by Liz Johnson
The steady rhythm of the hammer stopped, but she refused to look in Justin’s direction.
“Umm … I hadn’t really …”
She hadn’t given Mama Kane a single thought. It was much easier thinking that the whole town had heaved a sigh of relief when the last O’Ryan left than it was to imagine anyone missing her presence at the annual lobster cook-off.
Except that Mama Kane’s hug had felt like it was trying to make up for a thousand lost days.
“I’m not sure she’d like to—” Natalie stopped as soon as she caught sight of Marie, who had managed to get the lid off the third paint can. Her face had turned green, as though they’d turned on the overhead lights again. Except no one had.
“Marie? Are you all right?”
“Sure. Fine.” Her cheeks suddenly ballooned in the universal sign of decidedly not fine.
Tossing her paintbrush to the side, Natalie rushed toward her wedding planner.
Justin beat her there. His hands were free of his tools, which she saw in his wake out of the corner of her eye. He gently cupped Marie’s elbow, guiding her toward the open door.
Natalie grabbed her other arm, holding her up and urging her away from the potent scents of the mingling stains. The combination of odors made her eyes water, and Natalie cringed against it.
When they reached the fresh air, Marie gulped it in with great gasps, even as Justin steered her around the building and into the passenger seat of her own car. “Sit here for a little while. I’ll clean up.”
Natalie caught his eye and tried not to look like she was surveying him as hard as she was. But there was an inflexibility in his voice that she’d never heard before. It wasn’t demanding—rather, protective. It wasn’t harsh, but it accepted no argument. He took charge and took care of Marie.
That’s what a man is supposed to sound like.
The thought popped into her mind unbidden, and she jerked away. From the very idea. And from him.
A touch of pink seeped into Marie’s lips, and she nodded slowly. “I’m not sure what—”
But there was no time for her to finish. She raced for the corner of the barn before becoming violently ill.
Maybe it wasn’t the smell of the paint.
Natalie’s stomach squirmed, but she took a few steps in the direction of Marie’s hunched form.
“I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”
No one had to tell her twice. Natalie ducked back into the barn, where Justin had already made his escape. He stood at the makeshift table, pounding lids back onto the paint containers and collecting the brushes.
She stooped to pick up his fallen tape measure, but he said, “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re wrong, you know.”
She almost dropped the tape measure but instead hugged it to her chest, lest she throw it at him. “About?”
He didn’t look up from his work, but the line of his jaw worked like one of his prized heifers chewing her cud. The silence staggered on, and she was tempted to turn around and find Marie, but there was something inside her that had to know what he meant.
“What am I so wrong about?”
“Mama Kane.” He looked up, one eye closed, the other open only enough for her to see the fire inside. “She’d like to go to your wedding.”
“How do you know that?” She’d bet good money that he’d never had a sit-down conversation about her upcoming nuptials with his mom. Actually, she’d bet he’d never even thought about her at all when she wasn’t around.
Except for that blasted song.
He’d thought about her at least long enough to write that song. And perform it enough to make it a town favorite.
“My mom couldn’t have loved you any more if you were her own child. Of course she wants to be at your wedding. She wants to see you happy.”
“If your mom loved me so much, she would have …” Releasing her grip on the tape measure, she set it on the table in front of him.
The blue in his eyes like ice, he prodded her on. “She would have what? What did you want her to do?”
I wanted her to rescue me.
But she couldn’t say that out loud. She couldn’t admit that to anyone. Even if she was pretty sure that Justin had always known.
When it was clear that she wasn’t going to go on, he gave her another nudge. “You wanted more than regular cheese sandwiches, her heart, and the run of our house?”
His push was about as gentle as a cattle prod.
“If she’d really loved me, it would have been my house too.”
His jaw dropped, then closed, no sound escaping. But she could see him working out whatever he needed to say in the lines of his forehead. Finally he shook his head. “That’s asking—” He stabbed his fingers through his hair, dislodging his ponytail.
“What?”
Before he could answer, Marie called from the entrance. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
Natalie looked over her shoulder and nodded. “Be right there.” While she spun back around, Justin scooped up the supplies and headed toward the exit. “Wait. What did you mean?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
But it wasn’t nothing. Nothing didn’t gnaw on her stomach and make her heart work twice as hard. Nothing didn’t whisper words in her ear that might have been lies.
Or worse. The truth.
Just before he reached the door, she stopped him cold with one quick sentence. “You’re wrong too, you know.”
He turned back, his hands steady, his eyes roving her face.
“I did say good-bye.”
He didn’t bother to argue or try to pretend that he didn’t understand her reference. His song hadn’t been that well camouflaged. “I think I’d have remembered that.”
With a tilt of her head, she asked, “Didn’t you read it?”
“Read what?”
“I left you a good-bye. Just where I figured you’d find it. Right where you’d look.”
His face screwed up like he couldn’t believe her.
