The Wren Island Series

Parts 1-2 (of 6)

Laura Joy Lloyd

Copyright

This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

The Wren Island Series © 2022 by Laura Joy Lloyd

Copyright © 2022 Laura Joy Lloyd

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published in the United States of America by Laura Joy Lloyd

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Part 1

A New Year

“How can you be any good at songwriting without also being a singer?” Allison Theodore repeated the question out loud, not that anyone but the dogs could hear. Or maybe she said it out loud because no one but the dogs could hear.

She steered her boat out of the sheltered marina at Reclamation Island. Up ahead, the choppy water in the strait indicated a rough trip home. She glanced at the fencing supplies she’d stowed on deck. All tied down securely. Both the dogs were in their lifejackets, so it was all systems go, as they say. Did people say all systems go about boating? Next time she was looking for an interesting topic to discuss with herself, she’d look up the answer online.

That young, pushy guy she’d just met in the pub on Reclamation Island reminded her of her ex. How can you be any good at songwriting without also being a singer? Tank would have listed every reason Allison was unqualified to be a songwriter, then turned the reasons around to somehow show how qualified he was. Oh boy, was she glad those days were over.

“I ask you, Louise, where’s the rule?” Allison angled the boat to meet the stronger current of the strait. “Where’s the rule that says you have to be able to sing to write music?”

The only answer was the dog’s thumping tail.

A year ago, she didn’t know the difference between a grapnel and a plow anchor. Now, after watching a bunch of YouTube videos and passing the licensing exam, she was piloting her own boat through the Pacific Northwest’s Salish Sea. You could do anything if you put your mind to it.

The engine sounded funny, maybe. Or was it just warming up?

So why shouldn’t she try writing music? One of these days, she was going to do something important—and it couldn’t be something she could buy, because with all the money she had now, that would be too easy. Her first idea had been to rescue a bunch of homeless dogs. Really important stuff! But the animal shelter restricted adoptions to just one dog at a time unless the dogs were a bonded pair. Louise and Lokita weren’t bonded when they arrived at the shelter, but somehow Louise convinced everyone she and Lokita needed to stay together. Having two dogs wasn’t as nice as having fifty dogs would have been, but it was better than having no dogs.

Her next idea was songwriting! With a single hit, Allison Theodore could rock the world. All those childhood piano lessons could be put to good use, finally. How can you be any good at songwriting without also being a singer? Watch and see. It’s not like she didn’t have the time. These days, she had all the time she wanted. How many 45-year-olds could say that?

In the strait, the waves slammed against the boat and the wind blew colder. This part always made her feel woozy. Sure, there were islands in sight, but if she and the dogs ended up in the water, those islands would be a lifetime away. She checked her cell phone. No service out here, of course. But no need to get nervous. Take those square-shaped breaths you learned about. Move along the corners as you breathe. One, two, three, four.

Okay, the engine was definitely lagging. The motor caught and sputtered. Allison kept going, eyes ahead. Wren Island would be in sight soon.

When the engine died, the current immediately began pushing the boat back. Allison reached for the radio handpiece. Someone might be close enough to lend help. But then again … She replaced the handpiece, went below deck, and dug out the manual the guy at the sales office had shown her. What section should she search in? Oh, here. It might be the fuel filter. She found the spare, replaced it, and vented the engine box. Still no power. She searched through the manual again, flipped a breaker that didn’t look right, and tried the engine again. Then, woo-hoo, look at that. She’d gotten her boat up and running again all on her own. She fist-pumped into the air.

She swept past the neighbor islands until her own beach on Wren Island came into view. She angled wide around the western point, gave the boulders a wide berth, and pulled up to the dock that ran along one side of her boathouse. “Whew.” She killed the motor and tied up.

With her entire back end wiggling, Louise waited for Allison to unfasten her lifejacket, then hopped out of the boat and ran toward the beach. Allison unfastened Lokita’s tiny lifejacket and lifted her to the dock, careful to keep the leash short.

“Now we’re on the dock,” Allison sang. “We are on … the … dock. So be careful where you walk. Careful where … you … walk.” She sang it the same way every time, so Lokita would know exactly where they were. The people at the animal shelter had told her it was helpful to give a blind dog lots of audible cues.

Louise sniffed the length of the beach at the high tide line, then ran into the forest. Allison walked slowly with Lokita, letting her navigate the driftwood, rocks, and clumps of seaweed at her own pace. They climbed the slope of dune grass and the rocky path above it, passed between the concrete lions, and met Louise at the sheltered front door.

“Come with us to the service door, Louise.” Allison followed Lokita, who was straining at the leash now that the cozy warmth of home was within a few sniffs. Allison opened a side entrance, toweled off Lokita in the mudroom, and watched her amble toward the water bowl. Then she hollered outside toward the front of the house. “Louise! Come inside this way!”

No Louise. Oh, well. It was always worth a try.

Allison closed the side door, walked through the house to the front door, and met Louise with a towel. “One of these days, try coming inside with us through the service entrance. Why do you always insist on coming through the front door?”

Dry and clean, Louise headed for the water bowl, then slumped into her own enormous bed next to Lokita’s small one.

Allison took a quick drink from a glass of water at a sink in the kitchen, then headed back outside. She grabbed a wheelbarrow from the shed and pushed it to the dock. She unloaded the fencing supplies and lined them up at the back of the house, then gathered more tools from the garage and went to work. This fence was really going to help Lokita be safe outside. Louise could use the fenced area, too, instead of gallivanting through every mud hole. Organization and convenience. That’s what it was all about when you were taking care of dogs.

The wind picked up right around the time she was stapling the final wire sections into place. She hosed off the wheelbarrow and tools, then laid them to dry in rows on the garage floor. Even with the neat way she positioned the tools, though, the garage looked cluttered. Oh, well. Having the tools in the garage was only temporary. And the nice thing was, tomorrow morning, when she came back out to the garage, the tools would be exactly where she’d left them. That was a real bonus about living alone. You didn’t have to worry about someone messing up your stuff. She tweaked the tools around until they were just right.

Back inside the house, she flipped on lights and sent Lokita and a reluctant Louise outside to the fenced area. Louise made a quick dash of it and ran back in. Why that dog didn’t like being outside in the dark was a mystery. Louise had the bladder of a camel, though. Did camels have large bladders? There was another interesting topic to look up online next time she wanted to have a conversation with herself. Maybe over dinner tonight.

When Lokita was ready, Allison sang her back inside. “Little Lokita, come to me. Here you are, right with me.”

Halfway through a bowl of ramen noodles, the power went out. And she’d used up all that battery life researching camels! (They had small but efficient bladders, it turned out.) Allison called Lokita, who went out to the new fenced area, took care of business like the obedient doggie she was, and padded up the back staircase.

In the bedroom, Allison closed Lokita into her crate. She showered by the light of a camping lantern. The sound of raindrops pelting against her bedroom windows grew louder. Surely the house had seen storms like this before? Allison pulled on pajamas and climbed into the bed next to a sprawling Louise.

Then she lay there, wide awake. Had she latched the back door when she came in? Had she closed the garage tight? What about the shed door?

The house creaked, and the roar outside grew louder. That must be wind blasting through the evergreens. One tree crashing down in the wrong direction would be … A sweep of raindrops washed across the windows. Allison pulled the sheets up over her head. Louise had stilled. Tense, listening. But for what? What more could this storm possibly throw at them?

Okay, time for the square breathing technique. She could practically feel the house swaying now, and everybody knew houses didn’t sway. Or they weren’t supposed to, anyway. She closed her eyes. Sway, sway, sway.

Oh, no. Her boat. She’d left it tied at the dock instead of pulling it into the building. Her boat would be gone, for sure. She and the dogs would be found pinned under a tree that had crashed into the house. And instead of being remembered for having done something important, Allison Theodore would be remembered for … nothing at all.

The next morning, Allison woke slowly. No more storm. No more boat, probably, either. It was either sunk or drifted to Canada by now. In the early light, she pulled on clothes and walked through the house, checking for storm damage.

Every single leaded glass pane on the south side of the house was intact, so woo-hoo about that! The fireplaces were all dry, and there weren’t any strange noises coming from anywhere. Everything seemed okay! The power was still out, though. She plugged her phone into a portable charger and tucked the works into her vest pocket.

When the dogs woke up, Allison snapped a leash on Lokita and stepped outside. Louise bounded ahead, scattering the brown birds hopping between low-lying branches.

The storm had washed new kelp and driftwood up to the high tide line. And, just as she’d feared, her boat was gone. What if it was out there leaking gasoline or oil? There was nothing she could do about it now except alert the authorities. She walked to the end of the dock with the dogs. “Now we’re on the dock. We are on … the … dock. So be careful where you walk. Careful where … you … walk.” She sat and dangled her legs over the water.

A year ago, she’d been working at a day job and eating microwave dinners off a folding table older than she was. Now, she had this life, thanks to five miniature paintings her mother had picked up for fifty cents each at a yard sale because she thought they’d look cute in her bathroom. After her mother’s funeral, Allison tacked up the paintings in her own closet-sized bathroom. A coworker stopped by to deliver a second-hand television, used the bathroom, and suggested Allison get a professional opinion on the paintings. The day before the appraisal, she wildly imagined getting enough money to pay for car repairs. Wasn’t that funny? All she’d hoped for was a new transmission. The day after the paintings went to auction, she could have bought every car dealership in the county. Instead, she did something she’d always wanted to do. She took a day off work and went on a whale watching tour. As the tour boat weaved through islands, a lop-sided real estate sign caught her attention. An English Tudor-style house peeked out from the woods, fronted by an expansive beach of driftwood and boulders. So she did something else she’d always wanted to do. She bought herself a house. A house that came with a forest and a beach. Her mother would have loved this place.

Across the quiet morning, the sound of a gong resonated. That meant whales could be heard through Wren’s hydrophone. Allison trained her eyes on the water off the western point, where the whales were mostly likely to be. Scientists used the hydrophone to understand whales better. But the people at the commune up the hill monitored the hydrophone for fun and rang the gong as a friendly way of letting their neighbors know to tune in.

Allison patted the dogs at her side and watched the water. There they were. A pod of five orcas traveling close to shore and toward her boat dock. The orcas surfaced several times in a row to breathe, then dove deep, arching their backs and straightening their tails. A dive like that meant they’d stay underwater for several minutes. Gong, gong, gong. This was worth using battery power for. Allison pulled up the app on her phone and listened as the orcas she’d seen talked and sang to each other.

A puff of air burst from the water near the dock. One orca, emerging to breathe. Then more puffs as the rest of the family surfaced. Allison tilted her head. “I heard you guys singing. Encore?”

Another deep dive, more singing. When the orcas moved on, Allison tucked away her phone and battery pack. No more gonging came from up the hill, but a bobbing sound came from nearby. Like a boat bumping lightly against a dock. Wait a minute. Allison stood and poked her head into the boathouse. Her boat! Tied up nice and neat! Ralph must have done that last night. Old Ralph, her neighbor who seemed to pride himself on not being helpful, had sure come through this time.

Outside the service entrance of the house, Allison hosed the dogs clean and toweled them dry. Lokita ambled inside and settled in her bed. Louise took off around the outside of the house. Allison walked through the house and let Louise in at the front. “Maybe you’d like to learn to ring the doorbell?”

Allison collected the dry tools from the garage and stored them in the shed, each in their designated places. One of these days, she was going to order a label maker and mark where every tool should go. That would be fun. Exactly at noon, she gave each of the dogs a cookie—the kind that wouldn’t crumble apart with every crunch.

When the power and internet came back on, she microwaved a mug of water and steeped one bag of tea, being careful not to drip on the counter. She returned the tea to the cabinet, straightening the box to be in line with a canister of sugar. Then she opened her laptop to find out what the rest of the world had been up to.

The subject of the email from Allison’s mother’s sister was READ NOW. It wasn’t all the capital letters that worried Allison—that style seemed just like Aunt Macy. What worried her was that Aunt Macy was emailing her at all. What could possibly be going on that involved Allison? It’s not like she knew Aunt Macy. Or any of her aunts. She’d met them for the first time at her mother’s funeral. Aunt Shasta had traveled all the way from South America, where she was volunteering for a non-profit. (Was it South America where Aunt Shasta was working, or somewhere else?) Aunt Shasta had worn bright yellow leggings and giant daisy-shaped earrings the entire time. Her mother would have loved that. Aunt Amelia, the youngest sister, used up an entire box of tissues, dabbing her teary eyes and drippy nose. And Aunt Macy … Well, Aunt Macy was all capital letters all the time, bossing everyone around and not taking no for an answer. But it had been nice to see how the sisters loved Anne. It had also been nice when they returned to their own homes, because all together and all at once, the aunts were a bit much. Since then, Allison hadn’t heard from any of them. Maybe the aunts had been glad to get back to their own lives. Maybe the aunts, like her ex, didn’t think Allison was interesting enough to be with.

