Chapter Four

For three days, Iris had puzzled over Julian’s behavior. He had phoned Dreamspinner later on Sunday, getting her father, and apologized for inadvertently leaving without paying for his books. He’d put them on his credit card. He hadn’t asked to speak to her.

Even if he wasn’t on drugs, he was moody, erratic, irrational. She should, as he’d said, forget all about him. Yet how could she forget the sensitive guy who’d shared his music and his worries about his father, who hadn’t told her she was crazy for being so shy but had instead exchanged coping strategies?

Will the real Julian Blake please stand up?

On Thursday morning, she rose, made her bed, and put on her workout clothes. Before starting tai chi, she gazed appreciatively around her room. This, the smaller of the two bedrooms in the third-floor condominium she and her aunt shared, was Iris’s sanctuary. She had chosen minimalist furniture with elegant lines, mellow colors, and a few items of art that spoke to her soul. Her aunt’s room was similar, but also set up for creating fabric art.

Iris did her tai chi facing the sliding glass door, enjoying the view of Blue Moon Harbor village and docks. In the garden of the condo building, a breeze stirred the last tenacious leaves clinging to the maple and mountain ash trees; dancers in bright yellow and orange skirts, they swirled to its melody. Were they oblivious to, or defiant of, the fact that soon they’d fall and be trampled underfoot?

On the pale green wall on one side of the balcony door, above a tall mauve orchid plant, hung her Mindful Living calendar. The November photograph was of three small brown bowls with candles burning in them. The quote, attributed to Buddha, was about how one candle could light thousands without itself being diminished, and that the same was true when you shared happiness. Each month, she mused over the saying, parsing the levels of meaning and seeking guidance for her own life. In general, she was a happy person. The same, she sensed, wasn’t true of Julian. Should she try to share her happiness with him, or was that a fool’s errand?

When she’d finished tai chi, she took down the calendar and turned to the previous page, to refresh her memory. This image was of another little brown bowl and a twig with red berries. The saying, from Søren Kierkegaard, was about patience and how you shouldn’t expect to immediately reap the rewards of what you’d sown. Iris had always been a patient person, so she hadn’t spent much time reflecting on that quote last month.

But now, again, she thought of Julian. Yes, he had flaws, frailties. But she, the woman whose shyness and introversion in some ways enriched but also in some ways restricted her life, should not leap to a hasty judgment of him, just because he was less than 100 percent mellow and perfect.

She sensed that he wasn’t a bad person. More likely, a person in pain. If he’d said he had no desire to be with her, she might have believed him. But he had said she didn’t need to be with a guy like him.

Perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps she did. Perhaps he in fact needed her. She had queried whether he could use a friend, and he’d said yes. In her mind, those words resonated as truth. “What shall I do?” she murmured.

What should she take from the advice about patience? Should she wait and see if Julian returned? Had she done enough to sow the seeds of potential friendship and trust, to share her happiness with life?

She mused on that as she showered and then dressed for a day at the store. As usual, she chose slim tailored pants and a shirt in gentle tones, and added one of Aunt Lily’s scarves. In the kitchen, her aunt, slim and lovely in a simple cotton yukata kimono in a rusty-orange shade patterned with hemp leaves, was gazing into the fridge. They exchanged morning greetings, speaking in French. When the family members were alone together, they spoke either Japanese or French. Japanese, to honor their heritage and to respect their relatives in Japan. French, because as good Canadians they believed in speaking both official languages.

Aunt Lily said, “I can’t decide what I want for breakfast.”

Sometimes they ate Japanese: miso soup, rice, the fermented soybeans called natt, or perhaps grilled fish. Other times, it was bacon and eggs, pancakes, or French toast. Or yogurt, granola, and fruit, or porridge with maple syrup on cold days. So many choices.

“I feel like having an omelet,” Iris said.

“That sounds good to me.”

