6 We Would Be Shadows of Ourselves
6
We Would Be Shadows of Ourselves
The plane landed in Charlottetown at three in the afternoon. According to Hayley’s letter, the easiest way to travel would be to get a car there and drive to the coast, where I could catch the ferry that would take me to Petit Prince.
As I left the parking lot headed for Souris, I felt my heart pick up a bit. Until then, I had been so impossibly composed. You could almost say I was numb.
I rolled down the window on my rented Honda Civic to get some fresh air. It was cool and smelled good and made me briefly calm. But soon I was nervous again.
To tell the truth, I was barely aware of what had happened just a few hours before and what repercussions my decision would have. I had packed my suitcase in a matter of minutes and vanished into a taxi, much to Dustin’s perplexity. I didn’t think twice, and I definitely didn’t mull it over. At that moment, I was incapable of dealing with more complications, so I ran away.
After an hour’s drive from Charlottetown, I was in Souris, a charming little town of twelve hundred people. The ferry that would take me to Petit Prince didn’t leave until six thirty, so I decided to find somewhere near the port where I could eat. I hadn’t had a bite since breakfast, and my stomach was growling constantly.
I asked a fisherman cleaning out his traps where to go, and he recommended a nearby restaurant called 21 Breakwater. It was right by the road, a two-story house with a wraparound porch. I ordered a cheesecake and a tea with milk and had them outside.
Someone had left a travel magazine in one of the chairs, and on the cover was the teaser for an article on Prince Edward Island and the Magdalen Islands.
I paged through it as I devoured my cake. I liked how small this island was. You could go from the east side to the west in three hours by car, and you could cross it from north to south in less than an hour. It was practically impossible to get lost. If I could have gotten a hotel, I’d have stayed there instead of taking a ferry for two hours to a tiny island far out in the sea.
I was starting to worry about things. Was there a supermarket on Petit Prince? What about restaurants? A pharmacy? I hadn’t left Montreal with anything but clothes and some toiletries, and I had no idea about the place where I was going.
As I walked around the port, I tried to find some information. I punched the name of the island into my phone. Just a dozen links appeared, with no details that would be useful to me. The internet told me what I already knew: there was nothing there.
Brilliant.
A few minutes later, on the deck of the ferry, my willingness to spend a few days on the far edge of the world flagged, and the reality of what I was about to do overcame me. For six years, I’d been so indecisive that I’d been using the same brand of shampoo, even though I didn’t like it, just to avoid having to choose another one. The devil you know is better than the one you don’t know. After all, in the blink of an eye, everything can go downhill, so why bother helping the process along?
If my thoughts were a reflection of myself, I was pathetic.
The ferry docked in the port sometime after eight thirty. I was the only person who got off.
That wasn’t exactly an auspicious beginning.
The orange ball of the sun was descending rapidly, and shadows were falling over the landscape. I started the engine and reread Hayley’s instructions. They included a not-very-detailed map that I turned round and round twenty times before finally deciding which part of the island was north. I needed to go south, then turn right at the third crossroads and pass through what looked like a stretch of woods. Once I thought I had that down, I took off, departing the town, or what I thought was the town: just a few streets with buildings scattered around in no particular order.
The moon rose, and a pale light bathed everything. Not enough to see clearly, but enough to guess at the height of the trees, the outline of the hills, and the houses here and there.
I stopped a few times to check the map, comparing the lines on it with the terrain illuminated by my headlights. Nothing I saw matched, and I was starting to get nervous. I was tired, I was hungry again, and to make things worse, clouds had covered the moon and I could barely see.
I kept going in the hopes of seeing a sign somewhere. But after three miles of driving, none had appeared. After four, it was the same story. Then six. Then eight. I didn’t even think the island was that big.
I was about to give up when at last I saw some lights in front of me. Finally! Electric lights! Civilization!
“No way!” I shouted.
I recognized the post office and the violet house next to it. I was back where I had started.
I got out, angry with myself, and kicked the back wheel, like it was the car’s fault.
