Chapter 10 #2
I spent eighteen years of my life on this island.
I learned to swim in the ocean, attended Sandy Harbor High with the same kids who were in my preschool class, and I had my first kiss on the 34th Street lifeguard stand.
Our family was a part of the tight-knit local community, and everywhere we went, our neighbors asked how we were, they dropped off food if someone was sick, and they helped out with rides when our car broke down.
And we did the same for them. Leaving this town was a loss I never had the luxury of grieving.
My heart aches when I spot the bookstore where Madeline and I used to spend hours on the lumpy couches in the back reading our way through Magic Tree House and The Blue Castle.
I move to the door, tempted to pull it open and wander in like I did when I was a kid.
But it’s not the weight of the memories that has me hesitating.
Outside on the sidewalk in my sunglasses and hat, I blend in with the tourists.
But in there, someone might recognize me.
Almost at that moment, I spot a familiar woman walking down the sidewalk.
Anne was the daughter of the couple who ran the bookstore and a few grades ahead of me in school.
She’s heading this way, and I wonder if by now she’s taken over ownership from her parents.
I quickly turn to look at the window display so she won’t catch a glimpse of my face.
Maybe I’m being overly dramatic. Anne probably won’t even recognize me.
It’s been over ten years since I lived here, and it’s not the bookstore owner I’m worried about running into.
But I’m not eager to field friendly questions about why my family left or what I’ve been up to for the last decade, either.
Anne stops to talk to someone on the sidewalk, and I pretend to look at the artful arrangement of illustrated-cover romance novels, but really, I’m watching her reflection, hoping she doesn’t notice me.
She seems immersed in her conversation, so I use the reflection to see if anyone else I know is walking past. A woman and her two kids enter a T-shirt shop across the street, and a group of teenage girls head into the bakery.
And then in the smudged windowpane, I spot a tall man standing on the corner.
He’s on the other side of the street and a couple of stores down from here, so I can’t quite make out all his features, but his body is rigid, hands stuffed in his pockets, head angled in my direction.
Something about him sends a chill up my spine.
Do I know him?
More importantly, does he know me?
I want to turn around to get a better look, but I’m afraid to show my face, so I strain to study his reflection.
He’s probably around my age or a little older with a full head of sandy hair that’s combed back off his forehead and a close-cropped blond beard.
He wears jeans and a nondescript gray T-shirt that shows off his muscular build.
If I met him in a bar, I might think he was good-looking, except that every instinct is screaming at me to avoid him.
Could he be the man who was at the house that day? Did he witness what I did?
The man’s reflection in the window shifts as he takes a couple of steps toward me. Is he going to come over here to confront me? Is this the moment I’ve been dreading for a decade?
I turn and hurry down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
Luckily, a large group exits the souvenir shop just as I pass the door.
I pick up my pace, trying to mix into the crowd, swerving to avoid their large bags of hats and sweatshirts as I weave between them.
When I get to the other side of the group, I finally work up the courage turn and peek behind me, holding my breath and hoping the stranger is gone.
My heart wrenches as I catch a glimpse of a tall frame in a gray T-shirt crossing the street in my direction. His eyes bore into me.
I swing back around, ready to start running when a female voice calls my name. I look up to find a dark-haired woman hurrying toward me with a wide smile on her face.
“Josie?” she gushes. “Oh my gosh!”
I focus my attention on her familiar face and will my heart to stop pounding. It’s Alice from the sailing club a million years ago, and before I know what’s happening, she’s throwing her arms around me.
“Alice!” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. Is the man still behind me? Would he dare approach when I’m on the street talking to a friend? Alice releases me, and I glance back to find that he’s turned around to head in the opposite direction.
My shoulders relax.
“I knew it was you the second I saw that red hair,” Alice says with a laugh. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” I say, resisting the urge to glance behind me again. “Do you still live on Sandy Harbor?”
“I do. My husband and I just bought a house in the Seaside neighborhood,” Alice reports. “What about you?”
“I live in Berkeley, California,” I say. “Just back for a visit.”
“That’s where you went to school, right?”
“I’m surprised you remember. It’s been so long.”
“Of course I remember. We had fun working together that summer.” Alice gives me a crooked smile.
“Well, until you left, and I had to cover your shifts out on the patio,” she says, but I can tell she’s only joking.
“Who could blame you for choosing an internship over slinging cocktails for a bunch of rich people?”
An internship was the excuse I gave to Susan and Alice when I told them I couldn’t work at the sailing club anymore.
“What do you do in Berkeley?” Alice asks.
“I’m an artist and I work for a gallery.”
“Really?” she says, her face lighting up. “You were always out sketching on the dock. Good for you for making a career out of it.”
“Did you ever make it to Ibiza?” I ask, remembering our shared desire to study abroad.
“I can’t believe you remember that. I did. I went for a whole year and met my husband there. So, it was worth it to cover those shifts for you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Happy to help.”
Alice’s phone buzzes, and she looks down at it. “That’s my husband. He’s leaving the grocery store, and I should probably go meet him. But do you have a card or anything? I’d love to keep in touch and maybe meet for coffee if you’re ever in town again.”
I hand Alice a card from my bag with a tiny hitch of regret, knowing that I’ll rarely be back in town, if at all. “It was good to see you,” I say, and mean it. Alice was so nice to me that summer and I hated leaving her in the lurch, even if she’s not mad about it.
“You too,” she says, reaching in to give me another hug before heading across the street.
I watch her go and then scan the sidewalk for signs of the sandy-haired man, but it seems like he left.
I’m sure I was just being paranoid. There are dozens of tourists walking around on the sidewalk.
Maybe he wasn’t watching me, maybe he’s a guy waiting for his wife to buy a swimsuit.
Maybe he was checking his phone. There are a thousand explanations for who he is that don’t include a questionable man from my past following me.
But then I remember Alice’s comment about my hair. I know it stands out. If a friend from a decade ago could recognize me because of my hair color, maybe I do need to be more careful and avoid the high traffic areas for the rest of the trip, just in case.
Pulling my hat low over my eyes, I head in the direction of Ian’s house.
I only make it a block before a prickly feeling creeps up the back of my neck.
I spin around, searching for signs of the man I saw earlier, but all I see are tourists bustling by.
Still, for the rest of the walk, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me.