Iris took chives, mushrooms, and cheddar from the fridge and chopped and grated while her aunt whipped eggs, milk, salt, and pepper. They made individual omelets, each in its own small pan, preferring the symmetry of an entire folded-over omelet rather than a larger one cut in half. Their plates were ivory with a dark blue, geometrically patterned border. The golden omelets oozing cheese, with a garnish of sliced red-skinned apples, looked lovely, reminding Iris of Julian’s comment that her tuna sandwich was a work of art.

He created art with his music. Her own ways of adding beauty to the world were tiny, yet even small things could be consequential. Perhaps she could ease his worry and pain if he permitted her to. She might suffer pain herself—from harsh words, rejection, or the simple loss of his company when he inevitably left the island—and yet her life would be richer for knowing Julian Blake. When her beloved Grandmother Rose was dying of ALS, Iris had learned that joy could exist, even glow more brightly and poignantly, when there was also pain.

“Something’s on your mind,” her aunt said as they sat at the small table in the living room, by the sliding glass door. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Iris raised her gaze from her plate and smiled. Sometimes it wasn’t enough to wait and wonder. How could you expect a bountiful harvest if you weren’t diligent about sowing seeds and tending them? “Thank you, Aunt, but I know what I’m going to do.” Their family wasn’t big on touchy-feely conversations.

“Then I hope it turns out well.”

“Me too.” Iris rose and went to the kitchen to rinse her plate and put it in the dishwasher. Her aunt remained at the table, sipping coffee.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Iris said before leaving. She was working the morning and afternoon shifts, and Aunt Lily would be at the store for the afternoon and evening. Dreamspinner was open every day except Monday, but the only evenings were Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, unless there was a special event like a reading by a visiting author.

Iris’s aunt would spend the morning either creating more of her wearable art, going for a long walk, or reading in her chair by the window. Lily was an intelligent, sensitive, beautiful woman. She had never married, rarely dated, and seemed content. If she missed having a life partner or children, she didn’t confess to it.

In many ways, she was an excellent role model for singlehood, yet Iris wanted more. The calm, orderly life of an independent single woman was fine, and Iris would always need some personal space and time, but she also craved the noise, mess, and love of a life-mate and kids. Perhaps next spring, in Japan, she would meet that special man, the one who’d love her and want to come to Destiny Island and create a family with her.

Iris and her aunt co-owned the hybrid-electric Chevy Volt, but today, like most days, Iris walked the kilometer and a half to the store. She enjoyed being outside, stretching her legs, and listening to an audiobook. She alternated French and Japanese ones.

The Dreamspinner coffee shop was already humming, and a couple of customers waited outside the bookstore, following her in when she unlocked the door. She assisted them, greeted her parents when they arrived, and then holed up in the office, summoned her courage, and called Sonia and Forbes’s house.

“Hello? Russo and Blake residence.” The voice was Julian’s.

Trying to sound calm, she said, “A friend doesn’t tell another friend to get lost.”

There was a pause. “Iris. I don’t think I was that rude, was I?”

He was talking, not blowing her off. The soil was receptive to the seed she was offering, which strengthened her resolve. “The message was clear. However, you’d also said you wanted to be friends. A friend doesn’t accept a blow-off when it’s delivered out of pain.”

Another pause, then a hesitant, “Pain?”

“I could see you were hurting. I think you really could use a friend. Someone who’ll offer support and not be judgmental.”

“Not judgmental,” he echoed thoughtfully. “Does that include not prying into my issues? Just letting me be?”

She gave a soft laugh. “I’m a Yakimura. We mind our own business.” Even within the family, they respected each other’s privacy. “Julian, what is it you need?”

“Oh, God. I need what I can’t have. I want to, oh, I don’t know. To fly away. But not in a plane or helicopter, they’re noisy. Something silent. A glider, maybe. Skydiving, except then I’d be plummeting back to earth.” He gave a soft groan. “Listen to me. I’m not making sense.”

“Maybe you are.” Though her life was generally happy and pain-free, Iris, too, sometimes yearned to escape normal life, and to feel free. She couldn’t give Julian a glider flight, but maybe she could offer something comparable. “When can you next get a few free hours?”

“Uh, Saturday, I guess. Annie and Randall are coming over for the day.”