At a pounding knock on the service entrance door, Allison jumped. Louise slinked to a watchful position in front of Lokita’s bed. Allison peeked through the panel in the door, then swung the door open and greeted her neighbor.

“Brought your mail.” Ralph sent a wary glance in Louise’s direction.

Allison turned to see Louise demonstrating one of her signature smiles, a raised right upper lip. It could be construed as the start of a snarl if her whole back end wasn’t wiggling, too. Allison accepted the mail. “Thanks. And thanks a lot for bringing in my boat last night. I completely forgot to.”

“Your boat’d be at the bottom of the ocean by now.”

“I know. It was thoughtless of me. Thanks so much.”

With one hand, Ralph rubbed his graying beard. “There’s that, then. But you’re gonna have to pick up the rest yourself.”

Allison flipped through the stack of letters. Despite his arguments otherwise, Ralph was pretty dependable about bringing mail and small packages over from the mainland. Large items, however, needed advance arrangements. She looked up. “What’s still over there?”

“Aunt somebody.”

Allison blinked. “You’re kidding. My aunt’s over there? Is it Aunt Macy?”

“How am I supposed to know which one is which?” Ralph gave her a pointed look. “And I don’t get paid to provide passenger service.”

“Right, well, okay. Thanks for the mail and the message.”

Ralph sent another look in Louise’s direction, shook his head, and turned to leave. “Something not right about that dog.”

Allison shut the door. “Don’t listen to him, Louise. There’s nothing at all wrong with you.” She headed for her laptop and clicked open her aunt’s message. It didn’t say much.

THERE TOMORROW AND MORE

Loud and cryptic. That was Aunt Macy for you. And since the message was sent yesterday, it explained why Aunt Macy was waiting to be picked up today.

Wow. Aunt Macy had come all the way up from California just for a visit?

Too bad Aunt Macy hadn’t given her more notice, though. Where would her aunt sleep? The house had plenty of bedrooms, but the same couldn’t be said for furniture. Why order a bunch of furniture just for herself? She liked the minimalist look. Simple lines. No clutter. Have only what is useful and beautiful. It was easier to keep things clean that way, too. Allison crossed the kitchen to the sunroom and straightened the single chair in one corner.

And how would she keep Aunt Macy entertained? Chats. Lots of chats, probably. With Aunt Macy unloading her opinions at every turn. Oh, well. It would only be for a night or two.

In the mudroom, where the dogs were sleeping soundly, Allison pulled on her boots and a jacket. “Louise, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

Louise opened one eye, then closed it.

Allison replied to the email. Aunt Macy, I’m on my way over to get you. Look for the bright yellow cruiser.

Amelia Theodore pulled off her eyeglasses and squinted up at her sister. “Macy, are you sure Allison definitely said it was okay for both of us to move in with her?”

Near the bench where Amelia was sitting, a couple of seagulls had wandered close. Waiting for a handout, maybe. The gulls scattered when Macy paced toward them.

“Who in their right mind would turn down free caretakers?” Macy wagged a finger in the air. “Allison needs us—that poor little girl, all alone in the world. But no, not alone! Not anymore! Because now Allison has us.”

Amelia shifted her position on the bench. A white car ferry was docking now. The efficient ferry attendants lowered and secured the ramp, then motioned it was safe to unload vehicles. All those cars, traveling to and from the nearby islands. But none of the cars going to Wren Island because there was no ferry service to it. Were there even any cars on Wren?

“If our very own millionaire niece doesn’t have room for two aunts and four pieces of luggage,” Macy huffed, “I can’t imagine what this world is coming to. We’re not criminals on the lam, Melia. We’re family. You need a place to live. And you need me to take care of you.”

Amelia squinted. “It’s not just me that needs a place to live, though, right? You need a place now, too. Don’t you, Macy?”

“And our Allison has a house with plenty of room. What’s the problem? I’ll tell you what the problem is. There’s no problem at all.”

Amelia flicked donut crumbs to the gulls that had clucked close again. Macy always gained steam during arguments. Eventually, you ended up wherever Macy had decided you were going—and you got there together, so that was something. Amelia lifted a corner of the cloth covering the birdcage next to her on the bench. “Kitty and Matt look cold.”

“Kitty and Matt are cold, you’re cold, I’m cold. We all scream for ice cream. Perk up, Melia.”

Amelia sighed. She eyed her sister’s sporty sneakers, fitted yoga pants, and green smoothie drink. Macy and Shasta were the most shaped-up of the sisters. Shasta would probably still be bungee-jumping off bridges in Australia after the rest of the world was dead and gone. Amelia, though, had always been more like their sister Anne. Oh, how she missed Anne. As adults, they’d never lived close to each other, but they’d spent hours on the phone together. If only she could call Anne right now. If only Anne was here with her right now. Amelia adjusted the cloth over the birdcage.

Macy hopped forward a few steps. “There she is, I bet, in a bright yellow boat, just like she said. Melia! Here comes our Allison!” Macy galloped off.

Amelia finished her chocolate glazed donut and flicked whatever might be left to the gulls. “I hope I get to see a whale.” She closed her eyes and listened to the activity around the dock.

Next thing she knew, Macy was tugging on her arm. “Melia. Listen carefully. Somehow, Allison didn’t know we were coming. She knows I’m here, of course. But she doesn’t know you’re here, so you’ll have to tell her yourself. Tell her you’re coming along, too.”

“What?”

“It was so obviously a surprise. I can’t imagine where the communi-cay broke down. But I thought it was best not to unload everything on our Allison all at once, so I didn’t tell her the details yet. And don’t you go telling her the details, either. Off you go, then. Introduce yourself. Or reintroduce yourself. Or whatever you need to do so she knows you’re here, too. But whatever you do, Melia, don’t give Allison any details yet. There’ll be time enough for that later.”

“Oh, Macy.” Amelia picked up the birdcage and walked toward the bright yellow cruiser.

“Aunt Amelia?” Allison’s beautiful smile lit up her whole face. Those perfectly straight teeth were thanks to Anne and the orthodontics she’d put teenage Allison through. The whiteness of those teeth, though, was a more recent improvement.

Amelia melted into her niece’s hug. “I’m here, too, Allison. Can you manage with both of us? We’ll find another option if we’re going to be too much of a bother.” Amelia looked around. What other option? Sleep on that bench over there? The birds would get even more cold.

“You have a bird!” Allison reached for the covered cage and stashed it in her boat. “I’m glad you and Aunt Macy came for a visit.”

A visit? Is that what Macy had told Allison? Amelia squinted back at Macy, who was doing those up-and-down stretches she said were good for fighting off free radicals.

“Two birds!” Allison was peeking under the cloth. “Australian Zebra Finches, right? What are their names?”

“Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon. Like on Gunsmoke—that’s an old television show you probably never saw. Macy got the birds for me.” After my most recent out-patient procedure, Amelia almost added—but didn’t, because Macy had specifically said Allison didn’t need to know the details yet. “You don’t have cats, do you?”

“Two dogs, but no cats. Your birdies will be safe and happy.”

Truly, her niece’s smile was pristine. How did she keep it that way? Amelia closed her lips over her own crooked, yellow smile. Macy had always said she should take better care of her teeth and now it turned out Macy was right about that, too.

When her niece pulled the boat up to a long dock with an immaculate building on one side of it, Amelia thought she might be in a sort of half-imaginary, half-real dream. Beyond the dock, a wide beach sloped up to a grassy dune and—wonder of wonders—a fairytale castle in the woods. Wouldn’t Anne have loved it? Allison and Macy collected the luggage. Amelia gathered the birdcage and her snacks. Once they were off the dock, Allison and Macy chattered on ahead. Amelia navigated driftwood, rocks, and clumps of seaweed.

Allison had stopped walking and was pointing to the far edge of the forest where it sloped down to the water. “There’s a bald eagle’s nest in that tree. My neighbors say this pair has built several nests on Wren. I’m hoping they’ll settle on this one next spring.” Allison resumed walking. “Watch your step along here. These rocks create an uneven path.”

They were climbing stone steps, then standing between two concrete lions. Amelia patted one lion’s head, then the other.

“Here we are.” Allison reached to open the red, arched door.

Amelia was the first to step inside. She’d always remember that. She’d always remember that she got to see the magnificent entry with no one ahead of her. With no one blocking her view. It was almost like the house welcomed her. (Welcomed her, Amelia Theodore!) First, she was in an alcove where a low ceiling sloped down to wrought iron candle holders on either side. Then, she was stepping into a bright circle. Hardwood floors in an elegant pattern. A thick, round rug in deep and bright blues. Curving walls, the shade of a robin’s egg. An ornate, dark wood stairwell climbing one wall. And look at the ceiling! A perfect dome, with a glittering chandelier dropping from its center.

Next to her, Macy sank into a ladder-backed chair. “Goodness. This is really something.”

Allison grinned. “Wait until you see the rest of the house.”

The rest of the house? Amelia peeked at what she could see. One of the rooms off the entry boasted two-story windows, a fireplace surrounded by an elaborately carved mantle, and a grand piano. On the other side of the entry, another large room, another large fireplace, another wall of windowpanes. Other than the piano and the chair Macy was sitting on, there wasn’t a stick of furniture anywhere.

A big brown dog was creeping, shy, across the round rug toward her. Amelia set down the birdcage and reached out one hand.

“Oh. Louise takes a while to get to know new people.” Allison warned. “She won’t be comfortable enough to …”

The dog crept closer to Amelia, sniffed her hand, sniffed the top of the birdcage, wagged her tail, and sat next to Amelia.

Allison laughed. “I never know what to expect with that dog. Louise must think you’re a-okay, Aunt Amelia.”

Amelia smiled. “I think Louise is a-okay, too.”

Allison glanced around. “There’s another dog around somewhere. Let’s leave the luggage for now and get you two refreshed. Would you like a glass of water with lemon? A cup of hot tea?”

Amelia followed Allison and Macy along a corridor lit by wall sconces. They passed a sunken room with a television and a sectional. When Amelia stopped to peer in the cozy room, the big dog next to her stopped, too. Then they caught up to the others in the kitchen.

The kitchen! A wide and long island, topped with a clean, white countertop, ran the length of it. On one wall, built-in glass cabinets hovered over more white countertops. Ceiling beams ran the length of the room. Where did that door at the end lead to? A sunroom with a concrete floor—and not a stick of furniture in that room, either.

As Allison and Macy chattered around the kitchen, Amelia chose a chair at the round, weathered wood table. Could it get any better? It could, because she was pretty sure she was sitting smack dab in the middle of a turret. (Amelia Theodore in a turret!) Beyond the curved wall of windows around her, a boulder anchored the sloping forest. Nuthatches scampered through the crisscrossing vines.

“Close your mouth, Melia. Do you want to catch flies?” Macy clunked mugs for tea and continued her conversation with Allison. “So we said to ourselves, why not come by and see how our Allison is getting along? How are you doing, sweetheart?”

Allison carried a tray with the teapot and three mugs to the table. The diamond stud earrings lining the edge of her ear sparkled. “I’m doing just fine, now that I’ve got this house all fixed up the way I want it. The renovations were a hassle, of course. But all that’s finished now. And I stay busy with my work.”

“Work.” Macy added napkins to the table and sat.

“I’m writing songs.” Allison poured tea and set a mug in front of Amelia. “Or trying to, anyway.”

“How sweet.” Macy patted Allison’s arm. “And since you don’t need money, it won’t matter how good they are. You can have fun writing whatever you want.”

Allison wiped the edge of the teapot. “It’s true I don’t need to sell my songs to pay the bills. But I’d like to write something that mattered to someone.”

Macy was patting Allison’s arm again. “Aren’t you lucky, though? You’ll never have to worry about money again. You’ll always be able to take care of yourself. And you’ll always be able to take care of everyone you love.”

At this, Amelia set down her mug of tea. Wasn’t it about time they filled Allison in on the details? “I think what Macy is leading up to, Allison, is that—”

“I wasn’t leading up to anything.” Macy flapped a napkin at Amelia. “I was simply stating the obvious fact that our Allison is completely independent. And isn’t that nice for her sake? Isn’t that nice for our Allison?”

Amelia nodded and picked up her mug.

Allison threaded her way through the forest on a trail that led from her property to the commune. When she’d left the house, her aunts had been poking around the kitchen, exclaiming at things. They’d already broken a ceramic bowl. Aunt Amelia wasn’t the most coordinated person. Neither was Aunt Macy. Oh, well. It was only for a few days. But until she got a replacement bowl, the stacks of bowls in the cabinet were going to be uneven.

The forest smelled damp and clean. It felt strange to be walking without Louise, but there’d been no convincing her to leave her post where she was watching the aunts, her right upper lip twitching. Nothing ever got past Louise. It kind of made up for Lokita missing so much.

