Wren Island

Laura Joy Lloyd

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.

Wren Island and The Wren Island Series © 2022 by 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

Sixth Edition

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About this Book

With an unexpected windfall, forty-five-year-old Allison Theodore purchases a Pacific Northwest island home, adopts two homeless dogs, and pursues her dream of songwriting. But when her eccentric aunts move in, Allison’s idyllic life becomes increasingly complicated. An unforgettable setting provides the backdrop for this story about second chances, spontaneous family, and steadfast love.

Wren Island is Book One in The Wren Island Series by Laura Joy Lloyd.

For Connie and Binnie

Part 1

A New Year

1

No one but the dogs

“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.”

She was halfway through a bowl of ramen noodles when 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.

2

A lop-sided real estate sign

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.

3

Pick up the rest yourself

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.

4

Not just a visit

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.

5

Patting a lion's head

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.

“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.

6

Ocean view or forest view

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 about 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, Allison found her aunts balancing their suitcases halfway up the back stairs. She reached for their 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.”

7

Starting something new

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. 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 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.

8

The credit card

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 pulled the collar of her jacket up 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 electronic 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.

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.”

9

A grand opportunity

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 spick-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 squeaked 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.”

10

Kitty and Matt

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 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.

11

Pretending

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 dove 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.

12

Another delivery

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 left, 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 dove 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! Allison climbed down the rocks and walked up the beach toward the landing.

Ralph—the same Ralph who claimed he didn’t get paid to provide passenger service—helped someone off his boat. The passenger 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

13

Splash landing

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.

Through the open window, a light breeze, scented with the first heather blooms, drifted into the quiet house. 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, as she often did, 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. The very night! And Macy had been attending AA meetings. Not in person—Wren 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 degeneration 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.

14

Nice things to wish for

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 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 see 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.”

15

An entire symphony

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.

16

Next time

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.

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.

17

Marching orders

“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.”

“Well, 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 Allison wasn’t going to be happy about the broken panes. At all.

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.

18

Learn to be okay

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 seagulls. 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 framed movie prints. 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. “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 brownies, I’ll frost them.”

“Wow.” Aunt Amelia pulled out her phone and began recording. “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.

19

Listening in

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 electronics 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 ordering 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 oven out there for pizza.”

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 was 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.”

20

On her own again

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 a 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.”

21

Smiling ladybugs

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. Amelia 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.”

“Gone away for a few days.” Macy read the note. “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 Virgil did that for everyone.

As Amelia walked up the driveway 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?”

22

All yellow

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.

23

He just popped up

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.”

24

The motorbike

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 the bike 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 made a few donuts on the beach and seagulls 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, the brush encroaching, but she pushed through because right up ahead was a clearing—like the clearing on Wren, big enough to do wheelies in—and she was independent and free today! She flew 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 on the aunts. And the dogs.)

Snapping tree limbs, as the bike crashed 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.

Part 3

Help Wanted

25

Try to fly

Dragonfly, if you’d like to try … to fly …

Her eyes closed, she floated up to join the symphony of birdsong high in the trees. Because the birds invited her. Included her. Asked her to be part of the music.

She took small, careful breaths. Little breaths that would hurt less. No need to sing right now. The others could carry the tune. Let the others carry it all. For now.

Someday, she’d be brilliant like the birds. She’s a songwriter! She’s never written anything as beautiful as this, though. Her name is … Allison Theodore. Yes, that’s her name! She lives on Wren Island with her aunts. Macy, Shasta, Amelia. Her mom, the fourth sister, was Anne. But Anne is gone now.

A careful breath, a small sigh.

Listen. A bald eagle is calling. The forest, the entire symphony, hushes. Everyone hiding in place, still and quiet. Then a flapping of wide wings, a whisper of swaying branches, the dripping scent of pine. Can it be? An eagle perching in a tree above her?

Allison Theodore is under the weight of an eagle. Isn’t that interesting?

Is it interesting enough? (Interesting enough for who?)

The air shifts, the eagle lifts. A tickle of scattering pine needles. Safe again, the little birds resume the symphony. Little birds, little breaths, little wings, little lives.

Dragonfly, if you’d like to try … to fly … come along with me … to see … what’s beyond the sky … and sea.

26

Unicorn colors

Macy rinsed the ceramic bowls they’d used for lunch and stacked them in the kitchen sink. Best to let those soak before adding them to the dishwasher. She stepped around Louise, who had sprawled across the middle of the kitchen floor again. There was no sense in trying to get the dog to move, though. Louise never did anything she didn’t want to.