She knew them, of course. They were longtime friends of Sonia and Forbes as well as being Luke’s in-laws, the parents of his deceased wife, Candace. “That will be nice for Forbes.” Iris usually worked Saturdays, but her family was flexible about adjusting their schedules to accommodate one another. Besides, she’d looked at the forecast and the weekend was supposed to be nice, and her plan did require decent weather. “Saturday it is.”

“You want to meet at the commune?”

She would enjoy that, and perhaps he’d play for her, but that wouldn’t give Julian the free-flying escape he craved. “Not this time.”

“Look, I, uh, I’d rather not hang out in the village.”

“That’s not what I have in mind.”

“Should I ask?”

“No. Let it be a surprise.”

“Iris, I . . .”

“Trust me,” she said softly.

* * *

Trust her. Julian wasn’t big on trust. And how could he trust Iris to plan an activity when she had no idea that merely setting foot in Blue Moon Harbor last Sunday had almost made him puke? Fucking Jelinek did still rule his life.

Iris liked to please people. If whatever she had in mind didn’t work for him, she’d likely be amenable to a change of plan.

She had told him to dress casually and warmly, so he hoped they’d be doing something outdoorsy like going to the beach. Jelinek, the successful Realtor, would be hard at work on a sunny November Saturday, not hanging out at the beach.

Julian had refused Iris’s offer to pick him up, and hadn’t told Forbes and Sonia he was seeing her. His family didn’t ask. Sonia characterized her son, Luke, as a dog, open and sharing. Julian, she said, was a cat, independent and reticent.

He’d agreed to meet Iris at the community center parking lot, only a couple of miles from Forbes and Sonia’s house. Shortly after breakfast, he set out on foot, toting his guitar out of habit. He found Iris sitting in the blue Volt that had been parked near the commune. He put his guitar case on the back seat and climbed in beside her.

The trite phrase “easy on the eyes” might have been invented for this woman. She wore slim-fitting navy jeans and a cream-colored cable-knit sweater, and her long hair was pulled into a low ponytail secured with a twist of patterned blue fabric. The style highlighted her elegant features and meant she wouldn’t be able to hide behind wings of black hair.

“You brought your guitar,” she commented.

“It’s kind of attached to my hand. I don’t need to play it.”

“I hope you do.” Driving from the parking lot, she said, “When do you need to be back?”

“No particular time. Annie and Randall should be at the house by now. You know them, right?”

“Yes. They’re both regular customers. Nice people. You’d never guess they were so wealthy, would you?”

“No. They’re unpretentious.” Annie had created a spectacularly successful video game in the 1980s, and several other popular ones since then. Randall was an excellent photographer, but it was his wife’s work that made them billionaires. “They’ll look after Forbes today, so Sonia can do some chores and take her mom out for a long lunch.” His stepmom’s mother was in her eighties, living in her own home, resisting either moving to a seniors’ facility or moving in with her daughter and son-in-law.

“That’ll be a nice break for Antonia. She isn’t able to get out very much now, is she?”

“You really know what’s going on around here, don’t you?”

“Most of Destiny’s residents come into the store and the coffee shop.”

He had guessed that, when he’d seen the busy coffee shop on Sunday, which was partly why he’d almost had a panic attack. Then he’d heard that man ordering the boy to obey, and for a moment he’d thought it was Jelinek. Of course, thinking about it later, he knew the bastard would never do that in public. But what was he doing in private?

As Iris drove through the center of Blue Moon Harbor village and past Island Realty, Julian’s nerves quivered and his stomach churned. This is our secret, Julian. How many times had Jelinek said that? And here Julian was, a grown man, still obeying him. Even if other boys—

No, he couldn’t let himself think about that. He suppressed a groan. When would he be able to leave this fucking island? Go back to the safe world where, most of the time, he could shove the guilt and shame back into the rotten little core of his cowardly heart.

“Julian?”

“What?” His voice came out as an annoyed croak.

“I’m sorry. Did you have an idea for a song?”

“No. God, no. Sorry, did you ask me something?” If he could’ve found a non-hurtful way of making the request, he’d have asked her to let him out. She deserved far better than his company—and he didn’t deserve a friend like Iris.