So. Aunt Macy and Aunt Amelia. Here on Wren Island. What would her mother say about it? Anne would be thrilled. For years, Anne had wished her sisters lived closer. Wished Allison could get to know them better.

But why were the aunts finally visiting now? Anne was gone, and Allison had grown up and settled into her own life. Did the aunts want money? Did they want to make amends of some sort? Her mother had never indicated there was anything to make amends for.

The trail curved past a rocky outcropping before it opened to a meadow. The commune sat on a sloping hill directly above Allison’s property, in a clearing with a view of the ocean below. Allison ducked under the rustic archway of twisted branches that marked the property entrance and walked past several outbuildings, scattering chickens and ducks as she did. In the courtyard of the main building, Ed Smith greeted her.

Allison got straight to her point because that was how they liked to do things at the commune. “Ed, do you think I could borrow a couple of cots for my aunts to sleep on? I don’t have any guest beds at my house yet.”

Ed motioned for her to follow him inside, past the main foyer fountain, through a large dining room. At the end of a wide hall, Ed creaked open the door to a storage area. Allison chose two cots and started to hoist one under each arm.

“I’ll drive them over in the Polaris later.” Ed stacked the cots against the wall.

“Thanks.” Ed driving the cots over in an all-terrain vehicle would be much nicer than her carting them down the trail on foot. “Thanks a lot.”

Back at the house, she found her aunts balancing their suitcases halfway up the back stairs. Allison reached for the luggage and led the way. At the landing, she turned. “Sleep in the same room? Or sleep in separate rooms?”

“Same,” the aunts replied at once.

Allison climbed the final steps. “Ocean view or forest view?”

“Goodness.” Aunt Macy reached for Aunt Amelia’s hand. “Wherever you’d like to put us, sweetheart.”

“Forest view, then, because the room is larger and has two bathrooms off it.” Allison pulled the suitcases to the room at the end of the hallway. “A neighbor is bringing over two cots later. I hope you’ll be comfortable enough. I guess if it’s only for a few nights, it’ll be okay.”

Her aunts busied themselves by unzipping suitcases and hanging clothes in a closet. Their few belongings stood out in the empty room. Allison helped Aunt Macy stash the empty suitcases on the closet floor, then joined Aunt Amelia at a window.

“I can hear the wind in the trees.” Aunt Amelia smiled. “And this room smells like pine.”

“When it’s warm enough, I like to open all the windows at this end of the house.” Allison moved to the doorway. “I’m going to figure out dinner. How about macaroni and cheese with bratwurst sausage?”

Aunt Amelia’s face lit up. “Is that what you eat?”

Allison laughed. “It is tonight. We don’t have any restaurants here on the island, but the grocery market owner makes the best muffins you’ve ever tasted. I’ll pick some up in the morning for breakfast.”

In the kitchen, Allison felt a tug on her arm. Aunt Amelia was pointing to the birdcage.

“Oh, the birds!” Allison grabbed a folding table from the butler’s pantry, picked up the cage, and swept into the sunroom.

While Aunt Amelia fed and watered her birds, Allison pulled bratwurst from the fridge and calculated how much macaroni and cheese to make. Aunt Macy clomped in and began setting the table. Lokita wandered in as the macaroni was simmering and the bratwurst was sizzling.

“Little Lokita, come to me,” Allison sang. Lokita wandered close with Louise nudging her from behind. Allison picked up the little white dog, tucked her under one arm, and turned to her aunts. “And this is Lokita.”

“Oh, my.” Aunt Amelia stepped forward. “What happened to her eyes?”

Aunt Macy put an arm around Aunt Amelia.

Allison stroked Lokita’s soft, silky head. “She had an eye disease. It got so bad both eyes needed to be removed. The shelter didn’t have money for the surgery, so I paid for it and adopted her. Louise came along because she’s Lokita’s best friend.”

“You chose to bring home a blind dog?” Aunt Amelia’s mouth had dropped open.

“And her friend?” Aunt Macy’s voice cracked.

Allison snuggled into Lokita’s soft ears. “Uh-huh.”

“Macy.” Aunt Amelia shook her head. “We have to tell her why we’re here.”

“Allison, sweetheart.” Aunt Macy reached for her arm. “I think you’d better sit down for this. I think we’d all better sit down.”

That night, the forest beyond Allison’s bedroom windows was dark. Above the trees, the stars would be glittering against the black sky of a new moon. And didn’t the people at the commune always say a new moon was the best time to start something new?

Lokita was snoring rhythmically in her crate. On the bed next to Allison, Louise was twitching in her sleep, dreaming. Chasing a flock of seagulls, a squirrel, a rabbit. That Louise, she could run like the wind.

In a dream, you could run as fast as you wanted to without needing to see where you were going. You could run on the beach, smell the kelp, crunch sand and clam shells under your feet, leap over slippery logs shifting at high tide. You’d hear the waves rolling higher up the beach and know you were perfectly safe. But in real life …

She’d known, as soon as she’d heard what was going on, that she wanted Aunt Amelia to move in with her. She’d invited Aunt Macy to move in, too, because the two sisters seemed like a package deal. Like Lokita and Louise had been a package deal. It would have been heartless to separate them. The real question was, just exactly how was all this going to work?

Aunt Amelia would need continuing medical care for her macular degeneration. As the aunts aged, they both might need more medical care. Allison could finance all that, of course. But without regular ferry service, how were they going to get back and forth to the mainland? How were they going to get to medical appointments on days when the weather didn’t cooperate for boating? And another thing. Would the aunts be comfortable in this lost-in-the-woods house? They might prefer living in a more populated area with easier access to amenities.

Allison rolled over and laid a hand on Louise’s warm side. Could she leave this house? A knot tightened in her stomach. Her mom’s family was more important than a house. More important than an island. More important than keeping a neat and tidy life.

A familiar ache throbbed through her. If only her mother were here. Her mother would know how to help her think through all this.

For now, she’d make things as comfortable as she could for her aunts here on Wren. They should sleep in real beds, not cots borrowed from the commune. They might want to choose different bedrooms. A room with an ocean view instead of a forest view. Aunt Amelia in a room with a view! Allison wiped tears.

Her aunts might need other things, too. More clothes and shoes. Books, maybe. Did Aunt Amelia like to read? You could easily enlarge the print of e-books. Or you could listen to audio books. Were there audio books with music soundtracks? Now there was an idea. Allison hummed a few lines of something new. Louise woke up and shifted her position. Allison rolled over again and closed her eyes.

The next morning, the sky was deep blue with dawn when Allison walked along the gravel road to the island’s grocery market. Louise raced up the porch steps and curled into a cushioned bench. Allison stepped inside and glanced around. Virgil, the market owner, was nowhere to be seen, which was okay by her. The last thing she needed right now was Virgil asking her a bunch of questions.

Jax, Virgil’s fourteen-year-old son, greeted her. “Morning, Miss Allison.”

“Hey, Jax. Have you got any muffins yet?”

“Straight out of the oven.” Jax pulled out a pan and set it on a cooling rack.

“I’ll take six when they’re ready.”

Allison walked through the market, collecting breakfast ingredients. Eggs from the commune hens. Bacon and butter from a farmer on the north side. She paid for her groceries, stashed them in a cloth sack, thanked Jax, collected Louise, and walked home.

In the kitchen, she prepared the bacon—on low heat and with a towel handy for splatters—while Aunt Macy threw raw vegetables into the blender. Aunt Amelia walked in, wearing a pink bathrobe and gray bunny slippers, and sat down at the table.

Allison wiped the drips around Aunt Macy’s blender project, added the finished bacon to the scrambled eggs and muffins on the table, then sat next to Aunt Amelia. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking. For now, the three of us will live here, but we’ll start thinking about where to move to. Somewhere you’ll have easy access to the very best medical care.”

Aunt Amelia frowned. “I don’t want to move. I like it here. And I don’t want you to have to leave your home.”

“Be reasonable, Melia.” Aunt Macy sat and sucked her vegetable drink through a metal straw. “It’s not about liking things. It’s about all of us sacrificing to take care of you.”

Allison helped Aunt Amelia with the bacon platter.

Aunt Amelia sent a pointed look toward Aunt Macy’s drink. “If it’s all right with you and your green friends, I would very much like to stay right here. With my bacon. And my muffins.”

Allison wiped drips of bacon grease from the table. Truly, it was difficult to know which of the aunts was less coordinated! She took a square breath—one, two, three, four—before she spoke. “Why don’t we agree to make one decision at a time? We’ll figure it out as we go. What size mattresses do you want? And what kind? I’ll order two beds today.”

“Two beds. Hmm.” Aunt Macy clinked the metal straw around in her glass. “I wonder. Should we order an extra?”

“An extra bed?” Aunt Amelia looked up. Another piece of bacon dropped. “Whatever for?”

“Your next boyfriend. You know how you collect them wherever you go. Close your mouth, Melia, unless you want to catch flies.”

Allison wiped the bacon off the table. As far as she knew, Aunt Amelia had never been married. She glanced at the hair curlers and fuzzy pink collar. Aunt Amelia didn’t seem like the type to attract boyfriends. Neither did Aunt Macy. But you never knew, did you?

Aunt Macy sipped her drink. “There’s plenty of space in our room for three beds. We’ll pile stuffed animals on the extra bed just like we used to when we were kids. A whole bed for stuffed animals. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Melia?”

“Well, sure I would. But to buy an extra bed just for—”

“It’s settled, then! Right, Allison? Three matching beds. Because Melia wants one bed for her stuffed animals. We’re doing this for you, Melia.”

Allison eyed her aunt. The one directing the conversation. Truly, Aunt Macy had skills. So, okay, she’d order three beds. Two for the aunts, one for the stuffed animals—or for any boyfriends that might turn up, as unlikely as that might be. Allison wiped another piece of bacon from the table. Probably she should start thinking about ordering other furniture, too. Just enough to be functional without being cluttered.

That afternoon, they all walked down to the beach. Louise chased seagulls. Aunt Amelia, with Lokita on a leash, investigated shells and driftwood.

Allison stood at the high tide line next to Aunt Macy and watched the waves roll in. She turned to her aunt. “Since you and Aunt Amelia are going to be living with me, I want to get you a credit card.”

“A credit card!”

Allison nodded. As far as she was concerned, her aunts could max out a couple of credit cards every year for the rest of their lives if they wanted to. Still, it might be smart to offer some general guidelines. “If you want to order clothes, shoes, books, or whatever, just do it. If you want something big—”

“Something big!”

“Ask me if you’re not sure if it will be okay.”

Aunt Macy stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Could I get a new jacket? The wind jumps right through this one. And Melia says her socks aren’t soft enough anymore.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I want you to order with the credit card. Let me know if you want help.” Allison tucked up the collar of her jacket against the wind. At the end of the beach, her boat bobbed at the dock. “I wish we had a more reliable way of getting people to the mainland. And a general physician here on Wren.”

“Aren’t there any medical people up at that commune?”

Allison shook her head. “That’s a real puzzle. I don’t know what they’re thinking over there. It’s wonderful that they live sustainably. It’s wonderful that they’re so conscientious about taking care of the land. But most of the members have been here for years. They’re getting to an age where they might want to see a doctor regularly instead of trusting their health entirely to herbs and supplements. What’s going to happen when someone at the commune has a real medical emergency?”

“Don’t they have a boat?”

“They don’t need one. Ralph brings their supplies and we all help cart it up to their property.” Allison pulled her jacket closer. Ralph’s reluctance to be the island’s unofficial ferry service was one reason she’d stopped ordering furniture for the house. Once Ralph secured the boat at the landing—an ordeal that usually included a lot of shouting and swearing on Ralph’s part—you still had to get everything down the ramp, up the sandy beach, over the dunes, and up to the house. And her property was the closest to the landing. Everyone else on the island had to cart their supplies even further, by truck or all-terrain vehicle over bumpy roads. It was one reason islanders were so keen on making do with what they had.

It was easier to leave most of the house empty and live simply in her own way. Plus, all the blank space freed her up to think creatively.

She turned to her aunt. “Do you mind if I head back to the house and get some work done?”

“Work!”

“Songwriting. I’d like to get some work done today.”

“Of course, sweetheart. You go have fun with your ditties. I’ll bring Melia and the dogs back when they’re all played out.”

Go have fun with your ditties. Aunt Macy hadn’t heard any of her songs yet—primarily because she hadn’t written any songs yet—so why would Aunt Macy assume she was just writing fluff? She was going to compose real music. Once she got going, that is.

She was halfway up the beach when Aunt Macy called to her. “Would an airplane ticket be considered something big on the credit card?”

An airplane ticket? Now what was Aunt Macy up to? Allison smiled and waved. “Want to go somewhere warmer?”

