TWO YEARS LATER
“Good morning, Anna.” The bright, cheery voice of Barbara, the mailwoman, brightens my morning as she passes me in the street.
“Morning.” I’m practically skipping today, wearing a new cornflour blue summer dress on the hottest day of the season and in a blindingly happy mood. Nothing could dampen my spirits today since I woke up from a scarce night of no nightmares and felt incredibly refreshed for once. It’s funny how that alone can change my entire day.
The village is bustling, bright, and early, with most fishing crews already coming in to offload, and the harbor is chaotic with activity. It’s eight am, and yet life here starts at four.
“Anna!!!” I’m hit from behind with a small, soft bundle of speed, colliding with my rear and wrapping little arms around my thighs that sends me skipping forward to stop myself from falling over. I am waving my arms around for balance, yet the smile spreads across my face and warms me. It’s no guessing who just steamrollered me.
“Sadie, good morning.” I pat her on the top of her little blonde head, used to this assault, getting her leg hugs before she releases me, and I can turn and squat down. She’s the shortest seven-year-old in the village, and despite her chaotic energy, I adore her. She greets me daily, and we often have playdates on the weekends when I’m not busy. Last Saturday, we made cookies in the Tarry shack kitchen, and Greta had to taste-test every flavor.
“Look, look….. another fell out.” She proudly holds out her little hand, stretched flat, and shows me the blood-crusted tooth she is beaming over. It's a solid chunk of white enamel, typical of her not even washing it. I grimace inwardly but hide it well.
“Wow…. it’s a big one.” I avoid touching it and pretend to admire it from all angles. “You did good, and the tooth fairy will surely reward such a healthy incisor.”
“I’m giving it to you. You said teeth were precious and magical, and you’re my favoritest person, so you can have it.” Her toothy little grin and baby way of talking melt my heart, yet I’m reluctant to accept. I am recoiling but trying not to hurt her feelings.
“Oh no, you can’t do that. A poor little fairy won’t be able to fuel her magic for the foreseeable future. How will she fly? I can’t be selfish as much as I want to be. We should let the fairy have it.” I frown dramatically and pout my lips as I nod at her with sad eyes, and she looks distraught for a second. Thinking it over and nods cutely.
“I guess.” She sadly pokes at it with her pointer finger and then jumps with a flinch when her mother hollers her name from the direction of the school bus stop. Seemingly annoyed by the tone, I check my watch and realize she’s late.
“I need to go. Mom’s calling.” She takes off without a goodbye, bursting off at speed, taking her tooth with her, and I smile and slowly stand to wave her off. That whirlwind disaster is probably still my favorite person on this island.
“Tell her I said good morning,” I yell after her and watch her disappear between two men carrying crates from the pier.
“That kid’s crazy.” A voice behind me makes me turn and giggle, met with the wrinkly little old face who likes to watch the boats come in.
“Morning, Albert. She’s perfect for this village, though.” I raise a brow, pat his shoulder affectionately, and continue walking to the bakery. These interactions are my regular daily routine and always help ground me.
I get a dozen good mornings on the way. Everyone in bright spirits returned smiles and well wishes, full of the joys of summer. Twirling my now waist-length hair with one hand and waving at passing faces. I love this refreshing morning trip before the Tarry Shack starts serving breakfast to the day's first boat. We get the hobby fisherman who come in to take lessons and love a good eight-thirty fry up before taking to the sea on Phil’s big Bertha boat.
“Morning, what’s it now?” Amber, the bakery girl, meets me with a grin as I stroll in and lean on the counter to survey the goods. It’s my second trip since we opened at seven am because Greta demands we stock up. Today we have three tour boats docking for lunch—the one which circles seal island, the coast-to-coast tours, and the whale-watching vessel. Whenever we hear of a new sightseeing business, we contact them and offer them discounts to dock here. It took me months to get the tour operator to put us on the map as a stop, and it’s starting to pay off.
“More rolls. Greta reckons all the incomers will go through a ton as we have soup on the menu today. She underestimated, apparently.” I sway from side to side as I wait on her to fill me up with a couple of crates of freshly made and divine-smelling baked goods, and I turn and rest against the counter with my tailbone to watch everyone outside. Unloading crab and prawns and all manner of fish while weighing as they go. It’s never-ending.
“See Tom’s back from his three weeks offshore…. have you agreed to a date yet?” Amber prods me in the shoulder, and I bat her away. I shake my head and frown at the fact that everyone always seems to push me his way. He hasn’t even asked me out because I make sure to dodge conversations with him anytime he corners me.
Tom’s a nice guy. Solid, stable, family orientated, and sweet. A twenty-nine-year-old, Six-foot hulk of muscle and handsome ruggedness, but I’m not interested in dating or love. My heart isn’t ready to be opened, and as much as I’ve come a long way these past two years, I have my scars and my memories. I still have dreams that never let me go, even for a second.
“You look pretty today. Blue’s your color.” The voice from my right makes me tilt my head to see Amber’s mother coming in from the kitchen access. Smiling at me in all her softness and I turn and smile back. Glad of the interruption to Amber and her annoying Tom interrogations.
“It’s new. Do you like it?” I stand away from the counter and give her a little twirl, beaming with the adoring way she appraises me.
“Beautiful as always. You’re such a ray of sunshine in this place. I wish that one would learn she has a figure she could show off. Might have caught a husband by now if she wore a dress once in a while.” She throws her daughter the side-eye and gets an eyeroll in response. The usual bickering between them is because she feels like her twenty-five-year-old should be settled down.