“I just asked how Antonia is doing.”

“Physically frail, but mentally all there, Sonia says. Antonia’s not rich, but she can afford a housekeeper and a gardener. The grocery store and pharmacy deliver free of charge to people who can’t get out.”

“As does Dreamspinner. I haven’t seen Antonia in the store for a couple of months. I must get in touch and make sure she knows we’ll deliver books.” She glanced toward him and then back at the road. “I actually enjoy doing it. A few of the shut-ins are gruff hermit-types, but most are so glad to have company. They ask me in for tea and cookies, and they’re interesting to talk to.”

Focusing on them, letting them share their stories, would help overcome her shyness, he figured.

Iris turned onto Blue Moon Harbor Drive, which ran along the west shore of the harbor. Some nicely designed low-rise condos and townhouses bordered the road.

“There’s been some development in the fifteen years since I first came here,” he noted.

“Yes, our population has expanded and needs have evolved. But development is carefully controlled, in large part thanks to the Islands Trust.”

“Islands Trust?”

She shot him a quick smile. “You are so not an islander, Julian Blake.”

“Very true. Enlighten me.”

“Each of the British Columbia Gulf Islands elects two trustees to the Islands Trust. The Trust was created in the nineteen seventies to preserve our unique ecosystems. It has jurisdiction over zoning and community planning, so basically it regulates development. And of course Destiny is very ‘green’ and opposed to major development.”

“Right.” That must frost Jelinek’s butt, given that he made his living off real estate sales. “Good for the Islands Trust.”

Past the condos and townhouses, the land sloped gently down to the left, the waterfront side. Narrow roads, most of them gated, wound off through large, wooded lots, offering glimpses of expensive waterfront homes. On the right side of the road, the homes and yards were regular middle-class ones. A few more minutes, and the road ran closer to the ocean. A park nestled along a beach, beside a marina. Iris pulled into the marina parking lot.

“We’re going boating?” he asked.

“Yes.” She turned to him, her brow furrowing. “You don’t get seasick, do you?”

“Don’t think so.” He had a strong stomach, except when it came to Jelinek. And he really had to stop thinking of the man, or he’d ruin the day for Iris.

“How can you live on the West Coast and not know if you get seasick?”

“The only times I’ve been on the water, it was on the ferries. They’re pretty stable.” Seeing the concern and doubt in her lovely brown eyes, he said, “I’ve never had problems with motion sickness, so I should be okay.”

“Maybe we should do something else.”

He’d be happy to go to the old commune, but Iris had planned this outing. “No, this sounds great.” He opened the car door and stepped out.

When he’d lived on Destiny as a kid, he’d rarely sought the ocean. He’d felt exposed somehow, standing on a beach or dock by the open water. The secluded commune, a forgotten place of rough grass, gnarled trees, and the ghosts of flower children and sixties music, had appealed to him more. But he wasn’t that boy, and the slight breeze with its salty tang felt good on his face. “Fresh ocean air. That’ll blow away the cobwebs.” He winced internally at using such a cliché. He would never put those words in a song, but it could take hours to craft a single line of lyrics, whereas normal speech was off the cuff.

He extracted his guitar from the back seat, and reached for a turquoise and gray backpack. “This goes, too?”

“Yes, thanks.” Iris grasped the handles of a purple tote bag with Dreamspinner on it.

Side by side, they walked to the locked gate in the metal fencing separating the parking lot from the marina. While she unlocked the gate, he gazed at the fingers of wooden docking, with several dozen boats tied to them. The craft ranged from small dinghies, power boats, and sailboats through to huge white yachts with black-tinted windows. In the bay, a dozen or more other boats were secured to buoys.

As he followed her down a skid-stripped ramp, he was glad he’d worn rubber-soled running shoes. Walking along a gently swaying dock, they exchanged “good mornings” with two older guys who were loading fishing gear into a dinghy.

The tension was easing from Julian’s body. “The commercial fishers all use the dock below the village?” he asked. When he’d flown in and out of the harbor on Blue Moon Air, he’d seen two or three of those craft decked out with sturdy rigging, huge nets, and colorful buoys, but there were none at this marina.

