Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“This side of what, dear?” she asks in an uncertain tone, her eyes magnified in the circular frames. I look down at her hands and spot the same ring I saw her playing with the last time we chatted, lost among all the other gaudy jewellery she wears.
“Do you not remember me?” Then it hits me.
If this is the past, she might not realize who I am yet.
“We’ve met in passing,” I say. “My name is Lucy Brooks. This is Dylan. Dylan Hart.” He offers a wave and a smile at the introduction.
“He works at Killick Point. You know, that lighthouse near the edge of the cliff outside of town.” I raise an eyebrow toward her, hoping she takes the bait.
Her mouth goes from a straight line to an upturned smile. I see a bit of sadness in her blue eyes. “Ah, I know that lighthouse well. It’s good to meet you both.” And with that, she turns around and heads back the way she came.
“I thought you guys knew each other?” Dylan scratches at his temple as he watches her walk away.
“We do. But remember, Iris and I spoke in the future, not the past. So she doesn’t realize who I am yet.” I make a mental note to find her again in 1993 and tell her about our future conversation.
We walk a little farther down the wooden dock until he stops in front of a small white fishing boat with a red stripe along the bottom.
There’s a little cabin at the front and an outboard motor at the back.
The steering wheel is inside the cabin. At the back, there aren’t any benches or seating other than two blue milk crates and an old white cooler.
“Like it? This is a Cape Islander.” He smiles as he climbs inside and motions for me to pass him all of our gear. “Put your life jacket on, and then I’ll help you in.”
“Okay, Mr. Safety, of course,” I tease as I throw the life jacket on and zip it up.
He offers his hand, and when he grabs mine to pull me onto the boat, my whole arm erupts in goosebumps.
Once I’m on the boat, he looks me up and down and brings his hands toward my life jacket, checking and tightening the strap so it’s a more snug fit over my chest.
“Perfect,” he muses before tucking our gear away close to the wall of the boat so it doesn’t blow away in the wind. “Want to come in the cabin with me? I’ll let you steer.”
“Sure, that sounds fun.”
It’s a tight fit in the cabin, definitely not made for two people to stand comfortably.
Especially when one of these people is as tall and built as Dylan.
Thankfully, my petite frame doesn’t take up much room, but there’s no way to not be in each other’s personal space.
Arms touching, shoulders bumping. I don’t mind.
The cabin smells like his soap as it takes over the tiny space.
I take a breath in and smile as I try to relax into him.
He puts the key in the ignition, turns it on, and the boat roars to life before settling into a low hum.
I look behind us out the window on the door and watch the water bubble around the motor.
Turning back to Dylan, I watch as he places his hand on a long handle with a knob at the end to the right of the steering wheel and pushes it forward, the boat jerking ahead with him.
I steady myself, grabbing his sturdy arm as we glide through the calm water near the dock and then out to sea.
After we’ve managed to get away from the dock and the buoys close by, Dylan takes me on a little tour up the coast to where the lighthouse is.
He points to it up at the top of the cliff.
The cliff that is much higher than I realized.
I tilt my head toward the sky and notice how the rocks jut out in certain places like the ends of a knife, and the waves crash against the bottom, white spray making its way close to the top.
I think about how he’ll experience this again in October.
How far he’ll plummet into the ice-cold, unforgiving ocean.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I rest my hand on his for a moment. “Let’s go find a good fishing spot.”
He nods and then turns the boat back to the right and then straight out, land moving around us as we cut through the whitecaps. “Want to steer for a bit?” he asks. “We can swap places.”
“Okay,” I respond as I shuffle in front of him, and he places his hands on my waist to come behind me. A trembling breath escapes me before his hands leave my body.
Once we’re in our new positions, I grip the steering wheel, holding it tight.
I crank it to the left slightly and notice that while it feels similar to steering a car, it’s almost a bit slower.
Like we’re going through molasses, but at a faster speed.