Inside the house, Allison headed upstairs to her office. It was more like a cozy den, but calling it an office made it sound like important work was being done there. She sat at her desk. When she bumped the mouse, the computer screen lit up and the electric piano keyboard beeped. She pulled open the drawer housing the computer keyboard and opened all the apps she’d need. Then she put her hands in her lap.

Now, what to write? Start with lyrics? Start with a tune? She gazed out the window behind her computer screen. That view would inspire anyone to create something beautiful. A symphony, maybe. Or film music. A pop single.

She drummed her fingers against the desk. She stood up, walked a few paces, sat down again. Watched the cursor blink, blink, blink. So there was a beat, if she followed the blinking cursor. How about a tune, though?

The muffled sounds of her aunts returning with the dogs reached her. Aunt Macy created a scuffle when she tried to boss Louise into entering through the service door. Allison stood, walked to the top of the circular staircase above the entry, and hollered. “Louise doesn’t come inside through the service door! You’ll have to let her in up here at the front door!”

Aunt Amelia appeared below, shuffling across the round rug.

Allison lowered her voice to a more normal tone. “Aunt Amelia, will you please wipe Louise’s paws before she runs in? There’s a towel draped across the back of that chair.”

Aunt Amelia found the towel and cleaned off Louise—though not as thoroughly as Allison would have liked. Oh, well. She’d sweep up the mess herself. And that’s exactly what she did. There she was, meant to be writing an important song—and the song was just at the tip of her fingers, she could practically feel it ready to burst out—but instead she was sweeping sand. Maybe she should hire a housekeeper. No, then she’d be cleaning up after one more person. By the time she was back upstairs in her den—her home office, not her den—any inspiration she’d felt was gone.

“Allison!” Aunt Amelia’s voice wafted up from the kitchen. “We’re making dinner so you can keep working on your next song!”

Her next song? Just writing the first one was going to be an accomplishment.

The cursor blinked its steady beat again. Allison tapped her fingers on the desk. There was an awful lot of clattering going on in the kitchen. What were those two cooking for dinner? Oh, no. It sounded like they’d found the spaghetti sauce in the freezer, and you had to unwrap those packages just right or red tomato bits splattered everywhere.

“Doo do doo do doo,” she sort of sang, pressing the notes on the piano keyboard into a chord.

When Lokita wandered past the doorway, Allison sang her close. “Little Lokita, come to me. Here you are, right with me.” She scooped up the dog, cuddled her, and let her voice lilt any way it wanted to. “You are sweet. You’re a treat. Best of all, you’re mostly neat.”

A few days later, Amelia was sitting at the table in the kitchen turret. She called this one the kitchen turret because it turned out there were other turrets in the house. The entire circular entry was a turret, for one. And there was another turret at the far end of the mouse room. The mouse had been there for a while, flattened under a new log in the fireplace. But she called it the mouse room only in her thoughts because she was pretty sure spic-and-span Allison wouldn’t want to hear there’d been a mouse in her house.

A mouse in the house. See, those were the kind of rhyming words Allison could use in one of those beautiful songs she was writing. What a prolific songwriter Allison was! And every one of her songs was easy to remember.

Amelia smiled and quietly sang. “Little Amelia, come to me. Here you are, right with me.” And how about that song that kept everyone safe? She tapped her feet to the tune. “Now we’re on the dock. We are on … the … dock. So be careful where you walk. Careful where … you … walk.”

Amelia pulled the magnifying glass over the catalog page she was squinting at. When her sister waltzed into the kitchen and began clunking glass bowls from the fridge to the counter, Amelia looked up. “Is an espresso maker something big?” She pointed to the photo as Macy leaned close.

“Why would we want an espresso maker?” Macy huffed back to the counter. “None of us drink espresso.”

When Allison breezed into the kitchen, Amelia pointed to the photo. “Would an espresso maker be something big on the credit card?”

“Oh, wow.” Allison studied the page. “I’ve heard those espresso machines are nice. But none of us drink coffee. And it would take up a lot of space on the counter.” Allison moved into the kitchen and began wiping counters.

Amelia eyed all the empty countertop space. They could put an espresso maker over there next to the cabinet with the white dishes. Or in the corner beyond the main sink. Or right here at this end of the counter, near the table. Espresso could be her new thing for the new year. What was that expression you sometimes saw on t-shirts and mugs? Not before coffee. “I’d drink espresso every morning if it came out of a fancy machine like this.”

“Be reasonable, Melia.” Macy clunked more bowls on the counter. “You have to spoon finely ground coffee beans into those things. You have to tamp it down just so. You have to boil water—hot, boiling water—and pour it just right. There’s no way you’ll be able to do those kinds of things. So don’t go complicating things for the rest of us even more than they already are.”

Amelia sighed and turned the catalog page.

“Allison, sweetheart.” Macy squeeked the palm of her hand across the counter. “I’ve already cleaned this.”

“You have?” Allison bent down to eye level with the counter. “I’ll just go over it again and make sure we’ve gotten every last crumb.” Allison smiled when she said this, but her perfectly straight, white teeth didn’t show. Or maybe it was just that Amelia’s eyes weren’t letting her see Allison’s teeth today. Allison’s earrings were sparkling bright, though.

Amelia watched Macy and Allison moving through the kitchen. Macy making messes, Allison following behind, cleaning up after her.

Macy pulled out a cutting board and began pounding something on it.

Amelia steadied the rocking kitchen table. “What are you making for dinner, Macy?”

“Chicken cordon bleu.”

Allison wrung a dishcloth into a sink. “I don’t think so. I don’t have any cheese or ham.”

“Oh, yes, you do, sweetheart.” Macy sounded pleased. “I bought some from your nice young grocery man. That credit card you gave us comes in handy.”

Allison draped the dishcloth over a rod. “Speaking of the credit card, I’m going to cancel that one and give you a different one. Someone got the number and has been making weird charges.”

“Weird charges.” Macy dumped breadcrumbs into a pan.

Allison swept stray crumbs into the sink. “International airfare, for one. From Sydney, Australia, to New York.”

Amelia propped her elbow on the table and leaned her chin into one hand. “Our sister Shasta lives in Australia.”

“And domestic flights, too,” Allison continued. “And get this. A bunch of charges in Green Bay, Wisconsin—including tickets to an NFL game. But don’t worry about it, Aunt Macy. I’ll call the credit card company and get it taken care of.”

“You know what, Allison?” Macy’s tone indicated she wanted to be large and in charge. “You should let me call and take care of it. I’ll be the one to take care of it.”

“I don’t mind.” Allison shrugged.

“No, no. I mean it.” Macy tossed a piece of chicken into the pan of breadcrumbs. “You gave me responsibility for the card, so I’ll be the one to straighten it all out. You want me to know how to do that sort of thing anyway, don’t you?”

Allison rinsed a bowl and stuck it in the dishwasher. “Is the Green Bay football team the one with the fans who wear those odd-looking yellow hats?”

“Made of foam and shaped like a giant cheese wedge. What will people come up with next?” Macy slogged chicken pieces around the pan.

Amelia returned her attention to the catalog in front of her and turned another page. Popcorn makers. Now that would be fun. For movie nights. Or football games, if Shasta ever came to visit. Amelia looked up. “Our sister Shasta loves watching the Green Bay Pack—”

“Melia!” Macy rushed over. “Look what you’ve done. Look at your shirt! Spills all over the front of your shirt!”

Amelia squinted down. “Where?”

“Right here. Everywhere. Don’t move. Don’t even talk. When you talk, you move.” Macy swished a towel back and forth across Amelia’s shirt. “So anyway, Allison, I’ll call the credit card company right away. You leave it to me.”

“Okay. Thanks, Aunt Macy.” Allison loaded the dishwasher. “What else should we get to help you two feel at home here? More clothes? Decorations for your bedroom? Let’s make things comfortable for you.”

“It is comfortable, Allison.” Amelia shooed off her sister. “We don’t need anything else.”

“Melia.” Macy was tugging at Amelia’s shirt again. “This is your grand opportunity. Ask for anything you want. Tell us what you need so we can take care of you.”

Amelia stood and poked her sister. “Why don’t you tell me what I need? You seem to have it all figured out already.”

In the sunroom, Amelia pulled the chair close to the birdcage and sat. Here, little birdy, birdy, birdy. Kitty and Matt hopped from perch to perch. The voices of her niece and sister in the kitchen grew quieter. Amelia stretched her legs. So what if they were talking about her? Big whoop. Probably it was all about Amelia needs this, Amelia needs that.

She closed her eyes, listened to the wind blowing through the pines outside. Kitty and Matt settled. In the kitchen, the voices ceased. All that remained was the sound of Macy clanging pots and Allison turning the faucet on and off. Lokita, curled on the floor at her feet, snoring.

Amelia knew she was falling as it was happening, but somehow it happened fast and also in slow motion, so she didn’t cry out until after she hit the floor. Immediately, she regretted crying out because the pain in her side grew worse. Fierce enough to take her breath away.

“What happened?” Allison knelt down. “Are you all right?”

“Melia! What have you done?” Macy scurried close.

“Oh-h. I fell off the chair.” Amelia tried to breathe, tried to take a deeper breath, and settled for shallow panting.

Allison was touching her lightly. “Can you get up? Can I help you?”

Slowly, Amelia pulled her legs into a position that would allow her to creep up on all fours. She made her way into the chair she’d fallen from. “It hurts.”

“Aunt Amelia, can you tell me where it hurts?”

Amelia took another tentative breath. “My side. And my shoulder, a bit.”

“Did you fall asleep again?” Macy’s voice had risen. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

Amelia could have hollered at her sister. Oh, how she wanted to holler. Do you think I tried to do it? Do you think I tried to fall out of a chair to a concrete floor? But she didn’t. She hadn’t yelled at her sister in years. And she wasn’t about to start to now—not in this house. Anyway, the pain in her side wouldn’t allow it. There was only the sound of her shallow breathing and the click of toenails on the floor as Louise came close. Amelia let the dog lick her fingers, her hand, her arm.

The birdcage was undisturbed, at least. It would have been awful if she’d knocked it over as she fell. But there were Kitty and Matt, hopping from perch to perch, twittering and happy. So that was nice, wasn’t it? Life would go on for the finches just like it always did.

In the cabin of Allison’s boat, Amelia shifted into a more comfortable position. Soon, they’d be back home on Wren. Earlier, on the trip to the mainland hospital, the choppy water had bounced the boat around so much Amelia nearly passed out from pain. Now, after anti-nausea and pain medication, the trip home was bearable. Amelia touched the ice pack at her side and pictured the radiographs she’d seen. Two cracked ribs. Not broken, though, so there was that to be thankful for. Up on deck, Allison and Macy were chattering about the islands they were passing.

“There’s Reclamation Island,” Allison said. “I go there for supplies I can’t get on Wren.”

“Look at those cliffs.” Macy’s voice was full of awe.

“The south side of Reclamation is called Wail Point,” Allison said. “Not whale like the animal. W-A-I-L.”

The rocking boat, the warm blanket. Even though she was lying down, safe from another fall, Amelia kept her eyes open. Not that keeping her eyes open helped much. Maybe she was just tired today, but her eyesight seemed worse. She hadn’t said anything to Macy or Allison, because what were they supposed to do about it?

“Oh look! Over there.” Allison’s voice sounded excited. The boat engine grew quieter, then died.

“Melia.” Macy’s head appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got to come up on deck. Allison spotted a pod of orcas. They’re heading right toward us.”

“I’m going to see whales?” Amelia moved as quickly as she could, but that wasn’t saying much. With Macy’s help, she climbed out of the cabin one step at a time. On deck, she peered in the direction Allison was pointing. “Where are they?”

“They just passed us.” Allison’s voice was hushed. “Oh, wow.”

Amelia scanned the blurry water and listened to the sound of waves rhythmically meeting the side of the boat. Then, several bursts of air erupted nearby. Whales! Right here with her! She turned her face and pretended to see everything she was missing. When more bursts of air erupted, she felt the spray on her face. And that was really something, to think she’d felt the breath of an orca. She’d even smelled it. Kind of a fermented fishy smell that stuck to the roof of her mouth. She took another breath because sharing the same air as an orca seemed like an extra special thing to do.

Later, at home, Amelia drank the chicken broth Macy placed in front of her. With Allison’s help, she ascended the back staircase and crawled onto her cot. Then, alone in the dark, snuggled under the blankets, she put her imagination to good use.

