Chapter 13 #2
A dark-haired woman named Sylvia is behind the bar, and—no surprise at this point—she and Ian are already acquainted.
He stops to chat with her before confirming that the champagne arrived for the wedding toasts.
I don’t want to compare Ian to his dad or think about Christopher Langley at all, but I can’t help noticing how much Ian has become a part of the Sandy Harbor community while his dad always seemed to be above it.
Even the billboards where Christopher used to hang over this town, aloof and untouchable, are a thing of the past.
We head back out into the sunshine after we finish up at the restaurant, and Ian glances at the time. “We should grab lunch.”
Just as the words come out of his mouth, my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten anything since the pastries he left me for breakfast.
Ian grins. “I’m going to take you to my favorite local spot. It’s right up the road.”
The wedding venue overlooks the beach on the south end of the island.
I didn’t think much of it when we drove in this direction, but as I contemplate where his favorite restaurant could be, my pulse quickens.
Just a few blocks away, on the bay side of the island, is the Harbor Sailing Club.
I haven’t been there in over a decade. And I have no desire to ever go back.
Is Ian a member like his dad was? Even if he’s the opposite of Christopher in every way that matters, the Harbor Sailing Club is where wealthy businesspeople close deals over expensive cocktails.
Maybe Ian keeps up his membership for the sake of the business.
He always loved to sail and maybe he still does.
A shiver runs through me as Ian pulls onto the boulevard. I don’t know how to tell him that I can’t possibly set foot in that place again. He would want to know why, and how could I explain?
Ian makes a right turn, steering the car in the direction of the bay.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice coming out awkwardly high-pitched.
Ian grins. “You’ll see. I think you’ll be glad to see some people you know.”
Is Susan still the manager? Will she remember how I took off without any notice and left Alice to cover my shifts?
Is Cal still a member, and is he still harassing servers?
I can’t face it. Especially not with Ian, not when the last time I was there, I was full of hope and anticipation of what we might become.
Ian presses his foot on the gas, and the truck glides up to a stop sign.
The club is to the right, just a block away now.
My hands begin to shake. How can I tell Ian I can’t go there?
If I do, I might have a panic attack. I need to open my mouth to say something, to suggest anywhere else, but I can’t seem to form the words.
And then Ian flips on his left turn signal, and we head away from the club. Relief floods my body and I go limp, flopping back in my seat.
A few minutes later, Ian pulls into the parking lot of a wide two-story wooden building that looks like it’s seen better days. It’s clearly a bar—that much I can tell from the sign in front—but the words are so wind-battered that I can’t read the name.
“Don’t judge me for the state of this place,” Ian warns. “Garrett and I have offered to fix it up for Chloe a dozen times, but she insists that the locals like it rustic. It keeps the tourists away.”
It dawns on me where we are. “This is Hudson’s, right?
” I vaguely remember that this place existed when I was a kid, but Madeline has talked so much about the bar since she moved back that it feels familiar already.
As we approach, I notice that despite the faded sign and peeling paint, there are small touches that show Chloe cares about this place, like the hanging baskets exploding with flowers and the colorful cushions on the chairs set haphazardly on the porch.
My mind drifts back to the Harbor Sailing Club’s entrance with its formal topiaries set next to wide, imposing white columns. I’m buoyant with relief that we’re not approaching that building now. “I’m with Chloe. I like it the way it is.”
We enter a wood-paneled bar draped with jute ropes and vintage wooden steering wheels that give the place the air of an old ship. Chloe is behind the bar when we enter, and Ellery sits on a stool with a plate of French fries in front of her.
When Chloe spots us, her face lights up. “El, look who it is.”
“Hey, kid, how’s it going?” Ian asks as we approach. He leans an arm on the bar next to her, holding out a hand for her to slap.
But Ellery just shrugs and continues staring at the plate in front of her. Ian shoots Chloe a questioning glance. She shrugs and mouths, “Tell you later,” before turning to me. “Josie, it’s so good to see you.”
We met briefly when I came to the island last fall at Madeline and Garrett’s engagement party, and I liked her right away.
I know she’s been a good friend to Madeline since my sister moved back to Sandy Harbor, and, just like the moment I ran into Alice earlier today, I can’t help feeling a little stab of regret that I’ll never get the chance to spend much time with her.
“What are you two up to?” she asks.
“Running errands for the wedding,” Ian says. “We’ve got table centerpieces and a shuttle locked down. After this, we’re going to check in with the DJ about the sound system and playlist.” He nudges Ellery. “I’ll ask him to add ‘Dancing Queen’ if you promise to dance with me.”
But instead of laughing along, as I would have expected from the Ellery I met the other day, her face turns stormy. “I’m not dancing with anyone,” she declares in a sharp tone, sliding off the bar stool, grabbing her French fries, and marching off to a booth in the corner.
Ian turns to Chloe with a questioning glance. “Was it something I said?”
“I’m so sorry.” Chloe looks back and forth between us. “Ellery is going through kind of a rough patch right now.”
