Chapter 24
Anne
The boy, nine or ten, smeared his fingerprints on the display case. “That looks like horse poop.”
His mother—thirtysomething, three kids hanging off her—sucked in her breath. To admonish him? To apologize to me?
Before she could drag him away, I smiled at the boy. “It does, doesn’t it? Want some?”
He shook his head. “No. Gross.”
I peeled a droplet of fudge (which did, in fact, resemble the horse droppings on the street outside) from the parchment paper and held it out. “I dare you.”
His mother looked flustered. “We don’t want—”
“It’s fine,” I reassured her. “We always give samples.”
I avoided looking at my own mom, cutting thick slabs of cooled fudge in the window.
The kid’s hand crept out.
“Go ahead.” I grinned wickedly as he took the treat. “I double dare you. On three. One…two…”
He popped it in his mouth.
“Good, right?” I asked as he chewed.
He nodded, eyes wide.
“I want some!”
“Me, too!” his siblings clamored.
I gave samples to his brother and sister and sold three pounds of fudge to his embarrassed mother—two slices each of chocolate and chocolate peanut butter, one sea salt caramel, one Michigan maple pecan.
“Horse poop,” my mother snorted when they’d left.
“Hey, it worked,” I said. “We should make it a thing. So thematic! We could bag them and sell them as Horse Patty Candy.”
“Very creative,” Beverly Powell said. She was seated at one of the tables, reading.
“Thanks, Mrs. P.” I wiped my hands on my apron. “Can I get you anything?”
Stupid question. A cup of tea sat, hot and untouched, at her elbow.
But I needed to keep busy. I wanted to feel useful.
The shop was quiet—the midafternoon lull before the day-trippers rushed in to load up on fudge and catch the ferry back to the mainland.
This morning, when Joe came in for his usual cup of coffee, I’d asked about his plans for the day. Basically code for: Can I see you? When can I see you? Take me now, big pirate.
He’d sipped his coffee, a hint of a smile in his eyes, while he told me about his current project, an entry door for a big house in the Woodbluff subdivision.
Admittedly, I’d been too busy watching his face, listening to his voice, to focus on the details about old-growth wood and mortise-and-tenon joints (whatever those were).
But I could hear his excitement; I could see him turning his passion into something real and lasting, and an unnamed yearning had cracked my chest.
I loved teaching. I did. I was proud I’d made it through my first year with Zoom classes and courtyard read-ins. But something had changed since Principal Curtis had called me into his office.
Last night, I’d opened my laptop to work on my story—any story—and found an email from Sarah in my inbox.
I still had a job, if I wanted it. If not, could I let her know?
Because my replacement was hoping for a contract.
She’d signed it, “Best.” And instead of the expected rush of relief, a knot had formed in my stomach.
I swallowed it down. I’d think about it tomorrow.
I was doing my best to live in the present.
To be in the moment. I bused an empty table, picturing what Joe was doing right now.
Hoping he was thinking about me. I wondered when he would finish for the day and what the chances were that we could be alone.
I wondered if he had another birthmark to match the one I’d found curled like a pale brown comma around his navel.
And if I wondered, just for a moment, if I was using him to avoid contemplating my life choices, to fill in the blanks where my life should be, I shoved it way down, where I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
When my phone buzzed in my back pocket, I jumped.
Hailey: Hiiii 3:00 Dwightwood Spring beach #GreenGablesChallenge!!!!
I grinned.
Beverly raised an eyebrow. “Good news?”
I stuffed my phone away. “It’s Hailey. She and Liv are making another Anne of Green Gables TikTok.”
“Not walking the ridgepole, I hope.”
“Ha ha. Nope.”
At least, I didn’t think so. Not at the spring. Although…
“Nice that the girls are continuing with the books,” Beverly said.
I nodded while my mind spun through possible scenarios, trying to think like a fourteen-year-old girl. (Honestly? Not that hard.) But I couldn’t remember Anne Shirley doing much at the beach. Taking the ferry, maybe. Admiring the view.
“Mom, is it okay if I take off for about an hour?”
“I think I can manage without you,” Mom said dryly.
Of course she could. She’d been managing by herself for as long as I could remember. Her stubborn self-reliance had always made me feel pretty superfluous, but…well, it freed me, didn’t it? To do anything I wanted. To be anything I wanted.
If only I knew what that was.
I thought I’d known, once upon a time. I’d had plans. Which had not included reenacting scenes from my favorite childhood classic with a couple of teenagers. But this was my social life now.
“I can stay until Della comes,” Zoe said from behind the counter.