Allison’s bright yellow cruiser gliding over a glassy surface. Water so clear you could see all the way down to the bouldered sea floor. Porpoises waving hello as they bobbed past. (One porpoise squeaked good afternoon, Amelia!) Then, the orcas arrived, with crisp black and white markings, shiny skin, and elegant dorsal fins. When the orcas dived deep, Amelia could still see them all those fathoms below. And since this was imaginary, she got in the water with them. When they all swirled to the surface to breathe, she was close enough to touch an orca—but she didn’t because she wanted all orcas, even the ones in her imagination, to stay wild and free. Then she climbed into Allison’s bright yellow boat and drank hot chocolate with marshmallows—as much as she wanted because imaginary cocoa was nutritious—until she was back in her bed in a fairytale castle where a dog’s cold, wet nose was bumping her hand. And when Louise drifted off with a heavy sigh, Amelia did, too.

Early on a January morning, Allison pulled on warm layers and headed for the beach. The winter sun, cutting across the horizon, created a brilliantly blue sky over the pale beach. When Ralph’s boat came into sight, Allison joined the other islanders—people from the commune, several farmers, and other neighbors—who had gathered at the landing. Everyone pitched in to help unload the new furniture and carry it up to Allison’s house. Several sofas and tables went into the room with the piano. Comfortable chairs and a couple of writing desks went into the other room off the entry. Two recliners went into the television room. Bedroom furniture went upstairs. A rolling birdcage went into the sunroom.

By the time every piece of furniture had been unloaded, it was lunchtime, so Allison and her aunts served the sandwiches they’d prepared. When everyone returned to their own homes, the humming house fell quiet again.

Allison tucked her exhausted aunts into their new recliners and handed the television remote to Aunt Macy. Then she headed to the sunroom and transferred Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon to their new home. Using a tape measure, she verified that all the new furniture was exactly where she wanted it. She scrubbed floors and vacuumed rugs. She tidied the kitchen and ran the dishwasher. She disinfected the bathrooms, wiped the switch plates, and ran a clean towel across the smudged walls. She stepped outside and swept the entrance areas. She ran two loads of laundry, all towels. Finally, it felt like her own house again. And, for the first time since the aunts had arrived, it felt balanced. Two aunts, two dogs, two birds.

She peeked into the television room. The aunts were sound asleep, the dogs snoozing around them. She pulled on her boots and a warm vest and headed for the beach.

The hydrophone gong sounded as she walked. She scanned the horizon, climbed to the top of a boulder, and waited. There. A large pod of orcas traveling parallel to shore. The orcas dived deep. Gong, gong, gong. Allison pulled out her phone and listened until their songs grew distant.

The sun was setting when Ralph’s boat approached the landing. Two deliveries in one day! Ralph must be delivering something important. Allison climbed down the rocks and walked up the beach.

Ralph—the same Ralph who insisted he didn’t get paid to provide passenger service—helped someone off his boat. The passenger, a woman, was wearing a puffy coat over green and yellow striped leggings. On her head sat a wildly knitted cap with loose strings coming off at all angles. When the woman stood on tiptoe to whisper in Ralph’s ear, Ralph chuckled. Look at that. Ralph had gotten himself a girlfriend. She seemed kind of familiar, though.

“Allison!” Ralph waved. “Want me to carry this delivery up to your house, too?”

Why on earth would Ralph do that? Allison blinked at the spectacle and walked closer.

The woman smooched Ralph on one whiskered cheek and batted long, false eyelashes at him. “You’ve been fabulous. Fabu-lo-so.” She pulled a yellow hat—a foam hat in the shape of a cheese wedge—out of a bag and popped it onto Ralph’s head. Then she turned her attention to Allison. “And you, chickee, look absolutely stunning.”

Allison’s heart seemed to sink. She didn’t want it to. She wanted her heart to always be big, and bigger. She wanted to be warm, generous, hospitable. (You could do anything if you put your mind to it!) She smiled and leaned into the arms that were reaching for her. “Aunt Shasta! Welcome to Wren Island.”

Part 2

Birds in Spring

At her new desk, Macy scrolled through her favorite online shopping site. She rolled her bare feet across the foot massager Shasta had ordered and lifted a mug of coffee—decaf, this time of day—from the nearby warming tray. As she sipped, she worked through the shoe section.

A light breeze, scented with the first heather blooms, drifted into the quiet house through the open window. Allison was out again, disappeared to wherever she went afternoons now. Shasta was out, too—probably doing something she shouldn’t with Ralph. Melia and Louise were on the beach. Macy patted Lokita on her lap and returned her attention to the online store.

Beach worthy sandals for Melia, that’s what she was after today. Size 10 wide. Canvas, not leather, so they could get wet. Thick soles, arch support, covered toes. Poor Melia. She’d always been clumsy, and now she stubbed her toes even more.

Macy studied the options. Those shoes seemed right. And they were returnable if Melia didn’t like them. Macy pulled out the credit card, completed the purchase, and tucked the card away. Wouldn’t want to be careless with someone else’s money. Allison, their very own Allison, was really something, wasn’t she? She was so exceptionally accommodating. Like how she’d given them a credit card so they didn’t have to ask for money.

Shasta, of course, purchased more than Macy and Melia put together. But Shasta had such fun ideas! Who else would have thought to buy framed movie posters for the television room? Or an outdoor popcorn maker? Or a rolling drinks cart for the upper level? Not that they ever put anything alcoholic on the cart. Talk about being exceptionally accommodating. Everyone had been supportive of Macy about that.

All of it added up to the biggest sense of relief she’d ever known. Relief she and Melia belonged somewhere now because Allison loved them enough to take them in. Relief Shasta had finally arrived from halfway around the world—even if Shasta decided not to stick around. Relief Melia would always be taken care of.

Macy took another sip of decaf. And, mostly, relief she need never fear living alone again. Any recovering alcoholic would agree that too much solitary time isn’t healthy. Here on Wren Island, she was surrounded by safe people. People who knew not to leave a stray bottle of wine in the pantry.

The very night she arrived, Shasta asked Macy if she’d been attending regular Alcoholics Anonymous meetings since moving to Wren Island. The very night! And Macy had been attending AA meetings. Not in person—the island was too small and unpopulated—but online meetings.

Then Shasta made Macy tell Allison everything. Everything! So Macy told Allison she’d been sober for two years, five months, and nine days. She told Allison about the loss of her driver’s license, job, and marriage. She told Allison about the night Shasta showed up unannounced and hauled her angry, bleary-eyed sister into rehab. She told Allison how Melia had been diagnosed with macular generation the very week Macy was released. The very week! She and Melia had limped along for a while—Shasta was off to Australia by then—but when Allison came into money and bought this big house, Macy figured their only real hope was Wren Island.

And Allison had agreed! They were meant to be on Wren, Allison said. All of them. Macy sighed. If Anne could see her daughter today, she’d be so proud.

Macy pulled out her phone and updated Allison about Melia’s new sandals.

SANDALS CHECK

Short and sweet. That was the way to text. Why bother typing extra words? Just give the facts and wait for the reply. Not that Allison was likely to reply. So far, Allison had disappeared every afternoon this week. Her boat was still tied up, so she was still on the island. Maybe she turned her phone off. Or maybe she ignored Macy’s texts. Did Allison ignore everyone’s texts?

Macy stood, carried Lokita downstairs, and tucked the little dog into her kitchen bed. The kitchen was much more cozy now than it had been when they arrived. Everything out on the counters right where you needed it! Shasta’s new espresso machine, and a rack with mugs hanging on pegs, in one corner. Coffee and tea nearby in an old cracker box. Several loaves of bread—they all liked different kinds—and Melia’s breakfast cereals on another counter. You didn’t notice the crumbs unless you went searching for them—which Allison did, regularly.

The whine of a small airplane sounded in the distance, coming closer. And closer. At the sound of a splash, Macy dashed outside.

“Mace!” Shasta waved to her from the beach.

Macy joined her sister. A few yards out in the bay, a little white airplane bobbed on two floats. Ralph had waded out and was helping the pilot disembark.

Shasta threw a kiss in their direction, then turned to Macy, her red hoop earrings swinging. “Ralph’s son is visiting.”

Macy squinted. Tanned and muscular, the pilot looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine. “That’s Ralph’s son?”

“Hey there, ladies!” The pilot pulled off aviator shades and swaggered toward them.

Shasta reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “Nice landing, Hack. Mace, meet Hack. Guess who Hack flies?”

Macy pressed her lips together. No way was she going to hazard a guess.

Shasta giggled out the answer. “He flies that bush family up in Alaska and their film crew. It’s the same reality show we were watching the other night on TV.”

Oh, that. “Nice to meet you, Hack.” Macy tried not to wince when Hack’s handshake nearly crushed her fingers.

“Nice to meet you, too. I’m here on Wren until the summer filming season starts. Up in Alaska, I’ll be their gopher and fly for aerial shots. In my free time, I’ll fish.”

When Hack and Ralph walked off toward Ralph’s place, Macy turned to her sister. “So you’ve met Hack before?”

Shasta was starry-eyed. “There goes one desirable dude.”

Macy’s intuition kicked into high alert. “I assume you mean Ralph.”

Shasta laughed. “No, silly. Hack. He’s the same age as Allison. He’s perfect for her.”

“Oh, Shasta, I don’t think I like where this is going.” Every time Shasta got involved in someone else’s love life, the whole situation went south. “I don’t think you’d better push that on Allison right now. She’s got a lot on her plate.”

Shasta laughed. “All the more reason to help her lighten up.”

Lighten up? Macy shook her head. “This is a small island, Shasta. If the relationship doesn’t work out, things could get awkward.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Shasta twirled off.

Macy walked back up to the house. The undercurrent of Shasta’s comment was loud and clear. Shasta thought Macy needed to lighten up. But someone needed to keep a steady head around here, didn’t they? They couldn’t all run off to the other side of the world whenever they wanted to. They couldn’t all jump into on-and-off romantic relationships whenever they felt like it. Remember the dalmatian socks? When Shasta got Macy involved with that postman who collected socks with cats on them? How was she to know the man would be offended by socks with dogs on them? No, thank you, to an on-and-off romantic relationship.

At the house, Macy turned to look back at the beach. Shasta was dancing in the foaming surf. Yes, her sisters annoyed her sometimes. But really, who was she kidding? Most days, she was mostly annoyed with herself.

High on the beach near the shrub line, Amelia sat on the sand and sorted shells. Long, brown razor clam shells in one pile. Smooth white shells in another. Broken bits in a third pile. So far, she hadn’t found a whole sand dollar. But finding one was on her list of nice things to wish for. Jax, Virgil’s son, said late summer was the best time for it. After a string of warm summer days, you might find a whole sand dollar in an exceptionally low tide. So there was a pretty good chance that this summer she’d be marking off at least one item from her list of nice things to wish for.

Spring was unfolding so slowly here on Wren! In January, the first trees had budded. Then, little green bulb tips poked up in beds around the house. The willow trees had softened. Now, the fragrant heather blooms were covered with honeybees. And little birds twittered everywhere.

Allison said a pair of bald eagles was nesting in a tree near the water at the east edge of the forest. Amelia was keeping her binoculars handy because seeing a baby bald eagle take flight for the first time was also on her list of nice things to wish for.

Wonder what Macy would make for dinner tonight? Hope it was something clean, not messy, because it was awful to see Allison walk back into the house all refreshed and happy, then watch her face fall at the state of the kitchen. Allison had done so much for all of them! And now it almost seemed like Allison was getting crowded out of her own home. The problem was, they all needed Allison, but Allison didn’t need them. Allison is perfectly capable of taking care of Allison. That’s what Virgil said once. He made it sound like it was a good thing.

Up the hill, the gong sounded. So there’d be whales singing into the hydrophone. If she had a phone, she’d listen in. Gong, gong, gong.

Amelia tucked her shell collection into a fabric bag Macy had made with her new sewing machine, then walked toward the house. Every few steps, she stopped to let her cracked ribs catch up with the rest of her. The ribs had healed, but sometimes they still reminded her to be careful. She stepped around a section of driftwood, her eyes watching the ground in front of her.

Inside the service entrance, she navigated the shoes and bags her sisters kept handy and made her way into the kitchen. At the round table, she reached for a large-print book Shasta had ordered and flipped on her lighted magnifier.

Shasta joined her. “Sis. Let’s get you an e-reader. You can make the font as big as you want. And it’s lighted. And you can use it to listen to audio books.”

Amelia sneezed. “Are you wearing a new perfume, Shasta?”

“Spell On You.” Shasta pulled out a mirror and crunched a spike of highlighted hair into place. “That’s the name of it. Spell On You.”

Amelia wiped her nose, pushed her own soft curls behind her ears, and returned to her book. “I don’t want Allison to have to buy me e-books.”

“You can borrow them from the library.” The mirror clicked closed.

Amelia looked up. “I could get library books on an e-reader?”

“Of course, silly. And let’s get you your own phone and laptop. Then you could be on social media.” Shasta pulled out a lipstick and reopened the mirror.

“I don’t want to be on social media.”

“You like YouTube,” Shasta said around the lipstick application.

