Chapter Eleven
If you live your life looking backward, you’ll never see what lies ahead.
—Eva
There were two ways to reach Puffin Island. One was to take the ferry that ran regularly between the island and the mainland, and the other was to catch the short flight across the bay.
Because they only had a long weekend, Matt opted for the flight. “Ryan arranged it. He pointed out that the traffic will be bumper to bumper on the coast road in the summer, and he’s right. And we need to arrive in time to see the garden.”
Frankie didn’t care if they traveled by donkey. It was the destination that bothered her.
She walked toward the small aircraft, feeling sicker and sicker, wondering if it was too late to change her mind.
She no longer cared about being Eva’s inspiration. All she cared about at that moment was not inflicting this on herself.
Only a narrow stretch of water stood between her and her past.
She was so anxious she’d even stopped thinking about the kiss.
The pilot’s name was Zachary Flynn. Eva would have observed that he was “hot,” if in a slightly dangerous way. The only thing Frankie cared about was that she’d never met him before.
For her, that was the key factor.
At least he was unlikely to open the door of the plane and drop her into the choppy waters of Penobscot Bay. If she didn’t know him, then he couldn’t bear a grudge.
The Cessna seaplane was perfect for short flights between the islands, and Frankie stared down at the glittering expanse of the bay, the yachts, the islands with fishing boats bobbing in sheltered harbors.
She was conscious of Matt sitting beside her, powerful and real. At one point he reached across and gave her hand a squeeze in a gesture that was designed to be reassuring, but instead made nerves spring to life in her stomach.
She knew he was intending to take their relationship to another level. Unfortunately, she knew that the moment he laid a finger on her the level they’d hit would be the basement not the penthouse. True, the kiss hadn’t quite turned out the way she’d anticipated but she was under no illusions about the rest of it.
But there was no time to worry about that now because she could see the island and the runway in the distance.
She glanced around anxiously as they landed, half expecting to see a posse of locals holding a banner saying Leave Our Island, but there was no one except the staff who manned the small airstrip during the peak summer months.
“Car rental is all fixed.” Zach tossed Matt a set of keys. “It’s the silver one at the far end of the parking lot. Be careful as you drive the last half mile to my place. Camp Puffin is heaving with people, but you’ll be fine once you reach Seagull’s Nest. The place is fully stocked, but if there’s any particular brand of beer you like you might want to pick it up on your way through.”
Frankie hauled her bag over her shoulder and she and Matt walked toward the car. “We’re staying in the camp?”
“Zach owns a cabin that he rents out. It’s right on the water. I thought you might prefer to be away from town.”
She did prefer it. Somewhere away from town and away from all the people she was dreading meeting sounded good. She was touched that he’d been so thoughtful. “Where does Zach live if he doesn’t stay in the cabin?”
“In Castaway Cottage.”
Everyone born on the island knew Castaway Cottage. It nestled in the perfect curve that was Shell Bay, looking out toward Puffin Rock and the wild Atlantic Ocean beyond.
Frankie had lost count of the number of hours she’d spent on that beach on her own, dreaming of climbing onto a raft and escaping. “I knew the woman who used to live there. Kathleen Forrest. She died a few years ago.”
Matt slid into the driver’s seat and Frankie into the passenger’s. “How did you meet her?”
Memories tumbled down on her, as if she’d opened a cupboard that was too full. “The day my Dad walked out, I walked out, too.” And she still felt guilty about that. Her mother had told her afterward that half the island had been out looking for her. “I ran all the way along the coast path and ended up at Shell Bay. I was the only one there, or at least I thought I was. I cried myself dry and then Kathleen appeared with a flask of hot chocolate. She wrapped me in a blanket and took me back to the cottage.” Frankie frowned. “I remember hesitating in the doorway and muttering something about her being a stranger. I’ve never forgotten her answer.”
“Which was?”
“‘On Puffin Island there is no such thing as a stranger, only a friend.’”
Matt nodded. “That sounds like something she would say.”