It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He really thought she’d left without any word or warning. He thought she hadn’t given him any indication of where she’d gone all those years before. He thought she’d meant their separation to be permanent.
There it was. The real reason he was so angry with her.
He didn’t know that she’d asked him to come after her.
8
At his first opportunity that night, Justin ran inside, showered, and raced back toward his truck.
“Where are you going in such a hurry? Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
He skidded to a halt two feet from freedom. The weight of his mother’s glare was nearly palpable, and he’d never been able to dodge it. No matter how sweet she seemed to everyone else in town, he knew she could see into his soul, and he couldn’t get away with anything under her eye.
“I have an errand to run.” He risked a glance over his shoulder before running his fingers through his still damp hair. It was mostly true. Actually, it was entirely true. He had something to do away from the house. By definition, an errand.
“Uh-huh.”
Why didn’t it sound like she believed him? And why did he suddenly feel guilty?
“What kind of trouble do you think I’m going to get myself into?”
She crossed her arms over her brightly colored floral apron, her head cocked at a knowing angle, but she didn’t say a word.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
He stared at the white cabinets, wondering not for the first time just how his life would be different if he’d left, or at least moved out of his childhood home. But it hadn’t really been an option. Not after his dad’s death. Not when Brooke and Doug had needed a stable fixture in their lives. Not with his mom trying so hard to be strong every day.
She had managed her grief and somehow pulled herself together. And if he’d asked he
r to, she would have found a way to care for her younger kids and fully run the dairy. Except he couldn’t ask her to do that. He couldn’t add to the weight of the grief she carried after the love of her life had been taken so suddenly. An aneurysm, the doctor had said. His father hadn’t suffered.
But Justin would have counted himself half a man if he’d left his mom to suffer in his stead.
Besides, Brooke had just left for the University of PEI a few years ago. Doug, too, had needed to spread his wings with the knowledge that he could come back to the dairy if his pilot plans fell through.
Which left Justin to be scolded by his mother like a misbehaving fifteen-year-old for running out before dinner.
Adopting her stance, he folded his arms and met her gaze with as much steel as she displayed. “I’m thirty-two years old. And I’m going to pick something up.”
“Uh-huh.” Her flippant little singsong suggested she knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going.
“What?”
“Nothing at all.” She walked across the spacious kitchen and scooped her mitts from the counter before opening the oven, which released a cloud of heavenly scents. The chicken and veggies of her potpie had mingled with the bready crust, all to make his mouth water. And she’d opened the oven just to remind him what he’d be missing if he left.
His stomach rumbled on cue, but he pressed a hand to it and shook off his hunger. Some things were more important than chicken potpie. Not many. But he could think of at least one.
Natalie had been adamant that she’d said good-bye. And he could think of only one place where she might have left her farewell.
“You didn’t used to sneak out.”
That made him laugh. “I’m not sneaking out. I’m a grown man, and I have an errand. I’ll be back later.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Should I set a place for you at the table?”
“I’ll probably pick up something at—” The thought snapped into place and rolled off his tongue faster than he could think about why it was there. “Why don’t you invite Harrison over?”
Her other eyebrow followed her first, then she gave him a hard frown. “Why would I do that?”
“No reason exactly.” He thumped the wall as he walked into the mudroom, calling behind him, “You’ve just been spending a lot of time with him lately.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been acting strange since Natalie came back.”
He laughed. If that was the worst she could throw at him, he wasn’t doing too bad. Besides, could she blame him? Natalie’s arrival had thrown him for a loop. Moving her wedding reception to his barn had come out of left field too. Finding out her fiancé was an incredibly successful music producer had been the icing on a cake he had no desire to eat. But he’d managed to keep the dairy producing milk, his cows relatively happy, and his employees no more disgruntled than usual.
He cast a glance in the direction of the pasture as he reached his truck. Dillon Holt’s pickup was still parked on the far side of the milking barn. Justin couldn’t remember the last time Dillon had stayed late on his own. His mom said they were attached at the hip—he and Dillon. Maybe it was true. But where he was going tonight, Dillon couldn’t join him. Some things had to be done solo.
Hoisting himself behind the wheel of his oversize four-wheel drive, Justin took a deep breath. The evening air had already begun to turn crisp, carrying the salt and sea past the shoreline. Perhaps it was because he’d grown up on this farm, but he didn’t smell the cows anymore. Their aroma had become part of his every breath, and he was more likely to miss the odor when he was away than notice it when he was here.
It was the scent of his father’s legacy. And his grandfather’s before that.
He didn’t have to go more than two minutes before he reached the turnoff for the lighthouse on Kane land. There was another lighthouse on the other side of North Rustico, past the inn, at the end of the boardwalk. That was the one the tourists visited. White with red trim, it included a small cabin built onto the back. From the water, it looked just as a lighthouse should.
But he’d always been partial to the little blue-and-white building on his family land. Right at the notch in a small inlet, the light at the top of the second story could reach clear to the red cliffs across the water on a cloudless day. And when the fog rolled in and the sky hung low, it pierced through them, a call to safety for the fishermen in the open waters.