“Because I like learning. And it doesn’t cost anything. Hey Shasta, does that glittery eyeshadow feel funny on your skin?”

“Not once you get used to it.” Shasta closed the lipstick and mirror. “YouTube is social media, sort of. You could have your own channel and post whatever videos you want.”

“People do that?” Amelia corrected herself. “People like me do that?”

“All you need is a phone with a good camera and you can go around videoing whatever you want. We can make it all large font. Oh, tiddlywinks.” Shasta stood up slowly. “There’s another mouse.”

“Ack. You get it this time, Shasta.” Amelia lifted her feet off the floor and waited for Shasta to sweep her way to the back door. “That was the easiest yet, Shasta.”

“Practice makes perfect.” Shasta propped the broom in the closet, sat back down next to Amelia, and twiddled with a false eyelash. “Material for your Wren Island video channel, right there.”

Amelia laughed. “You think people would watch stuff like that?”

Shasta’s bright pink lips formed a smile. “You’d be surprised, sis.”

Right after lunch the next day, Allison ran her hands around the smooth, orange-colored trunk of the arbutus tree in Virgil’s front lawn. Five afternoons in a row! Yesterday, she’d missed seeing Ralph’s son arrive in the floatplane. The day before, she’d missed seeing Ed from the commune deliver firewood with his Polaris. But she heard all about it from her aunts during dinner—and listening to her aunts describe their afternoon was nearly as entertaining as if she’d been with them.

She held the tree and shifted her feet, crunching dried berries and stiff leaves. She closed her eyes, and the wind whispered a melody through the pines. This was why she stopped to visit the arbutus tree each afternoon. Nature, more than anyone else, knew how to write a song.

Inside Virgil’s cabin, Allison unpacked her bag and set up her laptop. She turned on the light at her desk, smiling at how the pretty stained glass lamp contrasted with the rest of the cabin. She plugged in the electronic keyboard and waited for everything to connect.

It had been Virgil’s idea for her to work in the cabin during the afternoons he and Jax were running the grocery market. She’d been walking through the forest one afternoon … Actually, she’d been crying through the forest. It was the day Aunt Macy had insisted everyone take a fiber supplement and Aunt Amelia spilled a jug of orange juice and Aunt Shasta propped up three more foam cheeseheads next to the television. (Those cheeseheads were the final straw. This wasn’t even football season!) So, anyway, she’d fled to the forest for a walk and there was Virgil on the trail. And Virgil did what he always did. He asked questions. And this time, instead of shutting him down like she usually did, she blabbed out all her frustrations. And Virgil, being Virgil, asked more questions. And pretty soon, after thinking through all those questions, she’d felt more optimistic. Because, like Virgil pointed out, it wasn’t that she didn’t love her aunts. She wanted to take care of them and share her home with them! But all together and all at once, her aunts could be a little much. (Virgil agreed this was true.) Then, thanks to more questions from Virgil, she’d figured out what was frustrating her the most. Her dream of songwriting was getting lost in all the chaos. Songwriting was important to her! And with all the electronics it required, she couldn’t very well sit on a log in the forest and work.

So Virgil had said he’d ask Jax about Allison using the cabin in the afternoons. And Virgil had ordered an electronic keyboard so she didn’t have to haul hers over. Jax had dug a lamp out of the attic and said he hoped Allison liked the dragonfly shade. Allison had put money into an account for Jax’s future education and, well, here she was.

She sat at the keyboard and tapped out a melody. She added in a few chords and a supporting harmonic line. She tried a few words around the melody. “Dragonfly, if you’d like to try … to fly … come along with me … to see … what’s beyond the sky … and sea.”

Just another ditty, as Aunt Macy would say.

She poked around in her software until she figured out how to add different orchestral parts on the screen. Look at that. She could write an entire symphony for a complete orchestra. She could write a movie soundtrack, maybe. Win a Grammy! She deleted the rinky-dink lyrics. When she tried to add music for a brass section, she stalled. Gee, this felt a little overwhelming, trying to write a soundtrack for an entire orchestra. But if she ever wanted to write something important, she’d have to come up with something better than a ditty.

When the setting sun angled through the cabin’s west-facing windows, Allison saved her work, packed up her laptop, turned off the desk lamp, and closed up the cabin.

As she walked back to her house, she hummed. An afternoon spent this way was so refreshing! She could handle anything now! Another fiber supplement? Bring it on. More spilled orange juice? No problem-o. One more cheesehead in the television room? Go team. Although, if she saw Aunt Shasta sneaking Ralph out the back kitchen door one more morning this week, she might lose it. Seriously! Aunt Shasta and Ralph!

If she ever got together with someone again, she sure wasn’t going to sneak him around. And next time—if there ever was a next time—she was going to make double-dog sure she was interesting enough. She could just picture it. Her, at a formal gathering celebrating her latest musical success. Him, handsome and fascinated by her. He would have been waiting for an introduction to the intriguing Allison Theodore. She wouldn’t have time to fit him in, but eventually he’d win her over with his persistent adoration. The only problem was, then she’d have to figure out how to stay interesting enough for him.

Next time around, it wasn’t going to fall apart like it did when she and Tank returned home from her second in vitro fertilization treatment. Tank had said it the moment they walked in the door. (The very moment they walked in!) Allison, you’re not interesting anymore. As if he were changing brands of breakfast cereal. She’d dropped the car keys in the bowl on the entry table like she always did. And, just like that, she wasn’t interesting anymore.

So far, she hadn’t been interesting enough for anyone else. Unless you counted the aunts. And unless you counted Virgil. But just because Virgil had almost kissed her didn’t mean he thought she was interesting. It was just one of those perfect storm kind of things. Virgil had come back to the cabin early (the market had run out of credit card machine tape), the two of them got to talking (probably it was Virgil asking questions), and then they stopped talking (for whatever reason, they did). And Virgil was looking at her and she thought, oh boy, here we go. But then Virgil remembered he needed to bring red pens back to the market with the credit card machine tape.

And, thanks to Virgil not making a big deal about the almost-kiss, she was free to keep using the cabin—as long as she skedaddled home before the market closed. Because if anything like that ever did happen between her and Virgil, she’d have to find another place to write music. And at the rate things were going at her house, she might as well find another place to live, too, if she wanted to keep her sanity. Maybe she could join the commune and leave the house to the aunts.

No, she wouldn’t fit in at the commune. Too young.

If she ever got together with someone again—and the odds of that were dwindling, since even Virgil wasn’t interested enough to follow through with a kiss—she wasn’t going to sneak the guy around like Aunt Shasta was doing with Ralph. And she was going to stay interesting enough to keep the guy. She’d be such a famous songwriter he’d never want to leave her!

Anyway, it didn’t matter about Virgil. The almost-kiss had happened before she’d seen his grocery stockroom. The moment she’d laid eyes on all that inventory stashed helter-skelter any old which way, she’d known she and Virgil could never have a future together.

“Allison left me in charge this afternoon, so you all have to do what I tell you to. Shasta, get your feet off the coffee table. Melia, turn off the television. Louise, stop giving me that look.”

“Aren’t you the hoity-toity-froity-pooh?” Shasta slid her feet off the table.

“We’re supposed to be caretakers of this house. Let’s start acting like it. Shasta, you clean the bathrooms. Melia, I want you to—”

“Why do I have to clean the bathrooms?” Shasta scrutinized her red painted fingernails. “We should hire help. It’s not like Allison doesn’t have enough money.”

“We are the help, Shasta.”

Shasta mumbled something to little Lokita in her lap.

Macy tapped her foot. “Would you care to share your comment with the rest of us?”

“Don’t people advertise for caretakers if they want them? They don’t allow any old decrepit people who show up uninvited to suddenly be caretakers of their house.”

“Any old decrepit people!”

“Un-wad your panties, Mace.”

Melia turned off the television and stood. “I thought Allison left Louise in charge.”

“Oh, Melia.” Macy sighed. “Everyone knows a dog can’t be left in charge. Move, Louise, you’re blocking the exit.” The dog didn’t budge. And there went the twitching upper lip again.

Macy shuffled her sisters around Louise and out of the television room. “Whatever you do, don’t let Allison find out about Ralph staying over nights. She seems about ready to flip already. That might be what sends her over the edge, if you know what I mean. So Shasta’s on bathroom duty. Melia’s vacuuming—make sure you get all the corners. Okay, then. We’ve got our marching orders.”

“What are you going to clean, Macy?” Melia tapped her arm.

“Windows. All those little panes at the front of the house.” She shooed off her sisters and collected towels and cleaning solution.

She started in the big room off the entry. The room with the piano nobody played. A wall of windows faced south. Two more tall sections of windows flanked the fireplace. It all added up to a lot of windows, but she’d said she’d do windows, so she’d do windows. She pulled a ladder from the garage and set it up. It reached halfway up the wall. Once she’d climbed up, she was in front of a million little panes of glass. Breakable glass. Maybe this wasn’t such a smart idea. Maybe she should settle for cleaning the panes she could reach from the floor. She climbed down.

Without a ladder, she could reach five rows of panes. And those were the rows you looked through anyway, right? After all, she was a free caretaker, not a paid one. She got to work, scrubbing, scrubbing, taking care of Allison’s house.

Right away, a pane cracked. Just cracked all on its own for no good reason at all! Maybe that pane had already been loose. Maybe it had been ready to go as soon as the next person touched it, and the person happened to be her. So now there was a line through the pane—but the window was still in place, so it wasn’t all that bad, right? One cracked pane was hardly noticeable. She went on scrubbing the others.

When the second pane cracked, she almost didn’t notice, because Melia was roaring the vacuum cleaner around upstairs. Honestly! Was there a racetrack for vacuum cleaners up there? Macy touched the second cracked pane. Good thing this one was located in a corner. Less noticeable. She fingered the towel in her hand. Was it not soft enough? Was her cleaning solution wrong? She’d cleaned a lot of windows in her lifetime, and none of them had cracked. There must be something different about these. But what if Allison regretted asking them to stay? What if Allison decided she didn’t need Macy’s help anymore with Melia? Macy kept cleaning, careful not to press too hard.

Melia brought the vacuum cleaner downstairs and circled toward Macy. A racetrack for vacuum cleaners on the lower level now. Macy wiped a few more panes, gently, but another pane cracked. Three cracked panes! The vacuum quieted.

“Uh oh, Macy. Were those always broken?”

Macy turned to see Melia staring wide-eyed at the windows.

Shasta bounced down the stairs and skidded to a stop. “Yikes, Mace.”

“I didn’t mean to break them.” Macy heard the panic in her own voice. “They must be weak panes or something. All the others are fine.”

Shasta came close and inspected. “It’s because you’re so tense, Mace. Glass is no match for your ferocity.”

“My ferocity?” Macy swallowed. “Maybe Allison won’t notice.”

Shasta tapped a pane. “You’ll have to tell her what you’ve done.”

The sound of the service door squeaking open reached them.

“She’s here,” Melia whispered.

“Hey, everybody!” Allison popped into the entry and glanced at the vacuum, sudsy bucket, and rags. “Woo-hoo. We’re cleaning.”

Slowly, Melia and Shasta parted from Macy.

Allison, sweetheart that she was, looked so refreshed and optimistic—until she saw the cracked panes. Macy watched the expressions on her niece’s face. Disappointment first. Then, a hint of anger. Finally, worst of all, an expression Macy had never seen there before. Dismal overwhelm.

Before the sun was up the next morning, Allison pulled on her favorite vest—bright yellow with extra pockets in front—and an orange hat Aunt Shasta had knitted for her. She called Louise and snapped the leash on Lokita. In the rising light, she walked through the dune grass. At the beach, Louise took off, scattering sea gulls. Lokita sniffed along the high tide line, tugging the leash in her excitement.

Farther down the beach, Allison stopped and looked back at her beautiful home. Purchasing the house and property had felt like the right thing to do partly because she’d known her mother would have loved it, too. And if her mother were here, she’d be sharing the house with her sisters. More than anything, Allison wanted her aunts to know they were safe, loved, welcome. And her aunts were thriving on Wren.

So why wasn’t she?

When she’d first settled on Wren, she had thrived. The house renovations had been all-consuming, like putting together a complicated puzzle. When the work was complete, she’d created a grand home. But remember how empty it had felt! A few pieces of furniture. A kitchen with just the basics. No espresso machine, motorized recliners, or arcade games. No Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon. Just her and the dogs coming up with topics to discuss over a bowl of ramen noodles.

She didn’t miss that emptiness. But she did miss the independence. The sense of being an individual. Not the help everyone needed or the answer to material problems. Just her, Allison Theodore. These days, she was getting lost in all the clutter. Yes, that’s exactly what it felt like.

