’kmaq reserves four years back. I saw them from the inside, and I learned what matters to the people there and how important their roots are to them. I couldn’t just look away.”
“That was four years ago. Was that the same time you went to PEI with my brother and sister?”
“Yeah, but that’s another story. A much longer, more personal one.”
“One you don’t want to tell me.”
“One I don’t know how to tell you, Harper.”
He got up and opened a window. I, too, felt it was getting a little stuffy inside. As the fresh air streamed in, I heard him walking behind me, then felt his hand on my shoulder. An electric shock traveled from my feet to the top of my head.
“Come outside. It’s nice. I’ll pick up all this later.”
I grabbed my glass and followed him out to the porch, where we sat on the steps. It smelled of cut grass, damp air, and salt. I could see the dark outline of the coast lit up by the moon and the reflections of the stars in the clear sky on the surface of the water. There were millions of tiny bright spots over our head.
The waves were breaking against the rocks. Time seemed to have stopped. Is it possible for two people to communicate while saying nothing? I was starting to think so that night. Glances and timid expressions seemed to give birth to a real connection, an invisible thread joining the lives of two beings. Uniting us, one stitch at a time.
“What else do you want to know?” he asked me.
Enjoying the view of his profile as he looked straight ahead, I said, “If your main work is nonprofit, what do you live on?”
“I got lucky, and an environmental foundation bought my capstone project.”
“Wow. It must have been really good.”
“It’s a marine research center, designed on a limited budget with recycled materials, everything sustainable and off the grid. Its focus is on recovering endangered species. They paid me enough that I don’t need to be in a rush. Let’s put it that way. And if things get tight, I’ve almost got them on the hook for another project I finished last year.” He took a sip of wine. “Though, truth be told, I wouldn’t want to sell it.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe it’s just a stupid dream, I don’t know… But I’d like to do it on my own, from beginning to end. It’s good enough that I think I could find investors for it.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to force it out of you?”
“It’s a model for a small town, but dedicated to culture. With art schools focusing on painting, music, sculpture, writing, galleries, concert halls, gathering places, and student residences. I know it’s ambitious. But there’s nothing like that in the world! I don’t want recognition or anything like that. If I wanted my name in the papers, I’d just design skyscrapers and luxury hotels and corporate headquarters. I want to do this, because…because without art, life would be a mistake.”
His dreams—his mind—had captivated me. His kindness. His sensitivity. And his intelligence, which I saw glimmer in that quote he’d just used to express his thoughts.
“Friedrich Nietzsche said something like that, didn’t he?”
“Bingo.”
I felt a wave of emotion, something completely new, in my abdomen. It rose up into my chest and throat, almost oppressive in the way it flooded all of my senses.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”
“No reason,” I responded. But my cheeks were burning.
I didn’t tell him I was trying to figure out how to convince myself that the guy next to me was the same one I had met one September afternoon when I was just twelve years old. The one who had broken my heart. That broken heart I had struggled to piece back together and that was now throbbing harder with every detail of his soul Trey gave me a glimpse of. That heart that was revived thanks to a hope in him I’d never fully let die.
“Harper, seriously, you’re making me nervous.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
Just then, a shooting star crossed the sky.
And I made a wish: I want to find my place in the world .
I knew it was stupid to make a wish just because some rock that had caught fire in atmospheric gases had appeared and would soon burn up and vanish. It didn’t make sense, but still, I put every part of myself into that wish. I couldn’t help it, the same way a moth can’t help flying toward a flame. Trey was lost in thought, and in the dark, his face was hard to make out, but it didn’t matter because I knew every detail of it.
He surprised me with the words, “I’m afraid you’re going to make me start thinking you like me again.”
“You wish,” I responded.
“Or that you never did stop liking me.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice.
“Again, you wish. But tough luck.”
“Getting back to things you want to know about me,” he said, “no, I’m not going out with anyone. In case you were wondering.”
“It never occurred to me to ask,” I lied.
“Sure.” He leaned back and stretched his legs. “Just so you know, I’m not just single. I’m also open to offers.”
I felt a heat in my chest, and I knew it wasn’t just the wine. “If you think one’s coming from me, you can keep waiting.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to find that out for yourself, Pumpkin.”
“Call me that again and you’ll regret it.”
“Are you threatening me? If this is going to get physical, maybe we should try a date first.”
“Or not.”
“Fine,” he replied, “we can get physical without one. But only because you insist. Just so you know, I like the sound of a date.”
“No physical contact and no dates!” I shouted.
“Fine! I mean, not going out or not having sex first feels like rushing it to me, but if you want to just go for it, we can get married.”
I laughed under my breath. We were flirting. I don’t know how we made it to this, but we were flirting. I was on fire. “Technically, we’ve already done one of those things.”
“It kills me that I can’t remember,” he muttered, frustrated. Then he leaned in, and the light from the living room glowed in his eyes. I held my breath as he said, “I can’t stop thinking about it. That you and I…”
I heard a ding. For a moment, I didn’t realize it was my cell phone. But when I did, I leapt up.
“Oh my God, cell phone reception! Civilization!” I shouted, going inside. I thought I could hear Trey laughing behind me.
After the emotion of the past days, my sister’s voice nearly made me cry. We talked for a long time, and with each second that passed, I had to bite my tongue harder not to tell her about Trey. But he was there to do something nice for her, and I couldn’t reveal his presence without spilling the beans about what Scott had in mind.
“You sound different,” Hayley said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Your voice, your tone, the way you’re phrasing things… I don’t know, you sound happy. Content. Like actually happy, not just faking it.”
I took a second to think over what she’d said. She was right. I was happy.
“Yeah, I feel good, Hayley. Maybe it’s the place, or maybe it’s the people I’m meeting, but…either way, thanks for forcing me to come here.”
“You say that like I really coerced you.”
“No…”
“But if you’d gotten stubborn, I would have.”
“Sadly, I believe you.”
“Either way,” she said, “you must be doing something right to feel that way. So whatever it is, don’t stop it.”
“I promise.”
“I’ve got to go, I think Scott’s drowning.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, or getting eaten by piranhas,” she said in a flat, dry tone. “Actually, I think a jellyfish stung him. I’ll call you later. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I looked at the phone with a bittersweet feeling before falling back on the cushions and looking at the ceiling. I stayed still there, thinking. It’s amazing how differently you can start to look at the world when you find out how other people see it.
Thinking about my sister made me think about Hoyt, and I sent him a text to tell him I’d be out of town a few days, that I needed to disconnect. I didn’t give him any explanation, because otherwise I’d have had to lie, and I didn’t feel like it.
I smiled when his response came a few seconds later.
Hey, you can count on me, you know that, right? I’ll always be on your side. Love you, Pumpkin.
My eyes fell closed. It was all I could do to stand up and go brush my teeth.
There wasn’t a sound in the house. When I crossed the hall, I saw Trey lying there on his bed. I could hear his breathing, and my nerves made me shake all over as I walked over to his doorway. He was sleeping there with my book open on his chest. It was adorable.
But I couldn’t just leave him that way, so I tiptoed in, trying not to make noise, picked the book up, and laid it on the nightstand. Then I covered him up with the comforter at the foot of the bed. I looked at him a few seconds and noticed the deep circles under his eyes. They weren’t the kind you get from physical exhaustion; they were from another kind of exhaustion, the kind loneliness can cause. I knew that because I’d seen them under my own eyes too many times.
I turned off the night.
“Good night,” I whispered.
“Good night, Pumpkin,” he murmured, half-asleep, once I was in the hall.
I smiled. And my foolish heart smiled, too.