I glanced at Beverly. “Are you sure?”
Beverly smiled faintly. “Go. I have a book.” She held it up so I could see the cover. Sense and Sensibility. “I don’t mind waiting.”
“Because I’m worth waiting for,” Zoe said.
A look, wry and full of affection, passed between them. Their marriage, in a nutshell.
And there it was, the life I’d dreamed of and read about. A piece of it, anyway. The thing I thought I’d found with Chris. My Fated Mate. My One True Love. Someone who wouldn’t mind when I was late/messy/distracted/disorganized because, in their eyes, I was worth waiting for.
Until I wasn’t.
I took off my apron. I was up for a challenge. Better than hanging around hoping Joe could make time for me.
Plus, Hailey had texted me. She wanted me to be there. Or at least she wouldn’t mind if I showed up.
—
When I was six, Mom decided I should learn to ride my bike.
Daddy took the training wheels off, and the next week or so was agony for us both.
He would run beside me, puffing encouragement and warnings, gripping the seat while I clutched the handlebars, both of us equally terrified I would fall.
After I’d bloodied both knees and scraped my elbow, my mother took over.
I remember pushing off, more afraid of her displeasure than the ground flashing under my tires, her hand on the back of my seat holding me steady as she shouted, “Pedal, pedal, go!” Picking up speed, my jaw set, my legs pumping, the wind in my face and my hair, and then somehow I was flying, pedaling on my own.
She’d taught me to be free.
Funny, how I hadn’t thought of it that way before.
Now I unlocked my bike with its floppy flowered basket and took off for the southeast corner of the island.
It was a relief to be moving, to have somewhere to go.
The sky was as blue as a robin’s egg, and the air was sharp and clear, and beyond the ribbon of pavement, the blue-green water sparkled in the sun.
Pedal, pedal, go, dodging bikers, skateboarders, and pedestrians. Along Main Street, past Mission Point, and out of town. A wall of trees rose tall and green on my left. On my right, the lake lapped against tumbled rocks and pebbled beaches.
I coasted as I approached the marker for the springs, my eyes scanning the shore.
White boats in the channel. Bicycles abandoned at the foot of the narrow stairway cutting up the hill toward Arch Rock.
A yellow kayak, bobbing in the waves. A tall blond girl standing on a boulder, filming on her phone.
“Liv!” I called.
She flashed a smile over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the water. To the kayak. To…
I dropped my bike by the side of the path. “Is that Hailey?”
Lying back awkwardly in the open kayak, her dark hair spilling over the side, floating on the water. Not paddling, not moving, a bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace in her folded hands. A laugh gurgled in my throat.
“What are you doing?” I asked, but I knew.
“She’s the Lady of Shalott.”
The scene from the first book, when Anne’s friends sent her down the river in a funeral barge—well, a leaky duck flat—and Gilbert rescued her.
“She wanted me to do it,” Liv said, still recording. “Because the fair lily maid is blond, you know? But I told her if my father found out I went out without a life vest, I’d be grounded for a week.”
No life vest? I stepped out on the rocks. “She’s getting kind of far out.”
The water was calm. But there were still dangers to kayaking solo in the lake, channels and currents and unexpected waves from freighters. As I watched, the paddle on the side slipped, trailing in the water.
I cupped my hands to shout. “Hailey! Hey!”
She didn’t stir. She made a very good Lady of Shalott, lying lifeless in a long dark skirt, draped in a yellow scarf. The paddle blade cupped and dragged. The lake pulled it free.
“Hailey! Your paddle!”
She sat up abruptly, rocking the kayak. Saw the paddle drifting and made a grab for it. The open kayak rolled, dumping her in the water.
“Shit!”
She emerged, gasping, her wet hair streaming in her face, her long skirts slowly, inexorably sinking around her. The kayak bumped her shoulder. She flung an arm across the top as the flowers floated away.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and set it carefully on the rocks. “Call for help,” I instructed Liv and ran down the stony beach into the water. I yelped. Holy crap, it was cold. I forged forward, sloshing, sliding, my gaze fixed on Hailey.
I could do this.
The shelf dropped off. I was in over my head, but my mind, instead of darting in six different directions, was calm. Focused. I started swimming, legs churning, trying to keep my face above water. I reached the paddle first and splashed over to Hailey, clinging to the overturned kayak.
“I can’t flip it,” she said, a hint of panic in her voice.
I gulped and grabbed at the kayak. “It’s okay.” I thrust the paddle at her. “Hold this a minute. It will help you float.”