She called Louise, collected Lokita, and started back to the house. Oh, those broken windowpanes! Original to the house, the leaded, iron-framed windows had survived all the renovations and who knows how many storms. But they couldn’t survive Aunt Macy! Oh, well. She could either laugh or cry about it, and if she started crying, she might not stop. She took a square breath. One, two, three, four breaths all around the corners. If the panes weren’t replaceable, she’d leave them in place and learn to be okay with it.

It was time to take a stand about the kitchen, though. Crumbs left on the counters. Drip marks across the floors. At this rate, they were going to end up with an ant problem. (Or would it be an aunt problem? Ha ha.) Plus, she could never find anything because nothing was ever where it was supposed to be.

One day last week, she’d come up with the solution. Labeled storage containers! Labeled shelves, too. First the kitchen, then the service entrance area. It was all going down as soon as Ralph delivered her supplies.

Ralph and Hack arrived a couple of hours later with three wheelbarrows of deliveries. While the aunts sorted through the packages, Allison headed to the garage to rearrange tools, because whenever Hack was around, the room temperature seemed to go up several degrees. (Good thing he wasn’t staying long on Wren.) When the guys finally left, the aunts disappeared upstairs with their own deliveries and Allison went to work organizing the kitchen.

Cereal, rice, and beans went into clear, airtight containers. Same with the other dry goods. Aunt Macy’s gazillion cake and brownie mixes took up an entire shelf, so Allison tapped Baking Mixes into the label maker and stuck it on the shelf. At the back of another cupboard, she discovered a lifetime supply of instant coffee packets. When were they ever going to drink instant coffee, now that they were using an espresso machine? Oh, well. One of them might find a use for it. Instant Coffee. She tucked the container into the cabinet with the hydration packets Aunt Macy added to her green smoothies.

When she’d finished, the aunts were still upstairs. Whatever they’d gotten delivered must be keeping their attention. Wonderful. Allison eyed Aunt Macy’s new pressure cooker, now neatly stored on the Pressure Cooker shelf in the butler’s pantry.

Once, Jax had told her you could bake a cake in a pressure cooker. Allison set her laptop on the kitchen counter—pristine now that it was clear of the usual clutter and crumbs—and scrolled through recipes.

Forty-five minutes later, a dense round of brownies was cooling on a rack. Allison cleaned the instant pot and other utensils and returned everything to their labeled places. She sprinkled powdered sugar across the cooled brownies and transferred the dessert to a pretty plate. Easy-peasy.

She was finishing a latte when her aunts clomped into the kitchen.

“Say something, Allison.” Aunt Amelia held up a cell phone.

“Did you get a phone?” Allison laughed and waved into the camera. “Hi, Aunt Amelia.”

“Shasta helped me set it up.” Aunt Amelia sank into a chair next to Allison and looked around. “Where did everything go?”

“Isn’t this a kitchen!” Aunt Macy poked through cabinets. “Don’t we look like professionals!”

Allison stood and joined her aunt. “Do you like it? Do you think you can keep it this way?”

“Of course I can keep it this way.” Aunt Macy beamed. “You’d better keep this kitchen clean, too, Shasta. And if Ralph gets himself coffee, he’d better clean up after himself. Melia, it’s okay if you make a mess. You can’t help yourself.”

Allison glanced at Aunt Amelia. She was tapping her phone screen.

“Mace.” Aunt Shasta leaned against the counter. “It’s not fair for Amelia to be the exception.”

“Melia needs us to help her with things like that.” Aunt Macy closed one cabinet and opened another. “Look at all the beans we have.”

Aunt Shasta raised her eyebrows at Allison, then hopped closer to Aunt Macy. “Amelia’s as capable as the rest of us. Allison’s got this kitchen set up so nicely none of us have any excuses. So, Amelia, we expect you to clean up after yourself. No more dropping crumbs everywhere. Or when you do drop crumbs, clean them up.”

Allison looked at Aunt Amelia. She was holding her phone up, ready to take a picture.

“Say it all again, Shasta.”

Aunt Shasta repeated the instructions while Aunt Amelia recorded.

“Got it.” Aunt Amelia tapped the phone and smiled into it. “And this way,” her voice took on a reporter’s tone, “we might have fewer uninvited guests in the kitchen.” She tapped the phone again and tucked it away. “Can we eat this chocolate cake now?”

“It’s a brownie I made in the instant pot.” Allison pulled little plates from the shelf labeled Little Plates. “With a secret ingredient.”

“M-mm.” Aunt Amelia smiled around her first bite, then took another. “It tastes buzzy.”

“Buzzy.” Aunt Macy took a bite and narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t put liqueur in these, did you?”

Allison reached for her aunt’s arm. “Of course not. Keep guessing.”

Aunt Shasta’s bracelets clinked as she raised one hand. “I bet there’s coffee in it.”

“Uh-huh.” Allison took a bite of her own brownie. “And I found a recipe that uses instant coffee in frosting, too. So next time I make these brownie, I’ll frost them.”

“Wow.” Aunt Amelia pulled out her phone. “So what we have here, folks, is a new idea for all you instant pot lovers. It’s a phenomenon that’s sure to sweep the country. Allison’s buzzy brownies. Stay tuned for the frosted version in a future episode.”

When Aunt Amelia panned the camera to her, Allison winked.

Allison followed the ascending forest trail toward one of her favorite viewpoints. When Lokita grew tired, Allison picked her up and carried her, calling Louise to stay close. Some of these trails ended abruptly right at a cliff. If you weren’t paying attention, you’d step right off the edge.

Today, the forest hosted a symphony of songbirds. Was there any music more lyrical than the forest on a spring morning? And it all happened naturally—no software or electronic keyboard required. Allison breathed deep, listened, stepped through soft beds of fallen pine needles. The trail was narrow and shadowy, the trees above shielding it from the sun.

Ahead, a sunlit clearing. When Allison reached it, she veered east toward the ledge with the view. Louise ran ahead—right toward the cliff. “Louise!” The dog circled back. Allison set the wiggling Lokita on the ground, checked the leash was clipped, and guided both dogs through the final steps.

Allison sat, and Lokita climbed into her lap. Louise sprawled in a sunny spot. In the distance, the snow-capped Olympic Mountains gleamed. Dozens of islands dotted the Salish Sea. North of Reclamation Island, a freighter traveled west. A cruise ship cut a path across the strait toward Seattle.

“I should come here more often,” Allison said out loud, not that anyone but the dogs could hear. “Get away from the chaos at the house.”

She shifted, petting Lokita. “I mean, really. How do you break three windowpanes in one afternoon? Don’t you reevaluate your technique after the first break? Don’t you try to clean more gently?” When Louise drew close, Allison petted her, too. “And all the stuff everywhere now. Shoes and bags strewn around every entry. If Aunt Shasta orders one more arcade game—”

“Shasta’s got arcade games? Like Pac-Man?”

It was Virgil. Oh boy, it was Virgil.

“Sorry. I’m probably disturbing you.” Virgil backed up, looping his binoculars around his neck. “I was watching a barred owl snooze and heard someone talking.”

Virgil had been watching an owl snooze? Talk about being easily entertained. Virgil was wearing a freshly washed plaid flannel shirt—she knew that from the clean scent that reached her. Or maybe the scent was shampoo. She waved to him to sit on a rock—but not one close to her. Louise moved to lean against him.

Allison played with Lokita’s ears. “I guess I was talking to the dogs.”

Virgil scratched Louise’s back. “Mind if I listen in?”

Allison sighed. “So far, we have Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, and Frogger in the garage. Aunt Shasta’s talking about ordering a disco ball, too. You should have seen her eyes light up when I suggested—joking, mind you—that she build a brick pizza oven out there.”

Virgil laughed—long enough to make her laugh, too.

When Virgil reached for Lokita, Allison handed over the little dog. “I feel like I’m on the edge, Virgil. Right on the edge of losing my mind. The worst of it is, I feel like I’m disappearing.”

Virgil petted Lokita. “How so?”

Allison twisted a long strand of grass. “Before the aunts came, I knew what I was about every day. I’d get up in the morning and start checking things off my to-do list. The dogs would be fed at regular times. The house would stay clean. I knew where everything was. Now it all feels … jumbled.”

“And that makes you feel like you’re disappearing?”

She thought for a moment. So this was Virgil being Virgil again. Asking a lot of questions. But the thing was, all those questions usually helped her think things out. “Maybe I feel this way because I’m running around all the time, but hardly ever doing what I really want to.”

“Which is?”

“Writing music. Writing a song that matters. I don’t mind taking care of my aunts. I love that they live with me. But I’m not getting any songs written except the bits I do at your place. And—don’t feel bad about this, Virgil, because I’m grateful to use your cabin—but even when I’m alone there, I don’t feel like I’m able to just be … me.”

The sun inched higher, scattering the ocean’s surface with glitter. In the distance, a sailboat left a hint of a widening wake.

“You know what might help.” Virgil stretched his legs. “Get away by yourself for a while. Really get away. Not here on Wren. Take your boat somewhere, maybe.”

She twiddled the dry grass. “Overnight?”

“Why not?”

She sat straighter. “Maybe I could. Where’s the rule that says I can’t go off on my own for a while? I’d have everything I need on my boat. But, no. What if my aunts needed me?”

Virgil repositioned his ball cap. You’d think he’d give up trying to stuff all that wonderful hair under a hat. Allison tore her attention away from Virgil’s hair and focused on his words.

“All of us on the island would look out for your aunts. Jax and I would stop by and make sure everything’s okay. Help them install the new soda machine and whack-a-mole game in the garage.”

She laughed.

“There’s no rule that says you can’t.” He gave her a look. And what a look! Last time, a look like that had nearly led to …

She scrambled to her feet and collected the dogs. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for everything, Virgil.”

Early the next morning, Allison gathered what she’d need for a few nights on the boat and consulted a tide table. If she wanted to travel with the currents, right now was the best time to leave. Come on, aunts. Upsy-daisy so I can say goodbye. Finally, she grabbed a pen and sheet of paper and wrote a note.

Headed out for fun and supplies. Planning to stay a few nights on the boat. Will text and email when I can, but don’t worry if you don’t hear from me.

She underlined the last part so Aunt Macy wouldn’t be tempted to send out a search party. She added a few x’s and o’s, signed off, and tucked the note under a plate of frosted brownies on the kitchen counter.

Then, feeling like a teenager dodging curfew, she slipped out of the house. Louise started to come along, saw the inky blackness outside, and changed her mind. “You’re in charge while I’m gone, Louise,” Allison whispered.

On the beach, she nearly whooped out loud. Freedom! No aunts, no dogs, no messes. As she eased her boat away from Wren, a bald eagle called to its mate. Soon, she and Aunt Amelia would watch the fledgling take its first flight—but not today! Today was her very own.

The sky was lightening to blue as she entered the strait. Calm water this morning, and the current running her direction. Wonderful. She cruised along, blasting top hits from a radio station in Canada.

The marina at Reclamation Island was packed when she pulled in. She found a place to tie up and hopped out. Look how simple life had become. No dogs to strap in and out of lifejackets. No Lokita to stash away safe when she left the boat. No Louise asking for an ice cream cone. This time, maybe she’d buy herself an ice cream.

In town, the pub was humming with the breakfast crowd. Next to the pub, the door to the tea shop was open. Classical music spilled out to the boardwalk. Allison stepped inside.

Neat white shelves housed colorful skeins of yarn. Pale blue walls met a warm, wide-planked wood floor. A baby grand piano, much like the one at her house, filled one corner. The entire shop smelled of herbs and spices. Allison breathed deep, walked forward, and sat at the counter next to a frail-looking older woman. Two women working behind the counter sorted loose tea into glass jars—and they were using a label maker!

“Why, hello, Allison.” A woman behind the counter greeted her. “We met once before when you were visiting Reclamation Island. I’m Gemma Campana.” Gemma motioned to the young woman working with her. “This is Stef, and next to you is Violet. What can I get you this morning?”

Allison chose a chai tea latte and chatted with them. Why hadn’t she thought of doing this before? Getting away, all on her own, was exactly what she needed. When she’d finished her latte, she said goodbye and headed outside. On the boardwalk, she stopped to admire a sparkly pink scooter.

“It’s a ton of fun.” Gemma had stepped outside to water the potted flowers.

“I bet it is.” Allison laughed. “Is it yours?”

Gemma nodded. “My husband and I both ride scooters between town and our house on Wail Point. Have you ever ridden?”

“Yes, and I’ve actually thought about getting something like this for Wren.” Allison shook her head. “But our roads are mostly dirt and gravel. A scooter would never hold up.”

Gemma set down her watering can. “You need an off-road motorbike. I’ve got one at the house I’m not using. Have you got a way to get it back to Wren? You could borrow it.”

Allison looked toward the marina. She couldn’t borrow a motorbike from someone she hardly knew, could she? But then again, people here in the islands often banded together to share resources. She had room in her boat today. And borrowing a motorbike from Gemma would be a lot simpler than waiting for Ralph to deliver a new one. “How about I rent it from you?”