“Yes. That’s the commercial marina for fishing boats, seaplanes, whale-watching, and charters, as well as for visiting boaters who want to moor for a night or two. This marina is for island residents and off-islanders who have holiday places here. You pay by the month: pricier on the floats, cheaper at the mooring buoys.”

“You have a boat?” That didn’t fit the picture of Iris he’d begun to form in his mind, of an introverted book-lover.

“The family does. The ocean’s in our blood.”

This woman definitely intrigued him. He followed her along one of the wooden docks and recognized the Yakimuras’ boat by the name. Windspinner was painted in gold on the ivory hull of a sailboat, thirty or more feet long, he guessed. Golden-brown wood gleamed with varnish, brass shone in the sun, and ivory canvas covered the sails. Snugged behind the boat was a dinghy, its woodwork in as perfect condition.

“That’s one beautiful boat. It looks like it’s vintage.” Much more appealing than the three-decker white monstrosity tied up ahead of it, or the faded blue sailboat behind it. In fact, Windspinner had to be one of the prettiest boats in the marina.

“We say classic. And yes, she is, isn’t she? My grandparents bought her.”

“And named her?”

“Yes. When Dad and Aunt Iris opened the bookstore, they chose Dreamspinner to echo the boat’s name.” She stepped aboard with agile grace.

Julian handed the pack and his guitar case over to her, then clambered aboard, the boat rocking slightly in response. The narrow strips of wood that covered the boat’s deck were unvarnished, probably so the surface wouldn’t be slippery when it got wet. He raised his face to the sky, again scenting the breeze. A crisp, sunny day, a beautiful woman, and a sleek sailboat. “This was a great idea,” he told Iris.

“I hope you’ll enjoy it. Sit and relax while I get organized.”

The cockpit had padded bench seats and he settled on one as Iris took the bag, pack, and his guitar below deck. She returned with two hooded windbreakers and handed him one. “You may need this once we get out on the water. It’s my dad’s. He’s shorter than you and not so broad through the shoulders, so I hope it fits.”

As she uncovered the mainsail, her movements had a graceful efficiency that was the opposite of bustle. She took two harnessy contraptions from a storage compartment and handed him one. “This is a PFD, a personal flotation device. Here’s how you put it on.” She demonstrated, reminding him of a flight attendant.

He mimicked her, draping the padded band around his neck like a scarf, the ends hanging loose in front until he secured the waist belt. When she told him how the device inflated, he said, mostly kidding but not entirely, “Tell me you’re not planning to dunk me.”

She gave a soft laugh. “I have no intention of doing that. But the wind and waves are unpredictable, and it’s best to be safe.”

With the same easy dexterity, she started the engine and then hopped back to the dock, where she untied the boat and, holding on to the rigging along its side, walked it forward and pointed the front away from the dock. Before he could worry about being alone on an unsecured boat, she’d jumped back on board. She steered the Windspinner away from the dock and, with the engine putt-putting, they motored out of the marina and into the waters of Blue Moon Harbor.

“Would you take the wheel for a minute?” Iris asked. “Keep the bow—the front—pointing toward the neck of the harbor while I let out the line on the dinghy.”

He rested his hands on the wheel and felt the power and responsiveness of the sailboat as it sliced through the water. Intriguing, but disconcerting. He didn’t have his sea legs yet.

As she took back the wheel, a tiny blue-and-white seaplane skimmed out from the commercial marina. Julian recognized the logo. “Blue Moon Air,” he said. “The Cessna.” Aaron Gabriel’s local business had two planes: that four-seater and a larger de Havilland Beaver. Julian knew this from chatting with Aaron when he’d flown to and from the island.

“Did you hear that Aaron’s expanding the business?” Iris asked as the Cessna freed itself from the ocean’s surface and rose in the air. “Thanks to his and Miranda’s inheritance.”

“Oh yeah? Good for him. I’d heard about the inheritance, but not about Aaron’s plans.” Miranda and her brother had inherited a chunk of change when their estranged grandparents—their only relatives—died this past summer.

