Chapter Nineteen
The town of Tofino sits high above Clayoquot Sound, overlooking blue water, evergreen-studded mountains, and deep valleys.
Mist encircles the peaks like a diaphanous belt.
Even in the summer, Tofino isn’t unbearably hot.
The beaches are gorgeous, but the water is chilly year-round, and the weather can change in seconds.
Its vibe is less cabana and tiki drinks and more bonfires and granola.
The main drag is bustling with tourists dipping in and out of art galleries, gift shops, and surfing outfitters.
Rhino Coffee House is clearly the hotspot—the line is well out the door.
“The goal today is to take care of yourself,” George says, pulling into the parking lot next to a large timber building with a sign that reads TOFINO RESORT + MARINA. “To not worry about anyone else”—he casts me a look—“myself included, but to focus on what you need to feel well.”
“Are you mansplaining self-care to me?”
“No.” George frowns. “I’m explaining.”
“I know you might not know this about me, but I’m a human woman, and as such I have a thorough understanding of the fundamentals of self-care.”
“Do you really?”
“Sure,” I say flatly. “I just haven’t felt like treating myself to a manicure recently.”
George maneuvers into a space and shuts off the engine, tapping the steering wheel. He’s trying not to argue, but I know it’s coming in three, two, one…
“Self-care isn’t about nail polish,” he says. “It’s about prioritizing yourself in simple yet often ignored ways so you can better manage stress and trauma. It requires listening to your body and your mind. It means going easy on yourself, being kind to yourself, eating well.”
“So we’re not going for his-and-hers facials?”
He shoots me a perturbed look. “I know it sounds cliché, but this stuff is important. You don’t exactly have the best track record of taking care of yourself.
I don’t mean that as a criticism,” he adds when I narrow my eyes.
“But you tend to put your own health and well-being low on your priority list, especially when things are tough. I know you.”
I hate it when he’s right. “It’s possible.”
He smirks. “I’ll take that as a win.”
We get out of the car, and I scowl at a sandwich board advertising whale-watching expeditions.
“Don’t worry,” George says. “No whales today. But there is a boat.”
“And where are we taking this boat?”
“Let’s say we’re running away.”
“How about you say where we’re going instead of keeping secrets.”
He chuckles. “You do know that the harder this is for you, the less inclined I am to tell you.”
“Sadist.”
“And it’s a surprise, not a secret.”
“Nice rebrand. You’ve always been a wordsmith.”
“Are you done giving me shit?”
I put a finger to my chin. “Probably not.”
“You might be the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”
I give him a sweet smile. “Yet you still love me.”
“You’re definitely the most impatient person I know.”
I snort. “You’re one to talk.”
“I’m patient.”
“You are not. You consider waiting in line to be a form of torture.”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “When something matters, you have no idea how patient I can be.”
He says it in a low, gruff way that sounds sort of sexy, and I stumble over a crack in the pavement.
George steadies me by the elbow. “You all right?”
“Fine.” My voice comes out tight, and I clear my throat.
As George instructed, I’ve worn a bathing suit under my denim shorts and hoodie.
He’s in jeans and a T-shirt. I follow him to the wharf, where a man in a ball cap and an orange down vest stands with his legs spread and his arms crossed, as if daring someone to try to knock him over.
He has a white beard and a hardened expression, but as soon as he sets eyes on George, a smile breaks across his face.
Tethered to the dock beside him is a Boston Whaler with the name Nautical but Nice on its stern.
“Derek,” George says, extending his hand. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Derek ignores George’s palm and pulls him into a hug, thumping him on the back.
“This is a real treat, Saint James. Nice to see your pretty face when the world isn’t going up in flames.” He steps back, grinning at me. “So this is your Frankie.”
“This is her,” George says.
“I feel like I know you already,” Derek says, gripping my hand in his. “Frankie, the girl next door. You’re famous. And those violet eyes! Can’t believe he didn’t mention them.”
I glance at George, seeking an explanation. A flush blooms on his neck.
“Derek and I met when I was covering the wildfires. He was a fire chief in Kelowna and a great help to me.”
“Was being the operative word,” Derek says. “I’m retired now. Fought enough fires for several lifetimes that year. I’m not keen on journalists, but this is a good man you’ve got here, Frankie.”
“I know,” I say. “But he’s also a big fat liar. If he roped you into doing him a favor because it’s our honeymoon, I’m here to tell you it’s a complete fabrication.”
“He said nothing of the sort.”
“We’re not married,” I say to underline the point.
“Not yet,” Derek says with a wink.
George stares at him, horrified, and I snort.
“George is not the marrying kind,” I tell Derek.
He looks between us, unsure, and then says, “All right, kids, time’s a’ticking. Let me help you on board.”
He fits us with life vests and then we’re off, cruising around the islands that dot the sound.
He slows to point out harbor seals and a heron taking flight.
It’s staggering how untouched most of the shoreline is, how few structures we see as we head south.
According to Derek, this territory is the home of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations and nestled within the heart of a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve.
The farther we go, the warmer it gets. After thirty minutes, we pull into the calm waters of an inlet and see a large floating dock with a modern-looking wooden structure, its chimney breathing puffs of woodsmoke into the marine air.
There’s a rope swing, twin diving boards, a net hammock recessed into the planks, and a pair of kayaks.
But there’s no cabin on the shore. It’s completely isolated.
“It should be stocked with everything you need,” Derek says as he helps me out of the boat.
“I’d say call me if you need me, but there’s no reception or Wi-Fi.
You can use this for an emergency.” He hands us a walkie-talkie.
“Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few hours.
You’ll hear me coming, but I’ll pull up slow just in case.
No one but the bears to see you out here. ”
With one final wink and a tip of his cap, Derek starts the motor. We watch him leave, then I look around at the colossal expanse of nature we’re surrounded by, and then at the small building. Its glass front reflects the turquoise sea, green mountains, and George and me, standing side by side.
“Sex cult initiation?” I ask.
“So much for the surprise.”
“I knew what I was in for when I stepped foot on the Nautical but Nice, but Derek’s seventh wink was the real tip-off.”
George rubs the back of his neck. “About Derek. That was a rough summer. It felt like living through an apocalypse.”
“I know.” That year was the closest I’d felt to George since he’d moved away. I was so worried for him, and for the first time ever, I think he was rattled, too. We spoke almost every day.
George peers at me. “I probably talked about you too much, and Derek got the wrong idea. Sorry if it was awkward.”
“Don’t worry about it. Although I think he’s going to be pretty disappointed that I’m not sporting an engagement ring when he picks us up.”
“I swear I didn’t tell him that this was in any way romantic,” he says.
“He was whistling ‘Chapel of Love’ when he docked the boat.”
“You caught that?”
“I also heard him wishing you good luck.”
George groans.
“As much as I’d like to make this as embarrassing for you as possible,” I say, “why don’t you tell me what we’re doing out here instead?”
“You haven’t figured it out?”
I shake my head and George grins. He points to the building. “That’s a sauna.” And then to water. “And that’s our cold plunge. And this,” he says, extending his arms broadly, “is better than any day at the spa.”