Gemma nodded. “Come back to the house with me and try it. If you like it, you can take it back to Wren and have fun with it.”

Allison did like it. She knew that as soon as she roared out of Gemma’s driveway and circled back through a forest trail. And the bike was a one-seater, so there was no room for anyone else to tag along. Allison Theodore being independent!

On the dock, Gemma helped her load the bike, then turned to her. “Safety first, sister. Keep your eyes open. Wide trail? You’re good to go. But if the trail narrows, slow down. These island trails can end all at once. So, narrow trail, slow down.”

Like the forest trails on Wren that dropped off into nothing. Allison nodded. “Narrow trail, slow down. Got it.”

Amelia tucked her bathrobe and slippers into the closet. The morning sun was already streaming through her bedroom windows. One of these days, the baby bald eagle would take flight. Did a baby bird know how to fly right away? It would be awful if it had to fall first.

Amelia pulled on stretchy pants and a soft cotton shirt. She layered a lightweight zippered coat over the top, then stood in front of the full-length mirror. Did this pink and yellow go together okay? Only one pattern, so she was okay there. Shasta would say she needed bling. Amelia dug through her bathroom drawers and found a headband with smiling ladybugs on it.

Downstairs, she fed Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon and returned the bird seed to its labeled, airtight container. She wiped the counters, checking for seeds she might have missed. The good news was, no more mice. Too bad she couldn’t tell Allison the good news—but since Allison hadn’t known about the mice before, it wouldn’t be any fun to tell her there were no more mice. Like Macy always said. What Allison doesn’t know won’t hurt her. So now it turned out Macy was right about that, too.

Oh, look. A note. She held it up close. From Allison. Going away, getting supplies, having fun. Good for Allison. Amelia reread the note. Away for a few days? How many days? What if they needed her here? Or what if Allison needed them? That was unlikely to happen, though.

When Macy and Shasta walked into the kitchen, Amelia handed them the note. “Allison’s gone away for a few days.”

“A few days.” Macy read it. “What an odd communi-cay. Does she not like us anymore? Does she not want us here anymore? Melia. You’ve got to stop dropping crumbs everywhere. Allison must be tired of cleaning up after you.”

Shasta sliced a sliver of frosted brownie. “She probably just wants a break from us.”

Amelia sliced a brownie for herself—larger than Shasta’s, because this was breakfast, after all—cleaned up her crumbs and a few others she was pretty sure weren’t hers, and headed outside to the sunshine. Wow. Coffee in the frosting, too. Allison’s buzzy brownies were getting better and better. Amelia finished her breakfast and pulled out her phone to record honeybees.

“Melia?” Macy called from an open window. “Can you go to the market and let Virgil know we need dog food? We don’t want Allison to find the house gone to pot when she returns.”

Amelia headed for the market with Louise at her side. And, as it turned out, Virgil just happened to have the right brand in stock and he happened to have time to carry it back to the house. And he wasn’t surprised to find out Allison had gone away for a few days. If you asked her, she’d say Virgil was romantically interested in Allison—and after what Virgil’s ex-wife had done to him, that was nothing less than courageous. But, so far, she didn’t have anything concrete to go on. Just little things like him stocking the special brands Allison liked. Maybe he did that for everyone.

As Amelia walked up the drive with him, she pulled out her phone and played a video. “I’ve recorded a lot more, too. What do I do with them now?”

Virgil shifted the dog food from one arm to the other. “What are your ideas?”

“I was thinking I could put them on social media in case people were interested in our life here on Wren Island.” She tripped on a tree root and regained her balance. That was another nice thing about Virgil. He was there if you needed him, but he wasn’t obvious about it. Like reaching an arm out when she tripped, but not insisting she hold on. “Should I have a plan before I post videos?”

Virgil smiled. “You could start with a plan. Or you could just start posting videos for fun. Down the road, you might even earn money from it.”

“You’re kidding.” Amelia stopped walking. “I could earn money from my Wren Island videos?”

Once she was clear of the no wake zone, Allison opened up the throttle. Just a girl on her own now. Just a girl, her bright yellow boat, bright yellow vest, and bright yellow motorbike. Matchy-matchy. Woo-hoo!

North of Reclamation and Wren, she steered toward a group of small islands. As she got closer, she slowed and checked her navigational maps. None of these islands were inhabited, at least not full time, so this might be a nice place to drop anchor for a few days. As she rounded the north side of one island, she came upon a pod of orcas milling below a rocky cliff. She killed the motor and let the boat drift closer.

The orcas, seven of them, emerged and submerged. With each breath, a puff of air burst from the water. Nature’s natural rhythm. In the water below, there’d be a song running wild and free. Allison pulled out her phone. No signal. Maybe no hydrophone around here, either. She dropped her phone into one of the big front pockets of her vest, went to zip the pocket closed, but the zipper stuck. Oh, well. As Aunt Macy would say, they don’t make things like they used to. The orcas moved closer to shore. The boat drifted with them.

Then, she was in it. A hidden cove, sheltered by the land in a way that you had to be in the cove before you knew it existed. The orcas emerged again, arched their backs, and lifted their tails up from the water for a longer dive. In the silence, Allison took in the island’s forested bank, rocky shore, sandy beach, and wood dock. Someone must spend time here, even if they didn’t live here. The orcas emerged again, punctuating the cove with their rhythmic breaths. When the orcas moved on, Allison inched her boat up to the dock.

First things first, check for sturdiness. Wouldn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and find out she’d tied up to a failing dock. She killed the motor, walked to the bow of the boat, and leaned over to peer at the pilings. The plop in the water was a fish jumping. But, oh, no. Not a fish. Her phone! There it went, sinking along the piling. Should she go in after it? The phone was totally out of sight now. She’d be down there in murky water alongside who knows what else … a neglected crab pot, tangled fishing line … caught, unable to surface, unable to breathe. No, going after the phone wasn’t worth it.

Wasn’t that funny? Not long ago, she would have panicked at the idea of losing her cell phone because she couldn’t afford to replace it. Now, she was hardly batting an eye. And it’s not like she’d be out of communi-cay, as Aunt Macy liked to say, because she could set up a Wi-Fi hotspot and send texts and emails from her laptop.

Why hadn’t she gotten a floating phone case like every other boater used? When she ordered herself a new phone, she’d order a floating case for it. And one each for the aunts’ phones, too.

She tied up and walked the length of the dock. Sturdy enough. So this perfectly hidden cove would be home for the next few days. The island would be fun to explore, too. And, hey, look at that. A nice wide trail leading from the beach into the forest.

Amelia Theodore was now on social media! (Look out, world!) Sitting at the high tide line, she practiced her narrative voice. “Check out the Wren Island channel, folks, where there’s lots to see. Shells and waves are easy to record. Birds are harder to record because they scatter whenever Louise runs around.”

She was recording dry seaweed dancing in the breeze when footsteps jogged up behind her.

“Hey, Amelia.” It was Hack, Ralph’s son. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m recording this seaweed. Louise, your paws are in the video again.” Amelia hit the button to stop recording.

“Whatcha gonna do with the film?” Hack sat.

“Put it on my YouTube channel.”

“Want to film me?”

“Sure.” Amelia held up her phone. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Let me think.” Hack thought. Louise followed a butterfly, then returned to Amelia’s side. “Why don’t you just start filming? We’ll wing it.”

“Okay.” She hit record and signaled him.

“Hey everyone! Hack here with my new friend Amelia on Wren Island. Never heard of Wren? Check your navigational maps. Middle of the Salish Sea. Tiny island, home to …” Hack looked at Amelia. “How many people live here?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Home to I don’t know how many people. Home to me for a few more days before I head to Alaska.” Hack pulled Amelia into the camera range. “Home to this lovely lady. Also, her hot babe niece lives here. And her two sisters. And my dad. And some other people. And a couple of strange dogs. So there’s a hey from Hack on Wren Island. See ya!” Hack hit the button to stop recording.

“That was great. It will add variety to the channel. Thanks, Hack.” Amelia put her phone away and glanced at him. “Do you really think Allison is a …”

“Hot babe?” Hack stood up—just popped up without having to get on his hands and knees first! He grinned at her. “Would I say it if I didn’t think it?”

When he’d jogged off, Amelia patted Louise. If a romantic relationship developed here on Wren, she’d document it with her new camera. Maybe those recordings should be a mouse-in-the-house secret, though.

Later, sitting at the table in the kitchen turret, Amelia added subtitles to a video of Allison singing to the dogs, then uploaded the finished product. Was it odd that nobody was watching her YouTube channel yet?

When Shasta walked in, Amelia asked her. “Wonder why people aren’t watching my videos.”

Shasta glanced at the screen. “It’s because you haven’t made the channel public.”

Amelia peered at the page. “You know what, Shasta? You’re right. That’s exactly what it is. I’ll figure out how to do that later. First, another video.” She stood, walked to the counter, and helped herself to a frosted brownie. She set the plated brownie on the kitchen table, pulled out her phone, and aimed the camera. “Here you go, folks. Here’s the frosted version I promised you. This is an original recipe from Wren Island. Allison’s buzzy brownies. Stay tuned, and I’ll show you what all goes into them.” She stopped recording.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” Shasta smeared cream cheese on a bagel.

“Yep.” Amelia took a bite of brownie. “Now all I have to do is figure out how to make my channel public.”

If anyone had seen her hauling the motorbike out of the boat, they would have been highly entertained. What finally worked was to prop the front wheel on the dock while she was still in the boat, climb out of the boat, sit on the dock, and haul the rest of it up. She nearly lost the bike into the water once—gone the same way of the phone. But Gemma’s motorbike was safely on land now, so it was all systems go. (Maybe tonight over dinner she’d finally look up the appropriate way to use the phrase all systems go.)

She strapped on the helmet Gemma had insisted she take. Too loose, but she wouldn’t need a helmet while riding through a deserted forest—unless she crashed into a tree, which she didn’t plan to do. She tugged the straps as tight as they’d go.

The sound of the revving engine cut into the peaceful cove. She was off! She twirled on the beach a few times. Sea gulls scattered—just like they did when Louise came at them. Woo-hoo! She gunned the engine and followed the trail into the forest. A wide trail. Other people must bike here, too. (Because it was such a great spot!) She picked up speed, climbed higher, circled around. Near a giant cedar, she pulled to a stop, killed the engine, and parked. The view from up here was amazing! She pulled off the helmet, ran her hands through her hair, sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, and listened to the music of the forest.

There was the moon, already rising ahead of the setting sun. The people at the commune said a waning moon was the time to release things. She breathed deep. Tonight, back at the boat, she’d set up the Wi-Fi and email a quick message to the aunts. She’d look up all systems go. She’d fix herself a frozen burrito and eat it under the stars. She’d sing herself a new song.

But first, there were more trails to explore. She hopped back to the bike and strapped on the helmet. (Safety first, sister.) She revved the engine and took off. When the ascending trail widened, she sped up. When it narrowed, she slowed. The trail widened, and she picked up speed. It narrowed, she slowed. Wide again, so she blasted along.

Narrow here, but she pushes through the encroaching brush because right up ahead is a clearing—like the clearing on Wren, big enough to do wheelies in—and she’s independent and free today! She flies along the narrowing trail—but, oh, no. Not a clearing. A cliff! How could she make such a dumb mistake? Airborne now, the forest below her. Hope Virgil checks in on the aunts. And the dogs.

Snapping tree limbs, as the bike crashes into the forest. Suspension, a rush of wind. She’d be like a bird if she wasn’t falling to the—

A flash of pain, a radiating flush. Then, nothing.

A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

Years ago, I read a novel I loved by a new-to-me author. So I looked up other novels by the same author, chose one, and tucked it (a hardback, mind you, because this was before I was using an e-reader) into my carryon for a 6-hour flight. About thirty minutes into the book, something awful (horribly awful!) happened to an animal in the story. And there I was, strapped in at 36,000 feet with a dreadful image searing my mind—and with nothing to read for the rest of the flight. I felt as if the author had betrayed my trust.

That experience is one reason I write stories that are free of graphic violence. I want to honor beautifully sensitive readers just like you.

However, my readers tell me they do enjoy a bit of suspense! And that is exactly how we have left our Wren Island friends. But how much worrying, really, is called for? Should you wonder if something awful (horribly awful!) has happened? Should you worry we’ve lost something precious that cannot be reclaimed? No, my friend. There’s no need for that kind of fear. This is Wren Island. You’re safe here.

Part Three of The Wren Island Series will be released on June 21, 2023. And because this is interactive serialized fiction, you can influence what happens next! Send me a message from the website below and watch your inbox for updates. Thank you for caring about what happens on Wren Island!

Here with you,

Laura

https://www.laurajoylloyd.com/