ON A VERY rainy Monday, the start of his first full week ever without a job, James sat inside the Bean staring out the window. Every raindrop denting the harbor seemed like another nail in the coffin of his old life. He’d tried to sleep in, but the thought of hearing secondhand about the ferry’s arrival—how late would it be today?—had dug him out of bed and into his foul weather gear to walk down here.
He’d spent the weekend pacing the island’s familiar roads like a caged rat running an exercise wheel. Today he wouldn’t even have that luxury, though walking in driving rain would still be more pleasant and less claustrophobic than watching that new girl work her southern charm on Mayor Frank and the rest of the regulars— assuming she made it back out here again today.
It would be hard not to overhear their chitchat, today, with everyone jammed inside. In addition to the locals, the island’s only best-selling writer had settled into his table across from the Bean’s cash register, claiming he needed peace and quiet to finish his latest novel. With the storm door constantly slamming, wouldn’t there be more peace and quiet up at his cottage—or even back in New York City?
The owner of the art gallery eased the door shut quietly on his way out; Mack nodded appreciatively at that. The only regular who didn’t seem to notice all the noise was Chester, Mack’s dog; he hadn’t raised his head once. Patty was refilling mugs, pretending not to see his black fur coat sprawled under the table—a four-legged health code violation.
If James was still running the Homer, he’d be listening to the ear-splitting squeak of wipers dragging across the windshield. Rain tapping on top of the wheelhouse. Engines throbbing underfoot. Oh, to be forging a fresh path across open water right now, looking forward to his next pumpernickel bagel—a flavor that had disappeared from the Bean’s glass case. James could only assume he was the cause of that loss, too.
Over at the big table, Doc Emerald was grousing about the unreliable ferry. It had been late almost every run since James was fired, but Mayor Frank said they should give the lady captain another week to “settle in.” Then he changed the subject to update them all on the latest family feud: two twin brothers fighting about which one would inherit that big white house up near the Inn. Maybe being an only child wasn’t so bad after all.
The mayor glanced over at James several times, as if trying to draw him into the conversation, so James looked out the window. As if he’d never seen rain lashing a harbor before. Gonna be a wet walk home.
Maybe he could tag along with Mack this afternoon, on his weekly run ashore. Pick up some razor blades, check his bank balance— though James already knew there wasn’t enough for any real escape. At least he could walk a different set of streets; anything to get a break from this island jail.
When Mayor Frank stood up, he pressed his palms into the table so hard James thought he might upend all those coffee mugs. Rain and arthritis, bad combination. Leaving already? Nope—instead of heading for the door, the mayor limped across the five feet that separated their tables. Now what—more rumors?
“James, I need to tell you something,” Frank squeaked, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That day you got fired, Lloyd told me you’d been dealing drugs and that you’d attacked him. I now understand neither is true—my mistake.”
If Mayor Frank was gonna start apologizing to everyone for spreading gossip, it would be a very long summer.
“But. . . I still have to ask you not to leave the island.” Frank was massaging one arthritic thumb with the other. “Till it all blows over.”
The room went quiet.
“On what charge?” James asked.
No answer.
“What charge, Frank?” Between white hair and white shirt, the mayor’s neck and face reddened.
Patty set down her coffee pot on the counter, rubbing that baby-bump, frowning. Will-the-writer stared. Even Chester raised his head off his paws.
“Oh, Lloyd’s not filing any charges!” Frank replied brightly. “Just a friendly request, that’s all. He still feels. . . threatened.”
Temple pounding, James swiveled his gaze back to the window.
“Okay?” Frank pressed. “James?”
Finally, the mayor gave up waiting for a response and creaked back to his seat. Patty picked up her coffee pot again; the chattering resumed.
James stood up, grabbed his slicker off the hooks to the left of the door, and let the door slam behind him. Jamming his arms into stiff sleeves, he was already soaked by the time he’d pulled up the hood. Raindrops needled his face and bounced off the fabric.
Confined to quarters, he heard, in his dad’s voice—words from childhood, now come back to haunt him at age forty. Jesus, what gave Lloyd the right?
Damn them all. He had to get off this island.