There haven’t been many times I’ve felt truly free in my sheltered and comfortable life, but right here, right now, driving Dylan’s boat, is one of them.
I’m in charge, and as the boat parts the ocean waves in front of me, it’s a moment of pure bliss and pride for how far I’ve come since moving here.
We coast for a few minutes more, Dylan letting me steer the boat wherever I want, until finally, he looks around us and says, “This should be a good spot.” I nod and hold the wheel while he pulls the handle back to the middle, and the boat starts to slow and coast for a bit before coming to a stop.
“Alright, let’s fish.” He claps his hands together and opens the door behind us, letting me step out into the back first.
He trails behind me and walks over to where the motor is and grabs an anchor. It’s a flat, grey piece of metal shaped like an arrowhead but with wings.
“That’s a neat anchor,” I point out as he easily tosses it over the boat like it’s made of Styrofoam instead of metal.
It crashes down into the water, and the pile of rope beside us gets smaller as the anchor goes lower and lower.
Finally, it stops. We must not be that far out.
We’ve circled back to a place where I can spot land on all three sides of us, so the bottom must not be too far down here.
“It’s a Danforth-style anchor. Great for fishing boats. Now we won’t go anywhere.”
He grabs the fishing rods and gets the hook out from where it’s secured around the rod.
They’re very similar to regular fishing rods, but the heavy-duty version of them, a bit longer and thicker.
The tackle box opens next, and Dylan pulls out a long silver lure with a red end and four little hooks around it.
“That’s shiny,” I say as he adds a second one to the other fishing rod.
“By design.” Handing one of the rods to me, he adds, “Attracts the fish.”
After walking me through the basic steps of casting, with a little help, I get my first real cast into the water. “This is so fun,” I say as I hold the rod with both hands and impatiently wait for something to bite. “How long does this usually take?”
He laughs as he sends off another cast, farther out this time, and reels it back in a bit before taking a seat on one of the powder-blue milk crates. He motions to the other one beside him. “As long as it needs to.”
I take a seat, chuckling to myself at the fact that I’m sitting on a plastic crate, the grooves and holes at the top poking into me.
What a difference this is from the last time I was on a boat.
If only my parents could see me now. The sun is peeking out from behind all the clouds, and the wind is strong, whipping my hair around my face, but sitting out here is nice with him. Peaceful.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” I tell him after a few moments of comfortable silence. The waves lap against the frame of the boat, adding to the coastal soundtrack of our day.
“No?” He looks over to me. “I guess being from Ottawa, you’re not fishing in too many oceans.” He playfully nudges my arm with his shoulder.
“Ha ha, real funny,” I say sarcastically.
“No, we didn’t do any of this stuff growing up.
I grew up in a very, um…” Embarrassment at how I was raised causes my cheeks to redden.
How wealthy my family is. I’m trying not to be ashamed of anything—my parents worked hard for their money.
But something about my childhood and life up until coming here feels vapid and empty.
Like I missed out on all the best parts of life.
The still moments. The messy moments. Easy moments.
Like this, sitting on a plastic box in an old fishing boat on the ocean.
We never would have done something like this.
My parents would have scoffed at the very idea of it.
No, we would have been on a huge yacht, eating shrimp—that someone else caught and prepared—drinking champagne, while a hired captain toured us around the area. This feels different. I like it.
“I grew up pretty privileged.” I finally say out loud.
“It’s kind of the reason I’m here, actually.
I needed to get away and feel like I could survive on my own.
You know, work a job, support myself, drive an old, beat-up car.
” I laugh at that last one. I never would have thought I’d love my little Honda as much as I do.
“Even though the Check Engine light never seems to shut off.” I roll my eyes as another chuckle escapes me.
“I see,” he replies, staring out into the ocean. “When was the last time you changed your oil?”
“Hmm? Oil change?” I grimace. Oh no.
“Lucy.” There’s that devilish smirk back, just for me. It’s sort of uneven, going up higher on the left side, and his eyes always crinkle the slightest bit when he does it. “When did you get your car?”