Natalie had loved this lighthouse too. In fact, it was where they’d first met.
He pulled up to the old house, stopping in front of a stump that had never been removed. Whenever the big green pine trees had grown too thick and threatened to block the path of the light, his grandfather had come out and chopped them down. But the stumps remained. Just like the memories. An impotent reminder of the past.
Still, he pulled himself from the cab of his truck and walked over to the door. It was locked now. But it hadn’t been almost thirty years ago. Inserting the key from his ring, he twisted the knob and pushed the door in. It squeaked like a lifetime had passed since anyone had opened it, although he knew his staff at the dairy took turns checking the light at regular intervals.
The first floor was so dark he couldn’t see where to place his feet, so he took hesitant steps, afraid that someone had altered the room in his absence. But it hadn’t changed. It still carried the strong smell of earth and rain and the wind that whipped off the sea in a storm. A small desk in the corner was a testament to a time when a man filled out a log and tracked all the events of this corner of the island. Now it sat empty.
Justin reached for the stair railing and angled his foot to find the first step. It wasn’t much more than a ladder with its narrow rungs and steep grade, but it was so familiar he could almost hear the echoes of hours of laughter.
At the top of the flight, he pushed open a small hatch and light flooded over him. Blinking against the brilliance, he pulled himself into the small room. Its ten sides were all made of glass, and he stared toward the ocean and away from the light on the console in the center. The sun had only just begun its evening descent, but somehow the light within was brighter than anything in the sky. The sweeping metal arm that rotated a partial cover around the bulb was his only reprieve.
Like he had so many times before, he closed the hatch and sank to the ground.
And looked into the far corner, half expecting to see Natalie.
The first time he’d seen her there, it had been their second day of kindergarten. Of course, he’d seen her in Sunday school and around the area. How could kids avoid at least a passing acquaintance in such a small town?
But that morning had been different. He’d forgotten that he’d left his favorite action figure in the lighthouse, and he’d wanted to take it for show-and-tell.
“Go get it,” his mom had said. So he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Cutting through the pasture and wading through the tall grass, he emerged at his favorite hiding place.
Sure enough, his toy was right where he’d last played with it.
But he wasn’t alone. A little girl’s big blue eyes blinked at him from her low crouch in the far corner.
“What’re you doin’ here?”
“Hiding.” There was no hesitancy in her voice, only the truth spelled out as plainly as a five-year-old could.
“What from? Ain’t you goin’ to school?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“’Cause.”
He didn’t think her answer was good enough, so he walked around the light, which was so bright it made his eyes water. “’Cause why? Don’t you like school?”
She shrugged, her shoulders so skinny that the bones nearly poked through the threadbare shirt she wore. He knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“Come on. Let’s go. I’ve got a show-and-tell.” He held up his toy.
She shook her head. Hard and certain. “Those girls at l-lunch. They said I w-was s-s-stupid.
”
He frowned. “Well, those girls are stupid. ’Sides, you can sit with me at lunch today.” He held out his hand, and she stared at it for a long time before sliding her fingers into his. Her hand was cold—not even the heat of the lamp had warmed her.
Even in the winter months, when the snow was so high that his mom had warned him not to leave the yard, he had found warmth under that light. And always Natalie too.
They’d spent years meeting under this lamp, soothing broken hearts and broken dreams, failed auditions and failed relationships. But it wasn’t all sad. There were inside jokes and shared books, celebrations and victories.
And enough memories to fill a hundred notebooks with lyrics. He’d come close. Scratching out his anger and pain line after rhyming line, song after song. He’d spent months here.
But he’d never thought to look for a message from Natalie.
Under the summer sky, the heat of the light made his skin tingle. Or maybe that was the anticipation rushing through his veins. Either way, he ignored the way his hands shook as he reached for a small metal latch on the center console. The little door creaked open, and he squinted into the dim interior.
This had been their secret place, where they passed messages and left surprises. Once, when they were eight, she’d left her Christmas wish list. It was filled with things like a warm bed, new mittens, and a big dinner. He’d felt guilty about his list of video games, so he’d written out something else to leave for her. All these years later, he couldn’t remember what he’d told her. But he still felt the guilt of that moment. Of realizing that he had so much and she had practically nothing.
Maybe it was that moment when he decided he wasn’t going to let her face life alone.
Or maybe it hadn’t been a conscious decision at all. He’d merely known they were a team. Two peas. One pod.
A small triangle of paper was lighter than the rest of the darkness of the hiding place, and he stuck his hand in to retrieve it. The edges had yellowed over time, the blue lines of the standard-issue notebook paper faded. The handwriting on the page trembled like a stiff breeze had seeped between the glass panes of the lighthouse’s highest point as he held it up to the light. In her signature scrawl, Natalie had left him just what she’d said. A good-bye. And a map to find her.