“He’s buying another plane.” Iris had turned her attention back to the ocean, which was a good thing as the harbor was busy on this beautiful autumn morning. A couple of largish boats motored toward the commercial marina, a few small power boats zipped around, and a quartet of kayakers paddled closer to shore. “He can hire a third pilot and expand his business.”

“That’s great. I don’t know him well, but he seems like a good guy.”

“He is. He and Miranda had a tough childhood. It’s so nice that they’ve made happy lives for themselves.”

“Yeah.” For the most part, Julian was content with his life—as long as he didn’t let himself think about Jelinek. There were happy times when he was caught up in the world of creation, or he was performing with the band and saw his songs resonate with the audience. But his own guilt put the concept of a “happy life” out of reach.

“The three of you were the ones who stood out,” Iris said. “Rebels, I thought at the time. Going your own way, never seeming to care what anyone thought of you. A part of me envied that, though the very idea made me cringe, too.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “I know your song, ‘Mocking.’ About feeling like an outcast and putting on a magic cloak to protect yourself. You and Aaron, acting like bad boys. Miranda, the defiant Goth. All of you were unhappy about being forced to live on Destiny. The island-kids knew each other and you didn’t fit. So you had your magic cloaks.”

He hadn’t realized that about Aaron and Miranda. Hadn’t looked beyond his own pain to consider anyone else’s. “I suppose we did.” Iris had guessed part of his own story but, thank God, she’d never suspect the rest. “But you haven’t got it quite right. I wasn’t trying to be a ‘bad boy.’ My magic cloak came from losing myself in my music.”

“Ah. Yes, I see that.” After a moment, she went on. “No one would have imagined, back then, that Aaron would own his own business, right here in Blue Moon Harbor. That Miranda, a high school dropout, would be getting her certificate in early childhood education, marrying Luke, and planning a life here on Destiny. And that you, another dropout, would become one of Canada’s best musicians.”

Her characterization was flattering, but hardly accurate. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Two JUNOs,” she said firmly. “Plus making the short list for the Polaris Music Prize.”

He tried for a diffident shrug, but had to admit to himself that the JUNOs meant a lot to him, as did having the Polaris jurors choose the Julian Blake Band’s Moving album as one of the ten most artistically meritorious of last year.

Iris flashed a smile. “Ready to fly?”

“Lift the sail, you mean?” He was a bit nervous, but it was the good, excited kind of nervous, like before he performed. “Let’s do it.”

She let him help, and it was his strong hands that pulled on the rope she called a halyard. The mainsail rose foot by foot. She showed him how to use a winch to raise it all the way to the top of the mast, and then how to cleat the halyard securely. The big ivory sail caught the wind and belled out tautly. She turned off the engine and he marveled at the unfamiliar, exhilarating sensations. The hull sliced through the wrinkled, greenish-indigo ocean with a whooshing sound.

“Sit on the high side,” Iris said, “the one opposite the sail. You’ll have a better view.”

He obeyed and she came to sit beside him, resting a hand on the steering wheel. “Well?” she said, and he knew that this time the flush on her cheeks wasn’t from shyness or embarrassment, but from pleasure and the nip of the salty breeze.

“This is great!”

“No motion sickness?”

“It’s all good.”

“Then”—her dark eyes sparkled and a strand of hair, escaping her ponytail, flicked a black ribbon across her face—“hang on, I’ll raise the jib.”

Jib?

She gave him the wheel and he watched and learned as she raised a triangular sail to the front of the mast. It had two ropes—lines, she said—attached to it, which she adjusted so the jib sail was on the same side of the boat as the mainsail. And yes, the boat was going faster.

He gripped the edge of his seat. “You promised you wouldn’t try to dunk me.”

Iris laughed, eyes flashing and teeth gleaming, her usual reserve blown away on the wind. “This is nothing. I’m taking it easy on you, since it’s your first time.”

That sounded like a challenge, and he found himself laughing, too. Her every move was sure, confident, and he was positive she wasn’t a risk-taker. “Do as you will,” he told her. “I trust you.”