Somewhere behind me, I heard music and voices, but then they faded out. I walked in that direction. Past a few houses, I found another street. To my left, I saw a square building with a sloping roof and a wooden sign over the door lit by a bare bulb. It read, simply, EMMA’S PLACE. RESTAURANT.
Inside, I smelled fried fish, and my mouth watered in response. It wasn’t a big place, but it was homey. It looked old and musty, untouched for decades. The walls were covered in black-and-white photos, little paintings of ships, and fishing tackle hung up wherever. Decor was clearly not their strong suit.
The people at the tables were talking over music coming from a classic jukebox, and there was a woman behind the bar. She was drying glasses with a rag. I hoped she would notice my presence, but when she didn’t, I said, “Hey, excuse me.”
She was around my age, maybe a little older or a little younger. Looking not particularly friendly, she responded, “Yes?”
“Could you tell me how to get to Old Bay from here?”
“This isn’t a tourist office. We’ve got food, and we’ve got drinks. Order something or hit the road.”
I couldn’t believe it. I guess hospitality wasn’t the islanders’ strength. I tried to make some witty reply to put her in her place. Something that would piss her off even worse, if that was possible. But nothing occurred to me, and in frustration, I asked, “If I order something, will you tell me how to get there?”
She shrugged and leaned her hands on the bar. I pushed my hair out of my face and smiled tensely.
“A vanilla latte, please.”
“Jesus!” She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a Starbucks!” she snapped. “We got coffee, coffee with milk, and raw sugar if you’re really feeling frisky.”
Where in the hell was I? I started to get up and tell her to go piss up a rope, but before I could open my mouth, a guy appeared beside her carrying two plates of food and dropped them off at the bar. He was wearing a ball cap with a few coppery curls poking out from under it. He looked me up and down and then glanced at the bartender.
“Carlie, take this to table six.”
Her eyes were murderous, but she picked up the dishes and did as he said.
I couldn’t help but be amused to watch her walk off, cranky and grumbling.
“Your employees here could use some customer-service training. She’s terrifying.”
He smiled. “She’s not my employee, she’s my sister.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“No worries. She’s pissed off because she’s being punished. Don’t pay her any mind.”
I settled down on my barstool, more relaxed now. I wondered how old the guy was, but he had one of those eternally young faces that made it hard to tell, plus a beard.
“So you punished her because she’s so charming, or…?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Carlie’s going through a tough time and my parents decided it would be good for her to spend some time with me. They live in Dartmouth.”
“You mean Dartmouth in Nova Scotia?”
“Yeah.”
“What brings you here, then?” I asked with surprise.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
I looked down, wondering if I’d offended him, and my ears suddenly felt hot. I’m not usually nosy. I was just curious, and I didn’t think such an innocent question would bother him, even if we had just met. I mean, I didn’t want to be rude; it was just weird that a guy from the city would wind up behind the bar on an island in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. According to the sign I’d seen next to the church, Petit Prince had six hundred twenty-three inhabitants. And to judge from the customers at the table, the average age must have been around fifty. If you rounded down.
“Someone loaned me a house on the island, and I’ve come for a couple of days. For vacation, you know.”
“Just you?” He sounded a little skeptical.
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“We get tourists here, but they’re usually groups or families. Rarely just one person on their own.”
“I’m not a tourist. You could almost call me a resident. It’s my sister’s house.”
“Well, then… It’s a pleasure to meet you, neighbor! My name’s Ridge, and this is Emma’s Place, my home and my business. I doubt there’s a better spot on the whole island, if you don’t mind me saying. Welcome to Petit Prince!”
He was so enthusiastic that I couldn’t help laughing. I shook his hand and nodded with feigned seriousness.
“Glad to meet you, Ridge. My name’s Harper, and I hope you can tell me how to get to Old Bay. That’s where my home for the week is.”
“Old Bay? That’s on the other end of the island.”
I took the map out of my pocket and smoothed it out on the bar so he could look at it.
