19 Does It Have a Name? Is It Going Somewhere…?
19
Does It Have a Name? Is It Going Somewhere…?
I’ve always been a good girl, but what I wanted was to be free. I couldn’t say how many times I’d fallen, how many times I’d risen up from the ground broken, how many cracks I bore, how many pieces of me were missing. I was sunny on the outside, but inside the storm was always raging. Now, though, I felt myself falling upward, and I was poised to land in the present. A present that was full of dreams.
I didn’t want to stay there with the door closed, watching life through the peephole. I wanted to cross the threshold. I wanted to decide about things and not worry about the consequences. I wanted to live for myself, to do things on my own. To depend on me and no one else. To love, to yearn. To accept that this is who I am, this is who life has made me. Maybe I’ll feel alone, maybe I’ll suffer when I don’t want to. But how long the pain lasts depends on me.
Loving doesn’t mean the other person loves you back. But that’s also not a reason to give up on it.
Love exists whether we want it or not.
It’s love that chooses, and you just have to follow along.
I’d never have reached that point with Trey if I hadn’t been led along by his words, by his way of understanding me, by that ease with which he looked into me and saw things I didn’t know existed. At the same time, he’d taught me that I didn’t need him to pass through that door. I didn’t need him or anyone else. Just myself. Because there’s only one person who knows what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. One person who always laughs and cries with me. And that’s me.
We can’t always wait for someone to put out a safety net for us before we jump.
If you want to be happy, you have to try.
I don’t know how long I stayed in bed thinking all this over. I could have stayed there even longer, floating in the calm waters of my emotions. It was the first Monday in September, Labor Day in Canada.
I kept following my thoughts as I showered. The rational and the irrational ones. Some were clear as daylight; others were confused and tangled. I had taken a step the night before with Trey. That had set something in motion. And I wasn’t going to stop it now.
I dressed and grabbed my things. After a few tries, I managed to get my sister on the phone. I couldn’t keep her on the line long, but I could tell that she was happy. She told me how scared and excited she’d been to swim with the sharks. That despite her claustrophobia, she’d enjoyed her deep-sea diving class that Scott had gotten her. Then she started in with the questions, and I had to bite my tongue not to let it all out.
“So, you’re going to keep the bookstore? Are you going to write, too?”
“Yeah. That’s the plan.”
“My God, Harper. You can’t imagine how happy that makes me. Deep down I knew it. I knew that was the decision you’d make. You’re a compulsive romantic, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re emotional, and sensitive, and you were born to be free. To dream.” She sounded prouder of me with each loving word, and that made me weepy. “We’ll celebrate when we’re both back, okay?”
“Yeah, that’ll be amazing. Hayley?”
“Yeah?”
“How come you didn’t just tell me what to do before?”
“Babe, I did tell you, lots of times. But you didn’t listen. You needed to see it for yourself.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. And I closed my eyes, imagining her gentle face.
“Harper, you know I’m here for everything you need. The same goes for Hoyt and Scott. We’re your family.”
She was trying hard to wring the tears out of me, but I held on until we said goodbye a short while later. Then I sent a message to Hoyt. He responded with a selfie from the beach that warmed my heart. Was that an octopus he had on his head?
Trey wasn’t in his room, so I went downstairs. I tried to be cheerful, but I was trembling inside.
Trembling from uncertainty.
Trembling because I had no idea how to act around him now.
Trembling because my feelings were growing too big for me to handle.
“Have you seen my friend?” I asked the receptionist as I turned in my key.
“I think he’s outside.”
“Thanks.”
I walked onto the porch, nerves frayed, and found him. He’d brought his car around to the entrance and was leaning against it, waiting for me, in torn jeans and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His hair was in sexy disarray.
He had been looking at his phone, but now he glanced up as I came to meet him. I wasn’t sure what to do or say. How to act. He stepped forward, too, and his eyes descended briefly to my lips before he kissed me, pulling me close and making all my fears and doubts disappear.
There really was a him and me—an us.
I realized then that we had always known each other, somehow, but that before had been the wrong time, and without realizing it, I’d been waiting for him. I realized that the hatred I had felt for him was a way of not forgetting him. Of holding on to him until I could love him the way I should.
“The dining room’s full, but I found a café a few minutes away that doesn’t look bad,” he said.