Macy glanced at the kitchen table, where Melia was dropping food bits on the floor again, and pointed. “Look, Louise. Free crumbs.” But the dog was asleep or—more likely—aware of and ignoring her.

Macy was tackling the crumbs around the toaster when Shasta walked in. Macy gaped at her. “Shasta. What on earth have you done to your hair?”

“Unicorn colors. You ought to try it sometime, Mace.”

Macy scrutinized the pink, green, purple, and yellow colors blending through Shasta’s short hair. “Your head looks like a pom-pom.”

“Thanks!” Shasta skipped to the table and joined Melia.

Macy turned back to the dishes. Oh, to be the woman who could color her hair any old which way just because it might be fun. She lifted the heavy pot she’d used to make eggplant parmigiana and perched it on the edge of the sink. Allison didn’t like eggplant, and Shasta had suggested that while Allison wasn’t around, they make the most of their time. Make the most of their time! As if Allison was the warden and they were criminals on the lam. Caretakers of the house. That’s what they were. Just because the homeowner wasn’t present didn’t mean they could get away with—

She dropped the heavy pot. It just slipped out of her hand! The ceramic bowls in the sink were crushed to smithereens. She turned off the water and poked through the rubble. How many dishes had they lost this time?

“Your ferocity again.” Shasta was at her side.

Macy whirled to face her. “If you make one more comment about my ferocity, I’m going to dunk that colorful head of yours into this greasy pot.”

“Macy!” Melia’s eyes were wide. Louise had scrambled to her side.

Macy looked at Melia. Today her sister wore a coral-colored cardigan over a white cotton blouse. Polyester pants had probably been chosen to match the cardigan, but didn’t. Melia’s hand was halfway to her mouth with a half-eaten oatmeal raisin cookie.

Macy softened. “I wouldn’t really dunk her head, Melia.” Eyeing Shasta, she added, “Even if it does look like a pom-pom.”

Shasta snorted, twirled back to the table, and sat next to Melia.

Macy returned her attention to the dishes in the sink. She picked out the broken pieces and tossed them in the garbage. She wiped the splinters and tossed them, too. Just for once, it’d be fun to be irresponsible again. Take off whenever she wanted to. Dye her hair whatever color she wanted to. Drink whatever she wanted to. Just for once.

“How come you’re all aflutter, Macy?” Melia asked.

“Someone’s got to keep this house from going to pot.” She was all shaky inside again. And it wasn’t just worry about Allison having gone away. It was the way Allison had left. A note scribbled on scrap paper! One corner tucked under a plate on the kitchen counter! Before the sun was even up! Like she couldn’t get away fast enough.

It’d be no surprise if Allison was tired of them already. Look how much they’d disrupted her life! Did Allison regret asking them to live with her? Oh, if only she could ask Allison! Right now! She should have asked before. Knowing how Allison felt would be better than all this wondering. All this worrying. All this rereading and refolding the note in her pocket, searching for assurance that wasn’t there. “Maybe we ought to email her. Or call her. Just to check in.”

“Check in? With who?” Shasta frowned.

“Allison! Our niece? The one who lets us live with her?”

“Oh, I’m sure Allison would think that’s the bee’s knees, Mace. She finally gets away, and there you are, still bugging her. She hasn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours and already you want to send the Mounties after her. Take a chill pill, Mace.”

Melia squinted. “The Royal Canadian Mounted Police do water rescues?”

Macy sighed. “It doesn’t matter if they do or not, Melia, because we’re not in Canada.”

Melia finished a bite of cookie. “We’re close to Canada, though. Maybe Allison took her boat over there.”

“You think she left us for another country?” Macy nearly dropped the pot again. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and followed Shasta to the door. “Where are you going?”

“Out. And you do know you don’t have to wash all those by hand? They’ve improved on dishwashers since the Dark Ages.” The service door slammed behind Shasta.

Melia stood and collected the dirty dishes. “Do you want these in the sink or the dishwasher, Macy?”

“Straight into the dishwasher, I guess.”

Melia loaded the dishwasher, wiped the table, and pulled on another layer of clothing.

Macy stepped close to straighten the chin loop of her sister’s wide-brimmed hat. “And where are you off to?”