“I’ve got these directions my sister gave me, but I’m not sure if they’re right.”
“Did you try following them?”
“Yeah, and I went in a gigantic circle and ended up here.”
“Well, you were lucky to even be able to do that. This is all wrong. It’s not a big island, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get lost if you don’t know it well, especially at night.”
“Do you have a decent map, then? A real one?”
“I’ve got something way better. Me.”
“You?” I smiled when I realized he was offering to come along. I threw my bag on my shoulder, ready to get up. “Thanks!”
“No problem. But I can’t take you until I close up here.”
I fell back on my seat. I’d been awake for nineteen hours, and I was tired. Each minute felt like an hour, and for some time now, my pants and shoes had felt like they were cutting off the blood flow to my legs. Not to mention, I badly needed to brush my teeth.
“When’s that, then?”
“A couple of hours. During the week, people don’t stick around very late. In the meantime, are you hungry? Thirsty?”
I nodded and my mouth started watering. I’d never been so hungry, and the scent of food was so tempting I could hardly think of anything else.
“I saw those dishes you brought out… They looked pretty good.”
“Fish and chips, plus mussel sauce. I promise you’ve never tasted anything better in your life.”
“I’ll take five,” I joked.
He chuckled and looked me in the face, and I saw something in his eyes that made me nervous. You know the story: boy meets girl, boy likes girl… Well, it wasn’t that. He looked interested in me, actually interested , curious, somehow knowing, as if he could already sense I was running away from something and wanted to know what and why.
He served me a plate overflowing with fish and potatoes topped with an orange sauce with aromatic herbs. The first bite was divine. The second, third, and the rest I swallowed so quickly that I was hardly able to taste them.
When I was done, he gave me a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee on the house. By then, I was satiated and could take my time with them. I actually didn’t need either, but turning them down would have been rude. The pie was delicious. It tasted like real apples, not that gooey brown mush I was used to at the cafeteria at university.
Ridge smiled from the other end of the bar, where he was closing out his last few guests. I smiled back. He was a nice guy, extroverted, and nothing like his sister, who’d been glaring at me the whole time while I tried to ignore her and be empathetic. I guess if someone had forced me out of my city and made me move in with my brother in the middle of nowhere with no better distraction than fishing, I’d probably be that hateful, too.
I closed my eyes. Thinking that, I suddenly felt that my situation wasn’t that different from Carlie’s. I mean, there were differences, obviously—big ones—but in the end, it was the same thing: she was there because she’d been pushed to go, and so was I.
I smiled at her when she came over to clear my dishes. I wanted to be nice. I thought that would make her act nice, too. But instead she lifted an eyebrow and frowned. “Sucking up to me won’t make my brother sleep with you. You’re not his type.”
I sat up straight as a ramrod. So much for friendliness. She was a bitch. I was about to tell her where she could stick her attitude, but Ridge beat me to the punch.
“Carlie, what the hell is up with you? Are you trying to scare off all my customers?”
“If it gets me off this goddamn island…” she replied, walking off.
Ridge pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache and looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do with her.” With a humorless smile, he asked, “Any advice?”
“A pair of cement boots and a bottomless pit?”
He laughed. “Don’t tempt me,” he replied as he pulled off his apron. “We can go now.”
I got into the car and started the engine, and a few seconds later, Ridge pulled up next to me in an SUV and gestured for me to follow him.
It was desolate on those narrow roads leading out of the center of town, and just as silent as it was dark. I started to ask myself what Hayley and Scott had seen in that no-man’s-land that had made them want to buy a house there. Ridge’s left blinker started flashing, and he turned soon afterward. After a couple more yards, he stopped. I braked next to him and managed to make out the outline of a house against the sky.
“Here it is,” Ridge said, getting out.
“Are you sure?”
“There are just three other houses in Old Bay, and I know the owners of those. They’re islanders, and they’ve all been here forever. So this is the only one it can be.”
I tried to glimpse some detail that might remind me of the few photos I’d seen of the place, but I only remembered them vaguely.