“Cool. I’m dying of hunger. I need something in my system ASAP.”
“Same,” he said, and I felt his fingers travel from my waist to my hips, where they paused, slightly jittery. He seemed hesitant to pull away.
I wanted him. I wanted, wanted, wanted him.
I recognized then how much desire can hurt. Can shake you. Can stick the knife in and twist it. And I felt a tickle on my skin, a dampness between my legs. I felt my fingers twitching, I felt need. All at once, like a bomb going off.
I never knew my body could feel that way. A sensation as soft as a whisper and powerful as an avalanche. My body. Alive. Desperate. Hungry.
We left Cavendish on the highway to New London, crossed Stanley Bridge, and soon were parking in the lot of a small restaurant called Sutherland’s. We took our seats on the terrace and ordered coffee and sandwiches.
We didn’t talk much through breakfast, and even in the car we were hesitant.
We took off, not sure where we were going. I liked that: improvising, being free.
After New London came Kensington, where we stopped to visit a haunted house on a hill. It was a theme park, a bizarre Tudor mansion built at the beginning of the 1890s that had a koi pond and a petting zoo. Its first owner had been a rich Englishman known to the locals as Doctor Jack.
According to legend, Doctor Jack rented out rooms in the mansion and attracted many visitors. Some of them disappeared and were never heard from again, and it was said that their ghosts remained there, wandering the halls at night.
We didn’t see any ghosts, but we did find some hilarious keepsakes in the gift shop.
Later, we ate in Summerside at a pizza place close to the port. There, we met an old couple who told us we should visit the lighthouse on Cape Egmont and the Bottle Houses, which a former lighthouse keeper had begun building in 1980.
That was enough to arouse our curiosity, and we headed out. I don’t know how long we spent there. It could have been twenty minutes, or it could have been two hours. Trey was fascinated by it: out of recycled bottles, one man had built a house, a tavern, and a chapel. It had taken thousands of bottles cemented together, of different shapes, sizes, and colors. If no one had gathered them, they’d just have ended up in a landfill.
Trey observed and admired everything, right down to the last corner, noticing the smallest details. Especially interesting to him were the places the structures had been repaired. And, of course, we were dazzled by the symphony of light pouring in through the colored glass.
I got tired and sat down to rest on one of the benches around the property to watch him walk back and forth taking pictures with his cell phone. I took mine out, too, to check my email and saw I had two missed calls and a text message from Frances. I’d had it on silent. Dammit.
Hey, Harper, I just wanted to tell you I’ll have to leave earlier than I thought. My sister’s ill and she needs my help. I wish I could be here when you get back, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll see each other soon. Don’t worry, I’ve left you a list of instructions with everything you’ll need to know. Take care. I love you.
I dialed her, but the call went straight to voicemail.
I had talked to her a few days before, the same morning Trey showed up with the tickets, but I hadn’t told her anything about my decision about the bookstore or about my relationship with him. I wanted to do that in person. But I still felt the need to talk, for her to listen to me, so I could share with her all those feelings I had.
I tried her one more time, then put my phone away.
When Trey finally came over, my mind disconnected from everything else and focused on him. He awakened so much in me…
As a joke, he bowed and invited me to accompany him. The sea breeze curled around us as we walked to the lighthouse. The afternoon was pretty, the sun an intense orange. We held hands as we walked along the cliffside. The views at the end of the cape were incredible. The vast ocean, the waves breaking against the rocks, the bright-red sand, and far out, a whale. I pointed to it, but couldn’t utter a word because I had rarely seen anything so beautiful.
Trey smiled and wrapped an arm around me, and I leaned my back into his chest. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, and his preoccupied air made me think of a defenseless little child I wanted to protect. Something was going on with him, and that something had to do with me or with us. And that scared me, because in four days, I’d fallen hopelessly in love with him. Or maybe I had been since the first moment I saw him.
“It’s after five, and we’re two hours from Souris. We’ve missed the ferry,” he said.
“I don’t mind spending another night here. We can probably find somewhere to sleep.”
“You’re thinking about sleeping?”
His voice was like molten chocolate spilling over me and warming my skin, my muscles, my bones.
“You’re not?”
“I just meant there are lots of things we could do awake.”