“Hey… if I wanted a man, there are a few who are interested. I’m following Greta’s example and focusing on making myself happy and dressing how I want.”
“While sweating in jeans in summer.” I point out and duck as she throws a scrunched-up paper bag at me.
“Says the woman who evades Tom Fletcher at all costs while he’s hands down the hottest man on the island.”
We draw one another sarcastic glares and then laugh. We have had this same non-argument many times over the months.
“No, no, no! You don’t want a fisherman as a long-term love. It’s a hard and dangerous life, and he’s at sea more than he’s home. It can be lonely. Trust me. I lost my first husband to that moody bitch out there. She can turn in the blink of an eye.” She nods at our glass-fronted ocean view, and I’m inclined to agree. The village is recovering from two deaths last autumn when a storm took down one of our biggest vessels and two husbands in the process. It’s still a raw topic even now, months later.
“Talking of which, we got a red weather warning. Tonight, by eight pm. Button down the hatches for a tropical storm eating up the coast.” Amber warns me and pulls my attention to her. “Some reports from last night are that a couple of hundred miles away, it devastated an entire island and destroyed half their tuna fleet.
“It’s the sunniest and calmest of days, are you sure?” Sometimes, it is hard to understand how nature can turn deadly without warning.
“Yup, Stan himself told me when he came in for his breakfast rolls.” Stan is our resident coastguard contact who mans our little lighthouse out on the rocky end of the west shore. If we ever need weather reports, he’s the one in the know. If he says a storm is coming, we listen.
“There are some new boats already coming in to shelter overnight. I heard all the cruisers and pleasure boats had been told to maroon at the nearest harbors they could find before sundown. It’s to be that bad. So, the village will get some more foot traffic anyway.” Mauve, Amber’s mom, chimes in with a tone of worry and seriousness, and I nod. It’s not the first time we have been a haven for yachts and cruise boats. We have a pretty substantial harbor, and we’re a good location for nearby hobby sailors.
“Well, if any pull up with empty stomachs and cash to spend, send them our way. The more, the merrier. We could use a good summer for the piggy bank padding. Make the most of a bad night.”
“Will do. Here.” Amber hands over my perfectly packed crates over the counter, and I take the weight, not even flinching at the heaviness anymore. This has become a daily trip. Living here has been better than the gym. I spent thousands on membership fees. I’m probably in the best physical shape of my life from just existing and surviving island life. The last time I put makeup on my face was the Christmas dance, and before that, probably the Christmas before.
“Come up at some point tonight and try my new summer cold noodle soup. Asian inspired. It’s delicious. Greta has put it on the menu.” I part ways, using my ass to butt the door for my exit and smile at my ladies as Amber jots down our amount to be added to our tab and waves me away. I know they’ll pop up to try it, always supportive of my cooking skills while I take classes, and try to be more helpful to Greta. However, my skills have been put to better use in making the island profitable.
I turn, facing the sun as I get outside, and let the door swing shut. I close my eyes for a second to savor it before another busy day starts. Enjoying its warmth and inhaling slowly.
We’ve been crazy hectic this past few weeks with all the tourists coming in. Between starting social media pages, and YouTube for the locals to upload to, boosting the quaintness of the island, and pushing for upgrades and restyling overall. We organize tour stops and even have some of our own boats run a ferry on day visitation to the nearest mainland. We’re doing better financially as a whole.
We built a community hall, fixed up some of the worst buildings, and branded ourselves with a village persona, making it a place where families like to stop by. The hotel is now booked out all season long, and we give island tours and specialized activities in parts that were barren land before. Camping, hunting, trail walks, quad adventures, you name it. We came together and used what we had to build something more.
I’ve put all my expertise in running a profitable business into improving our lives without funding, and it's finally starting to get there. Keeping my face out of the limelight and experiencing pride to see my surroundings flourish with all the hard work I poured into when I started to need distractions from my past life. We never had incoming traffic in such amounts before this season started, so it’s proof it’s working. I feel like I finally put us on the map and brought in a whole new possibility of helping us grow. The islanders are sticking to my plans and can see I was right to commercialize this place for themselves.
“Anna, do you need help with those?” Tom’s voice comes my way and snaps me out of my daydreaming. I blink awkwardly to readjust to the sun, while inwardly, the wall comes up, and my stomach sinks.
“Nope. Doing fine.” I rebuff him with a quick reply and weak smile, even if I try to remain friendly and neutral, and dive sideways to head for the path back to the shack. I hate when he dive bombs me like this, and I feel like a deer in the headlights. Instantly nervous and scared and look for the nearest escape route.
Tom’s dressed in his sea-faring gear and still has his vest on, clearly stopping whatever he’s doing to come to offer me help. He must have spotted me languishing under the rays and come over. I feel bad about always running a mile when he appears, but I don’t want to give him the wrong signals and encourage his interest in me.
“If you’re sure?” As I walk at speed, he calls after me, and I can’t even throw a wave back at him as a parting shot because these crates need both hands.
“I’m sure.” I singsong airily, trying not to be cold and impolite, and don’t look back at all. Hating that I can still be this standoffish with certain people, and I know he’s done nothing wrong. Always the perfect gentleman. Most women would do anything to have his attention, yet here I am, pushing it away and constantly rejecting him.
I may have healed in so many ways with Greta’s undying love and support, but I still wear this damned ring under my clothes and around my neck, and I’m still not at that point where I can take it off.