A trail led around the house to the front door, which looked out onto the sea. With one foot on the first step, I drew a tense breath, gripping the key tight. Ridge had left his truck running with the high beams on so I could see, and he’d told me he’d come in with me just to make sure everything was all right.
The lights didn’t work.
Ridge told me to wait as he walked inside, using the flashlight on his phone to light the way to the fuse box. A few minutes later, I could hear a slight hum in the walls, and the overhead bulbs turned on. I blinked a few times until my eyes got used to it.
The walls were white, a contrast to the burnished caramel brown of the doors and window frames. What few furnishings there were had a solid and robust appearance and were honey-yellow to match the brass of the fireplace with its protective glass pane. A few paintings added color to the room, as did the upholstery of the sofa and chairs and the cushions and curtains. It was simple but pretty. I liked it.
Ridge smiled as he reappeared. “You’ve got electricity and water now. And I wrote my number on the chalkboard in the kitchen in case you need anything.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to…”
“Everyone here knows everyone else. And you can never predict when you might have an emergency or need help. Besides, your nearest neighbor is a mile away south.”
He didn’t need to say more to convince me. A strange feeling of apprehension brought me to a shiver. I had been living alone, sleeping alone for years, but I’d always been surrounded by people right next door. Solitude was relative in a big city. Here it was real and intimidating, and it felt eerie.
“Thanks.”
“Of course. Well, it’s getting to be that time when I need to go home before Carlie steals a boat and rows off. Are you good here?”
I looked around and nodded, trying to appear convinced. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I followed him out and heard something that frightened me again. Ridge had left his radio on, and a shrill voice was giving what seemed like a meteorological report. Ridge turned the volume up, looking worried.
“The approaching storm will be one of the strongest in years, my friends, with constant winds of up to sixty miles per hour and occasional gusts up to ninety. We can expect rain and hail, so those of you who haven’t covered your gardens should try to, and fishermen should bring in their traps and stay indoors. Don’t worry, the crabs and lobsters won’t go anywhere. Remember, this could drag on for several days, so people should make sure they have enough food, water, and whatever else they need. The rain will start Wednesday on the northern coast and will continue southward in the hours afterward. We are urging maximum caution…” Now another voice took over: “Well, you heard the man. Thanks, Terry, for looking after us, and we look forward to you keeping us up to date. This is Kevin Brooks at Petit Prince Radio. Have a good night . ”
Suddenly my throat felt dry. “What storm is he talking about?”
“They’ve been going on about it for days. The atmospheric temperature dropped rapidly for the season and the ocean’s still warm. High pressure in one place, low pressure in the other…”
I closed my eyes and tried to organize my thoughts. I knew how storms worked and what caused them; that wasn’t what I meant. I shook my head, unable to accept that a storm would hit as soon as I’d reached the island.
“This morning while I was at the airport waiting for my flight, I looked at the weather for the week and it was supposed to be fine, just one little storm north of the Magdalen Islands that was due to bypass us to the northwest.”
“Yep. Well, it looks like they got it wrong.”
“How could they get it wrong? It was a national meteorological service report. They have all kinds of equipment at their disposal. You think this Terry knows more than them? Where did he study?”
“Terry? I doubt he even went to high school, but he’s got lots of experience and a funny knack for knowing these things.”
“Instinct? He just told everyone to take cover, like a Category 4 hurricane was about to strike.”
Ridge tried not to laugh, and that bothered me. This was no joke, and I wasn’t sure how serious the situation was.
“Listen, I’ve been living here for three years, and the first thing I learned was to pay attention to the locals when they tell you what the weather’s going to be. They’re rarely wrong. They may not have fancy equipment or satellites, but they have experience, and they know how it was in the past. I’d be willing to bet that storm’s coming on Wednesday, and we’d better be prepared.”
He sounded so convinced I had to nod and ask myself what the hell I was going to do. I was born under a cloud, and all I could think was that this was just the beginning of something much, much worse. The domino effect had been one of the guiding principles of my life, and once the first piece fell, others tended to follow.