He slipped a hand under my sweater and caressed my stomach, my ribs, climbed until he was just millimeters from my breasts. Then he moved downward, just with his fingertips, and every line they traced burned like fire. He was torturing me.
The ground shifted. What were we doing? Who were we? Where were we going? I still needed answers; I hadn’t learned to live without them. I turned and looked at him, and asked, “What is this?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You and me, what are we doing? Is it real? Does it have a name? Is it going somewhere? Is this just something that happened because we were on the island together? Will it vanish once we leave?”
He let go of me, and I felt so small in that moment. His face was grave, serious, as he responded.
“Look, I had no idea this was going to happen. But it is happening, and it’s real. It’s one hundred percent real. As to what we should call it or where it’s going…I can’t tell you that, Harper. I don’t think it even depends on me. I have other things to take care of, and until that’s done, I can’t think beyond the now.”
I felt a sharp pain in my chest as I asked, “Are you talking about someone else? Another girl?”
“No! I swear I’m not. You’re the only one, Pumpkin. I think you always have been.”
“Is it my brother, then? Because when he said what he said to you, that was a long time ago. He’s not going to do anything. I’m twenty-two years old, now, I’m an adult. You’re his best friend. He’ll probably be happy for us.” I was stumbling over my words.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t let your brother come between you and me.”
“Then tell me what’s going on, because I don’t understand. What things do you need to take care of?”
He bent over and kissed me, once, twice, three times. Soft little kisses, gentle, intimate. Then he leaned his forehead against mine.
“Nothing. Don’t worry. I just…I just want to do things right.”
“Me too.”
“I feel like we should try not to think too much, just let time pass and see what it brings us.”
I couldn’t reply when I saw how sincere he looked. I only had two options: end everything just then, end the torture, but also the joy—or accept whatever he was offering me.
Maybe there wasn’t a name for what we were sharing or a map to keep me from getting lost. But I chose. I chose to walk the tightrope, chose our kisses, chose our touch. Chose him.
For as long as it lasted.
For as long as neither of us walked away.
For as long as he needed to resolve his issues.
For as long as holding on to him hurt less than letting him go.
I opened my eyes slowly. My eyelids felt heavy. I saw Trey driving, one hand on the wheel, the other arm hanging out the window. The wind was ruffling his hair, and the rays of the setting sun were reflected in his glasses. I memorized his profile, every contour, every inch.
He turned and looked at me. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”
“I didn’t even realize I’d drifted off.”
He reached over and rubbed my bare leg. Trying to shake off my drowsiness, I saw a landscape I didn’t recognize.
“Where are we? I thought we were going back to Charlottetown to spend the night.”
“That was the plan,” he said with a mischievous grin, “but then I remembered there was something I wanted to show you.”
“And what would that be?”
“You’ll see. We’re almost there.”
I kept the questions to myself from then on. Despite his good mood, there was evident tension in his shoulders, his expression, even the way his fingers were gripping my thigh. I reached down and wound my fingers around his, squeezing them until he relaxed.
The road was bordered by shrubs and trees that opened now and then to give a brief view of the sea, which, as the sun set, turned from blue to black. A long bridge appeared before us, with an island on the other side. As we crossed it, I could feel Trey getting nervous again, and soon enough, I was nervous, too. At the end of it was a sign.
“Lennox Island? Where are we exactly?”
“In the north.”
I saw another sign: WELCOME TO LENNOX ISLAND. FIRST NATIONS.
“What are we doing here?” He didn’t answer.
A shiver ran up my spine. I tried to let things be, despite my anxiety. If there was one thing I’d learned about Trey, it was that he obeyed his own rhythms. Sometimes he was fire, sometimes he was ice. He could close as quickly as he opened up, and you never had time to prepare yourself.
We crossed the island and reached an intersection on the opposite shore. To the right was a church with yellow walls, a dark roof, and a small cemetery beside it. Trey turned left and kept driving. We passed colorful houses and took a dirt road into the woods.
Finally, he stopped at a small house with gray siding, black shutters, and white trim. He turned off the motor and stared briefly before announcing, “This is it.”
The door opened, an old man stepped onto the porch, and we got out. I could see the family resemblance between him and Trey. A woman walked out behind him and her face lit up instantly. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun. She must have been seventy, at least, but she was very agile for her age.