“To make videos on the beach. Want to come along, Louise?” The dog padded out behind her.

Macy returned to the kitchen sink and eyed the greasy pot. She picked it up and squinted at the tiny print on the bottom. Dishwasher safe. But would the pot get clean enough for spick-and-span Allison? Well, why not live on the wild side? Macy threw the pot in and started the cycle.

From her little bed in the corner, Lokita stood and stretched. Macy kneeled to pet the dog. When Lokita leaned into her hand, Macy scooped her up for a cuddle. Ahh. Down went her blood pressure. What was that ditty Allison liked to sing to Lokita?

“Little Lokita, right here with me. Aren’t you sweet, right here with me?” Or something like that.

Such a cute little song. Allison had given her a funny look the last time Macy called it a ditty, though. So there was another question to ask her niece. Allison, do you call them ditties or something else?

There were lots of questions she’d like to ask her niece. Allison, what do you enjoy about songwriting? How did you get started? Why is it so important to you? How can we help you reach your dream? Why hadn’t she asked Allison any of those questions? She’d been so intent on taking care of the house—and, let’s be honest, mostly wrecking it—she’d overlooked taking care of her niece. Didn’t she love her niece more than anything in this world? Didn’t she love her niece and her sisters like her very own life?

So there it was again. That feeling of being mostly annoyed with herself.

27

Here comes Louise again

On the beach, Amelia pulled out her phone, recorded the shells she’d arranged in circles on the sand, and narrated. “Here you go, folks. The smooth white ones are clams. The purples ones with funny hair are mussels. And look at these pretty, twisty ones. They were once homes to hermit crabs and snails.”

Louise’s nose and paws wandered in and out of the recording. Amelia patted the dog’s big brown head, stopped recording, and tucked her phone into her pocket. Maybe instead of calling her YouTube channel Wren Island, she ought to call it Here Comes Louise Again.

She stood and walked along the beach, following the high tide line so her feet wouldn’t get wet. The afternoon tide was rising quickly. You could tell that by the sound of the waves rolling around on top of each other at the waterline. She stopped to listen. The booming waves settled, then whispered back out to sea, taking a quick breather before they pushed in again—higher, deeper, stronger.

Amelia walked on, navigating around a piece of driftwood as big as an entire tree trunk. It must have been something to see the ocean toss this driftwood here on the beach. Like an invisible giant tossing aside a toothpick. Next time she saw Allison, she’d ask her if she ever thought of driftwood that way before.

Wonder what Allison was doing right now at this very moment. Was she cozied up around a campfire with a good book? Enjoying an iced tea with a new friend? Eating a tuna salad sandwich on the sunny deck of her boat?

Wow. Look at all that orange foam left by the last roll of waves. Amelia walked closer to the waterline. Virgil’s son, Jax, said foam on the beach was caused by algae decaying offshore. He said it was a sign of a healthy ecosystem. All those bubbles at her feet, popping in the sunshine. And look at the tiny clam shells! She leaned over to pick up a bright, gleaming half. Oops. An incoming wave got her feet wet. (And turned her toes to ice!) Holding the shell, she backed up a few steps. One of these days, she was going to find a whole sand dollar on the beach. It was on her list of nice things to wish for.

Something else on her list of nice things to wish for was to see the baby bald eagle take its first flight. She squinted up at the tree where the eagles were nesting. Not much activity up there today. Maybe the parents were hunting elsewhere. Maybe they’d found another island to visit. Maybe they were visiting Allison! Soaring high above Allison’s bright yellow boat. Wouldn’t Allison think that was fun?

Louise ran close, sniffed the foam on the sand, and sneezed. Amelia patted the dog’s head and bent to pick up another shell. This one was extra pretty because—

The wave caught her by surprise. The smashing force of it! Knocked off her feet, she swirled with a million grains of sand. Submerged, she tried for footing and almost found it—until another wave crashed into her. And there she was, in the middle of the same water that could toss a tree like a toothpick. The water would rest eventually, though. It had to! It would need a breather. It would ease back out to sea. But what if it took her out to sea with it? First, she needed to come up for air and breathe! She would explode if she couldn’t take a breath! She scrambled to right herself. Almost there. Whoosh. Another wave crashed into her, over her, around her. Which way was up? How long could she go without coming up for air?

A dog barking. Don’t come in after me, Louise. Don’t want the waves to grab you, too.