“Did something happen?” Ian asks, his voice edged in worry.
“They’re having a dad-and-daughter dance at the studio where she takes ballet.
” Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t know why they hold events like that when not everyone’s family has a mom and dad like some 1950s TV show.
” She turns to me. “Ellery never met her dad, he left before she was born. I think this is bringing up feelings of being abandoned.”
My heart aches for Ellery. “I’m so sorry.”
Chloe gives Ian and me a tired smile. “We’ll work through it.” She turns to Ian. “You’re probably here for lunch, but could I ask you to help me move a couple of boxes in the back?”
“Of course.” Ian slides off his chair.
While I wait for them to return, I glance at Ellery. She’s sitting in the booth, her little shoulders hunched up to her ears. I know a bit about losing my dad at a young age. I hop off the stool and approach cautiously.
“Hi. Can I sit down?”
I take her shrug as a yes. As I slide into the booth, I pull my sketchpad and a small packet of colored pencils from my bag and set it on the center of the table so it will land in her line of sight.
“What’s that?” she mumbles in the same disinterested tone, but I notice she sits up in her seat.
“Oh, this?” I say casually. “I always carry this with me. Sometimes when I’m feeling sad, I draw a picture about it, and it helps me to feel better.
” For months after we left Sandy Harbor, I filled endless sketchpads with the blackest charcoal pencil and harsh, violent lines.
If it weren’t for art, I don’t know how I would have gotten through.
I flip it to a blank page. “You want to try it?”
Ellery stares silently at the paper as if she’s thinking it over. I open the tin of colored pencils and give the sketchpad another nudge so it’s in front of her. She selects a pink pencil and begins drawing, forming shapes that, after a few moments, look like a girl in a pink ballet tutu.
“I heard you like to dance,” I say as I watch her form take shape.
“I did, but I hate it now.” She colors in the tutu with the pink pencil and adds a bow in the girl’s hair. “There’s a dance at my studio, but I can’t go.”
“Why not?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You need to have a dad.”
“Well, that’s a silly rule,” I say. “Not everyone has a dad. Like me.”
She looks up. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “He died when I was practically a baby. I don’t really remember him.”
Ellery continues sketching, adding a squiggly black tornado that I’m pretty sure is meant to indicate the girl is spinning in her fancy pink dress. “I don’t remember my dad either. He left before I was born.”
“That’s too bad. He’s really missing out. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
Her hand pauses over the sketchpad. “What do you mean?”
“Well…” I lean back against the vinyl seat. “The thing I remember the most about living on Sandy Harbor was that my family had a really strong community. Even though it was just me, my mom, and Madeline, I always felt like I had a big family because of all the friends around us.”
Ellery draws another tornado. “Like Garrett and Ian. And the other people who come into the bar.”
I nod. “Exactly like them. So even though I missed my dad, I had lots of other people who stepped in.”
“Mom says Garrett or Ian would take me to the dance.”
“But you don’t want them to?”
Ellery’s shoulders shoot back up to her ears. “The other girls have real dads.”
I lean in and lower my voice to a whisper. “Maybe they do. But I bet their real dads aren’t nearly as fun as Garrett and Ian. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to laugh my head off watching Ian dance to ‘Dancing Queen.’”
Ellery’s lips twitch as if she’s holding back a smile.
When Ian and Chloe appear from the back room, Ellery looks at me and holds up the sketchpad. “Can I tear it out?”
“Of course! It’s yours,” I say, reaching over to help her to rip it neatly. She slides out of the booth and runs over to her mom and Ian with the paper in her hand. I follow her more slowly, watching as she thrusts the drawing in Ian’s direction.
“Will you go to the dance with me?” she asks.
He studies the sketch, and then his gaze skates to mine in surprise before sliding back to Ellery. “I’d be honored.”
Chloe looks over Ian’s shoulder at the drawing, her expression affectionate and a little sad at the same time.
Ellery turns to run back to me. “Can I draw some more?”
“Absolutely.” I hand over the sketchpad and pencils. “These are for you.” I lean down to look her in the eyes. “Remember what I said. When you’re feeling sad, you can always draw a picture, and it might help you feel better.”
Over Ellery’s head, Chloe mouths, “Thank you,” and I can see tears welling up in her eyes. I reach out to squeeze her hand.
“So, that’s what you meant when you said art helped you through hard times,” Ian murmurs, once Chloe has left to wait on another customer and Ellery goes back to her booth. “Thank you for doing that for Ellery. And Chloe, too.”
“I’m glad I could be here for them,” I say, realizing I mean it.
Nothing will ever erase the trauma of what happened to me or the heartbreak of losing Ian because of it.
But I feel a decade-old crack inside me begin to heal, and for the first time, I have a sense of purpose for coming back to the island beyond my sister’s wedding.
I know I can’t stay here, and I can never come back.
But maybe I needed to be here one last time to finally put the pain and trauma behind me for good.