"Are you looking for Gwen?" Darla, one of the maids, asked him near one of the walk-in freezers. "She had to run an errand, but she'll be back in an hour or so."
"Can you tell her I was here? I need to talk to her."
Darla gazed at him speculatively. "Of course," she said finally.
Jack hated the way she was looking at him, like she could see right through him. He returned to his truck, only for him to pause when Gwen's red sedan pulled up next to him.
It was raining harder now, but Jack didn't make a move to get into the dry warmth of his truck. Instead, he went to the driver's side of Gwen's car and knocked on the window.
"Jack!" cried Gwen. She unrolled the window. "What in the world—?"
"You've been avoiding me," he shouted against the noise of the rain and wind. "Why?"
She stared at him. "Jack, it's raining—"
"And I'm a fisherman. I won't fucking melt."
Sighing, she turned off the ignition to her car and then gestured for him to get into the passenger side. Jack barely fit, even with the seat pushed all the way back.
"Is this a car made for ants?" he groused. He grunted when he bumped his head against the ceiling.
"Don't criticize Lola. She's a good car." Gwen patted the steering wheel.
Neither said anything for a painfully long moment.
"Why are you avoiding me?" he said, finally. He hated how he sounded like he was pleading with her.
"I'm not avoiding you. I let you get into my car. I've spoken to you multiple times this week."
"You know what I mean."
Gwen glanced over at him. She was gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled. Jack could feel the tension vibrating between them.
"What happened Friday night..." She swallowed. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."
Well, that was as clear as mud. Gritting his teeth, Jack replied, "Explain."
"What's there to explain? I screwed up, and I got you caught up in it." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I'll always be a disappointment. It's better this way."
Jack felt like she was speaking a foreign language. "So you're saying you don't want me," he said flatly.
"I don't know what I want." Her expression was sincere, at least. "Which means it's better if we act like it never happened."
Jack didn't need an interpreter to understand that. He'd been right: Gwen saw him only as a friend. Even as his pride smarted and the caveman part of his brain wanted to prove her wrong, he'd respect her decision.
But what the hell did she mean that she'd always be a disappointment? He'd been the one forcing something that would never happen.
"I get it. You don't have to keep explaining," he said.
"I really am sorry." Her voice trembled a little.
"Nothing to be sorry for."
Gwen spent the next few days wallowing. She saw the look on Jack's face when she'd rejected him, and her heart felt bruised all over again.
It's better this way, she told herself. I can't give him what he deserves.
She told herself that, but it didn't make her feel better. It made her feel even more broken. She wished she was brave like Alex, who'd gone swimming with sharks and climbed to the base of Mount Everest. But instead, Gwen was practically scared of her own shadow. She hated herself for being so weak.
She'd never told Alex or Felicity about why, exactly, her marriage to Tim had failed. For all they knew, they'd simply grown apart, a narrative that Gwen had done nothing to contradict.
Alex probably wouldn't understand, Gwen had always figured. It wasn't that she wouldn't be empathetic, but her advice generally tended to boil down to "cheer up and move on."
"You look like someone just died," said Helen, startling Gwen out of her thoughts. "Did someone die?"
Gwen let out a laugh. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Then you should smile because you're alive and so is everyone else you know. Nobody wants an innkeeper who looks so glum."
"You're not smiling." Blushing, Gwen added, "Sorry, that was rude."
Helen only laughed, a laugh that sounded like a crow cawing. It was slightly terrifying. "You've got some spunk in you! Good. Be sure to keep that. You'll need it."
Gwen had been tidying up the front of the bed and breakfast when Helen had emerged. It was a quiet afternoon. Most of the guests had gone off to do various activities for the day. Gwen wondered why Helen had stayed in.
"I think it's time for a break. Would you like to join me?" said Gwen.
"Only if it involves coffee," was Helen's reply.
The bed and breakfast had a small porch out front with a few chairs, where patrons could relax and watch passersby on Main Street. It was a crisp autumn day, the sky a sharp blue. Gwen cupped her hot mug of coffee, inhaling the steam. Helen perched on a chair next to her and began drinking the piping hot coffee so fast that Gwen marveled that the woman didn't burn her tongue off.
Helen finished her coffee before Gwen had barely made a dent in her own. "That was better, but still not great," she said. "Can't say I've found any real good coffee on this island."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I guess we can't compare with Seattle coffee."
"Seattle? Good lord, no. Can't stand the place. It's loud, dirty, and the traffic..." Helen shuddered. "I haven't been there in over ten years, besides passing by it on the way to the airport. Cities aren't for me."
"There is something nice about living on an island. Barely any traffic around here."
"I'm surprised, a young woman like you, wasting her life away in a place like this." At Gwen's surprised look, Helen added, "You aren't married, clearly. So that means you're single, and any eligible bachelors in this place are probably twice your age."
Gwen nearly choked on her coffee. "There are some guys my age." And I rejected one of them already, she thought glumly.
"The pool is very limited. Do you want to be a spinster with twenty cats? Because that's what you're going to be if you don't get out of here."
Gwen was torn between laughing and feeling offended. "My entire life is here. My business, my friends. All of it. I'm not going to abandon it just because I'm single. It's the twenty-first century, Helen. Women can be single. It's not a death sentence."
"Oh, men in general are worthless. I won't disagree with you there. But take it from someone who's a little bit older than you: hiding doesn't do anybody any good. And if you're burying your head in the sand in this place, you'll regret it."
"Is that what you did?" Gwen asked softly.
Helen snorted. "Whoever said I was talking about me? I'm speaking in generalities."
Gwen didn't press the issue. She wondered if Helen was right. Was Gwen just avoiding getting involved with someone to protect herself? She had moved here to get away from her old life. She'd known that the day she'd decided to come to Hazel Island.
But what was so bad starting anew? She wasn't hiding. She'd needed this place. It didn't hold all the memories of her marriage that now only served to sting her bruised heart.