“Trey!” she shouted, hurrying over to Trey. They hugged each other. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Hello, Elaine. Sorry I didn’t get in touch. It was a last-minute thing.”
“I don’t mind. You’re always welcome. Who’s she?”
Trey waved me over. “Elaine, this is Harper. She’s Hoyt’s sister.”
Hearing him say this surprised me, but I guess it shouldn’t have. If they were as close to Trey as they seemed, maybe they were close with my brother, too. Telling myself that made me feel a bit more comfortable.
“Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
Elaine smiled at me warmly, and I smiled back. She was a cheerful woman, and it was hard to resist feeling at ease with her. Trey guided me toward the house. As we approached the doorway, where the man was still standing, Trey offered the man his hand.
“Hello, Grandpa.”
“Trey.”
“Harper, this is my grandfather. You can call him Nicholas.”
“Welcome.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, sir. Nicholas, uh, Mr. Nicholas…”
I don’t know if I imagined it, but he seemed to be amused.
Elaine invited us in and started preparing dinner. She’d been marinating a piece of meat that she now took out and began cutting into small pieces.
“Can I help?”
“Sure. Four hands are better than two. Grab that basket of potatoes and peel me a couple.”
I sat down at the kitchen table and got to business. She finished cutting up the meat and started it cooking on the woodstove, then took her place next to me, pulling pea pods from a bag and stripping them.
She spoke as quickly as she moved, telling me about all the vegetables planted in her garden, the special care each of them required, and her medicinal herbs for ointments, oils, and healing creams.
I listened with interest, but my attention was really on what lay beyond the window, where Trey and his grandfather were sitting on a stump and conversing. Serious. Hardly moving.
I wondered why Trey had been so hesitant to tell me about his family. I’d been surprised that his grandparents were Mi’kmaq. He’d never mentioned it. But still, I couldn’t imagine he thought his origins were something to hide from me.
“Are you and Trey seeing each other?”
The question put an end to my speculation. I blushed, embarrassed that my mind was wandering and also because I hadn’t expected such a personal question.
“Us? Going out? Well…um…” I chuckled. “See, the thing is…”
“You don’t have to feel uncomfortable. It’s none of my business, anyway.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s more complicated. Sorry…”
She looked back down at her cooking, as though to tell me it didn’t matter.
“I’ve known Trey for a long time, but up to now, he and I… What I mean is, like…” All this dillydallying was starting to get on my nerves; I couldn’t imagine how the old woman felt. “We ran into each other a few days ago, after a pretty long time, and I just can’t really say if what we’re doing is going out. If it makes sense to say we’re together. If we have, like, a relationship. I just don’t know.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe it’s too early to think about getting serious, you know?”
“I don’t. That’s for you all to decide.”
Her meditative expression, her words, something about her just invited me to open up to her.
“I guess, yeah. Actually I did ask him, and he told me that we had to let time tell us what the future has in store.”
I couldn’t believe I’d admitted that to her, and I could tell she hadn’t expected it. “He told you that?” she said. “And then he brought you here to meet us?”
I nodded, grinning meekly.
“Pretty much. Your grandson isn’t what I’d call transparent, and I think he’s confused about himself and about what’s going on in his mind.”
Elaine burst out laughing. “Oh, honey, that’s an inborn trait of the men in this family. If you try to understand them, they’ll end up driving you crazy. And just so you know, Trey’s not my grandson. But I love him as if he was.”
“He’s not? Sorry, I just assumed…”
“Don’t apologize, it makes me happy that you did. I’m Nicholas’s second wife. The first one died not long after his only daughter was born.”
“Trey’s mother, you mean?”
“Yeah. Her name was Marianne. I guess you know that, though.”
She gave me a sweet look before taking the potatoes away to wash them. Of course, I had no idea what Trey’s mother’s name was. I had no idea about anything to do with Trey or where he’d come from. I’d seen his dad a few times at different events: he was arrogant, full of himself, and from what I’d heard, a womanizer. I’d never liked him, and I was ashamed to admit that some of my prejudices against Trey were really because of his father.
I was trying to choose between grilling Elaine about her step-grandson or respecting Trey’s privacy, since there was so much he hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me. My principles, my conscience, told me not to dig any deeper. I didn’t have the right.
I hated being such a good girl.
And I hated not being able to turn my mind off.