I imagined all the possibilities: a leaky roof, the house lying directly in the flood path, me getting appendicitis in the eye of the hurricane… I brought a hand to my chest and leaned against the car.
Ridge could probably tell what I was thinking. He came up next to me, not close enough to make me uncomfortable, but not so far away that I felt alone. That told me a lot about him—above all, that he was a good person.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“I guess so.” I shrugged.
“What are you doing here?”
“Wow! Are you always this direct?”
“I don’t want to get into your personal business, but I look at you, and…you’re a city girl. You don’t belong here.”
I concentrated on the house, all brightness and shadow under the headlights. “I have to make a big decision, and my sister thought I could find the peace I needed to do it here.”
He nodded, seeming to understand, and I almost asked him for advice. Maybe he was right; maybe it didn’t make any sense for me to be here.
“Is it important, this decision?”
“Very.” I could tell he was curious, but he didn’t inquire further, so I decided it was my turn. “Was it easy for you to leave Dartmouth and come here?”
He crossed his arms.
“Coming here was easy. The hard thing was deciding whether or not to stay.” Responding to my look of confusion, he smiled and turned his head toward the sky. “I came with a group of climate activists. We stayed for two weeks, we organized with the Climate Action Network, and…I just ended up falling in love with the island and the people here. Lots of people leave for the mainland. It’s only a few who come here and stay.”
“Does your family mind you wanting to be here?”
“They didn’t get it at first. I left behind a good job, my studies, a great girl, and now what have I got? An old bar with a bunch of surly customers.” He laughed and shook his head. “My father eventually understood, but he never misses a chance to tell me I’m ruining my future. My mother’s still so mad at me that she barely talks to me.”
“And yet here you are, taking care of your sister.”
“I’m more like her prison warden. Carlie was running with a rough crowd, hanging out in bad places, and here that’s not an option. She spends all day angry and hating everyone, but at night, she sleeps safe in her bed. That’s all that matters now. And it’s one thing my parents and I can agree on.”
“So you did what you wanted, even though everyone was against it. Weren’t you scared of losing them?”
“Not if I lost them because I was living the way I wanted to live. I mean… People have lots of defects, and one of them is telling everyone else what they should do, and how, and when, and where. I can’t stand people trying to get mixed up in my life when I never asked anyone’s opinion.”
“Still, what if that anyone matters to you?”
“I don’t care if anyone means my parents, my friends, my girlfriends.” He straightened up and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Can I tell you something?” I nodded, concentrating on him and his words. “No one will ever live your life for you. And if you don’t, then what do you have?”
I reflected on his words, trying to savor them in my mind. “Nothing, I guess…”
“Exactly. Nothing. And you can’t make your mark, live your life, with nothing.”
His words touched me deeply. Ridge was an interesting guy, and what he said reminded me of a paragraph I’d written the last time I tried to start a novel. That had been a strange moment in my life, but now it made sense. I had thought those words were just nonsense, a momentary inspiration, but they were the answer to a question I hadn’t let myself formulate. And without realizing it, I’d held on to them in my private collection of thoughts.
“ We would be shadows of ourselves. Empty shells others have filled with their desires. Sad beings without motivation. Entities walking wherever others push us. Tempus fugit .” I recited these words exactly as I’d written them.
Ridge grunted in reluctant acknowledgment. “I prefer carpe diem, seize the day, enjoy yourself. Dum vivimus, vivamus.”
I giggled, pleasantly surprised and timid at the notion that I was sharing such private sentiments with a stranger. And yet, it didn’t feel that way. It felt like we had been friends our whole lives.
After a moment’s pause, Ridge said, “I hope you find what you came here looking for, Harper.”
“So do I.”
I looked at the house apprehensively. He bumped shoulders with me. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
He nodded and stroked his beard.
“Listen, I’ve got a couple of rooms I rent to tourists. If you need one…if you don’t want to be here when the storm hits…just call me.”
“Thanks, Ridge. I’ll keep that in mind.”