“My crew’s fairly small, and we’ll do our best to stay out of your way,” Hunter offered.
It made sense that Shay was annoyed. I was disrupting the thing she’d said she loved most about the island: peace and quiet. I took a step closer to her. “They won’t be working on the weekends, so you’ll get your dose of quiet then.”
She startled slightly as if shocked I’d remember something she’d told me. “Don’t worry about me. It’s your island. Just let me know if I need to prepare anything for the start of construction.”
“All we need is for you to show me the pulley system,” Hunter said. “My team can cover the rest.”
Shay pointed to one of the outbuildings barely visible from where we stood. “It’s in the storage shed. I can set it up if you’ll let me know when you’re starting.”
Hunter shook his head. “We’ve got it. Thanks, Shay.”
“Well, I’m about to head to Anchor to pick up the mail. Do you need anything, Brody?”
“No. I think I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“I’ve got my phone if you change your mind. You should be able to send a text if you’re connected to the Wi-Fi.” She waved and headed down the path before I could utter another word.
Hunter tried to hide his chuckle with a cough. “She’s something.”
“I still haven’t quite figured her out.”
“Buddy, no one has. Shay’s not unfriendly, but she doesn’t exactly welcome conversation either.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She just shuts it down or evades. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t have any friends. No boyfriend or husband, either. It’s gotta be lonely. She’s lived out here all by herself for years. But it seems that’s just how she wants it to be.”
Something about that knowledge burned in my chest. How isolated Shay was. The way she looked at me when she found out that people would be invading her island. It was almost as if I’d betrayed her. And why did I care so much that she’d looked at me with those wounded eyes?
I hoped it was merely because I was intrigued. People were always intricate, interesting puzzles to me. The kind of projects I created required that I study humans and all the things they hid beneath their carefully crafted exteriors. Shay was simply more compelling than most. But if I dug deep, I knew that was a lie.
5
Shay
I focused on my breathing as I headed down the path and onto the dock. I matched my breaths to the gentle ebb and flow of the water as I readied the boat. I kept the count as I started the engine and headed for Anchor. I let the spray of the water around me soothe my frayed edges.
Everything was changing. My quiet haven had been invaded. And the handsome man now in my space had thrown me off-kilter. I eased back on the throttle, guiding the boat into one of the spots along the dock. Everything would be fine. So a construction crew would be around all winter. I could handle that. I simply had to continue being forgettable. That was easy enough.
But I couldn’t deny the longing I felt pulling at my chest. For friendship. Community. I missed it. The simple ease of grabbing dinner or coffee with someone who knew you. Not even necessarily on a deep level. Just someone you could chat about your day with. The book you were reading, the movie you watched the night before. Someone who made you feel not quite so alone.
I considered taking a detour into The General Store to see if Caelyn was there. Talking with her always eased a bit of that ache for me. I forced myself to head for the main street through town instead.
The buildings that dotted the thoroughfare were a mix of Craftsmen, Victorian, and aged brick. They breathed character into the community and housed just about everything I might need. I passed The Catch bar and restaurant, The Mad Baker, and a home furnishings store called Second Chances that always made me drool when I stepped inside.
I continued on until I reached my destination. The Exchange had mailboxes and a small shop for copies and shipping supplies, plus plenty of postcards for tourists. I kept two boxes here. One for Harbor, and one for myself. My personal box was at the end of a chain of similar mailboxes. I had my mail sent to St. Louis and then Charlotte before it ultimately landed on Anchor.
Everything about my life was a series of those types of protections. Layers I put into place to disguise where I truly was. I hoped that when the facility released Michael, he would never guess that I was mere hours away. If he searched the trail I’d left, he’d find a bank account and mailbox in Charlotte. But I’d stayed in Washington. A state that didn’t require me to pay income tax. A state that helped me hide just a little better.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the Harbor box. The post office was forwarding the Dowds’ mail to Seattle, but there were already a few pieces for Brody. I tucked them under my arm and moved to my personal box. An array of items was inside. As I pulled out a violin catalog and a flyer, the edge of an envelope caught my eye.
Everest Juvenile Treatment Facility. The tips of my fingers began to tingle as I stared at the envelope. The sensation grew, traveling into my hands as the words on the paper started to blur. Breathe. I sucked in a ragged breath. I needed a touchstone. I patted for the stone I usually kept in my pocket, but it wasn’t there. I didn’t have any lavender. And I couldn’t hear the water.
Shakily, I closed the mailbox and made my way out of The Exchange. I focused on my steps, putting one foot in front of the other until I reached the beach. I sank to the rocky shore, barely registering the jolt to my spine. I stared out at the water as it rolled in and out. Listened to the sound of its power. A strength that would keep me safe.
I looked down at the envelope in my hands, the top of my stack of mail. I slipped a finger under the flap before I lost my nerve and tore away the paper. I unfolded the piece of cheap stationery.
Dear Ms. McCabe,
This letter is to inform you that Michael McCabe will be released from custody on January 21st. He will remain on parole until the entirety of his twenty-year sentence has passed. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact the program director or the State of Washington Parole Board.
There was no signature at the bottom of the letter, simply the facility name. I ran my gaze over the letter again as if I might be able to change its message if I stared hard enough. I squeezed my eyes closed.
The familiar war took up root in my chest. Guilt and fear. Anger and longing. I wouldn’t wish on anyone the need to fear, to the depths of your bones, the person you loved most. My mind couldn’t help but travel back to the memories I cherished most about my little brother. Staying up past our bedtimes to watch our favorite movie. Decorating cookies with Mom for Christmas. Picking apples at an orchard an hour outside the city.
But almost every good memory was tinged with darkness. Michael breaking my favorite DVD because he wanted to watch his. Throwing my cookies in the trash after Dad had complimented my decorating. Pushing me off a ladder at the orchard for no discernable reason.
At three, my parents had realized that something was off about their son. But it took them far too long to come to terms with what that might be. By seven, he’d been hospitalized three times. By nine, we were all scared of the little blond boy who lived down the hall. And when he turned eleven, it was too late for any of us.