“Umm, a couple months ago now. I bought it in Ottawa before coming here.”
“And you drove here?” He’s now turned to face me, an eyebrow cocked.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve driven it a bunch since getting here? Like, to my lighthouse every weekend?”
“Yes,” I repeat, feeling a flush creep up on my neck and cheeks.
“Lucy, you probably need an oil change.” He scratches his head and looks back to me, a wide grin on his face, showing off those sharp canines. Is it odd that I want him to bite me with those teeth? I bet they’d leave a mark.
“Okay, so I’ll get an oil change!” I throw a hand in the air for dramatic effect. He shakes his head and laughs.
“I don’t know what garages are near you, but find a local garage in Pleasant Cove and tell them you need an oil change.
There should also be a small white or clear sticker in the top corner of the windshield on the driver’s side.
Mechanics write down the date of the last oil change and the recommended mileage for the next one.
” I think he catches my eyes falling, because he places a hand on my arm and gives it a squeeze.
“It’s okay. Now you know. I bet that’s why your Check Engine light is on. ”
I give him my best reassuring smile and say thanks.
“I think it’s cool what you’re doing,” he adds after we sit a bit longer.
“Yeah? Sometimes I wonder if I’m just being ridiculous. Some people would happily switch places with me.”
“No, I think it says a lot about who you are. Your character.” He pauses. “I like that.”
I like you, I think to myself.
“Thanks,” is what I say instead.
We sit for a while, letting the waves and the wind do the talking for us. When I stand to stretch my legs, I notice the boat has been cast in shadow, the sun settling back behind the clouds. I shiver, feeling a slight chill in the air.
“Let’s call it for today,” Dylan says, standing up and grabbing our rods and putting them away. “You did good for your first time.” He walks into the cabin for a minute, leaving me alone in the back.
I take a few steps over to the other side to move my stiff body a bit and am thrown off balance by a wave slapping against the boat.
As I try to find my footing, another bigger wave comes pouring into the boat and right over me.
It completely soaks me, and I grab onto the edge because water is in my eyes, blurring my vision.
A second crashes into me, and the boat rocks, tipping slightly.
“Dylan,” I call out to him as I grip the side to balance myself, mild panic settling in my chest at what could have happened but didn’t. I hear the cabin door fly open, and strong hands are grabbing me and pulling me inside the door.
“Lucy, shit, are you okay?” His face is white, all the colour drained out of it. He keeps his grip on me.
“Yes, yes. Just cold.” His mouth is pinned in a straight line, and his eyes are narrowed in on me. I laugh to try and lighten the mood.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, taking off his life jacket, followed by his dark green jacket, which he then throws over my shoulders. “Let me quickly finish putting our stuff away and pull up the anchor. Stay here.” He puts his life jacket back on and zips it up.
“Okay, but don’t worry, I’m fi—” The door shuts before I can even finish my sentence.
Before I have time to fully catch my breath, he’s back in the cabin, and we set off, the boat going at what feels like full speed back into the bay. I try to hide my shivering, but my teeth are chattering so loudly against my will. He looks over to me, eyes wide.
“Your lips are blue.”
“I’m fine, Dyl. It’s o-o-o-kk-ay,” I try to get out. He wraps an arm around me, holding me tight against his side, as he brings us back to the dock, steering with one hand.
After he parks the boat and secures it to the dock, he locks our fishing gear and life jackets in the cabin and scoops me up in his arms, lifting me like I weigh nothing, even though I know the wet clothes are making me even heavier.
There isn’t an ounce of strain in his face as he carries me off the docks and through the town.
I lean into his solid chest and close my eyes, letting the heat that radiates off his body warm me up a bit.
It’s evening now, and the air has gotten colder.
I think that, mixed with the icy waters, has me chilled to the bone.
“Almost there, Luce,” he says through gritted teeth as he climbs up the rocks that lead back to the lighthouse. “Hang on.”