The water pulled back, gathering itself, depositing Amelia in the soft, wet sand. Louise, still barking, ran in circles around her. Against stiffening joints, Amelia hauled up to drier sand, up to the high tide line, up higher. Finally, she caught her breath. She was soaked in ice water. Covered in sand. Shaking so hard she might be going to cry.

But she wasn’t a goner. No need to worry, folks. Amelia Theodore is still with us.

She sat on a driftwood log—another tree tossed aside like a giant’s toothpick. Whew. Macy had always warned her not to get too close to the surf, and now it turned out Macy was right about that, too.

Footsteps ran close. It was Ed Smith from the commune. “Are you okay, Amelia?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded weak. She tried again. “I’m okay. Just wet.”

Ed wrapped something warm around her. A blanket? No, his own coat. When Ed sat on the log next to Amelia, Louise nudged his hand for a pat.

“Sure glad that didn’t get recorded.” Amelia pulled the soaked, sandy phone from her pocket. “Uh oh. Can it be saved, do you think?”

Ed reached for the phone and wiped it dry. “Maybe. Covering it in a bowl of rice will draw the moisture out.”

Amelia pushed her dripping hair away from her face and glanced toward the house—not that it was anything but a blur. Had anyone up there seen what just happened? “Macy’s going to blow a gasket when she finds out.”

“About the phone?” Ed rolled it into the lower flap of his flannel shirt.

“About me getting caught in a wave. She’ll think I shouldn’t be allowed on the beach alone anymore.”

Ed patted Louise. “Would you like me to drive you over to the commune? You can warm up there. I’ll bring you back whenever you’re ready.”

Amelia eyed Ed’s all-terrain vehicle parked on the beach path. Her teeth were chattering. Her pants felt like sheets of ice against her legs. Her cracked ribs, mostly healed, were aching from the setback.

Not only would Macy blow a gasket, she’d up her efforts to hover over Amelia even more than she already did. Amelia Theodore, being that much more restricted. “I’d really appreciate that, Ed. Thanks.”

28

Get to the boat

When a flood of warmth washed over her, Allison opened her eyes. Above her, pine branches waved. Sunlight, slanting through, pierced her head. She closed her eyes again.

Her boat. She must get back to her boat. Back to Wren Island. Back to the aunts. And the dogs. And Kitty and Matt. How long had she been lying here? Hope Virgil remembered to check on everyone.

One inch at a time, she tested her body. Right hand and fingers? Moving. Right arm? Moving, but sore. Left arm? Ouch. A line of fire zinged up from her arm, through her neck, into her head. She sucked in a breath and lifted her head to see. Ick. Her left arm was coated with blood and dirt. She eased her head back to the ground. Gemma’s helmet was still in place. (Safety first, sister.) She inched toward the idea of testing her lower half. Something didn’t seem right down there. When the pain stopped swirling, she’d try again.

The eagle returned, quieting the forest. Another whisper of swaying branches, another scattering of pine needles. Another shifting of the air as the eagle lifted, and the symphony of birdsong resumed.

Okay, time to get moving. Upsy-daisy, Allison. When she sat up, pain shot like burning embers through her left leg and hip. That might not be a good sign, all that burning on her left side. Could she move her toes? Yes. Could she stand? Oops. Not yet.

When her head stopped spinning, she scrutinized her arm again. What a mess. If today was Halloween, she could pretend to be a zombie. Using a branch, she hauled herself up, stood, wavered, kept her balance. (Woo-hoo, she kept her balance!) Oh boy, it hurt. She’d call for help. But, oh, no. Remember? Her phone sank in the murky water by the piling. So no messages sent out to the world. Not until she got back to the boat.

Uh oh. Look where she landed. Halfway down the bank, halfway up. Gemma’s yellow motorbike was nearly buried in the shrubbery below. If the bike would still run, she could use it to get back to the boat faster. One wheel had come off, though, and landed way over there. She’d have to climb down the ravine, collect the wheel, repair the bike, haul it out of the ravine. Remember how hard it was to get the heavy bike out of the boat and onto the dock? She glanced at her arm, tested her hip. Getting to and repairing the bike was probably not going to happen. Not today.

Maybe Gemma would be okay with having a new bike as a replacement. (Hope this bike didn’t have sentimental value.) Onward and upward, Allison. Follow that deer path up the slope, one step at a time. Use the stick as a crutch.

Partway up the bank, she leaned on the stick and peered down at her left leg. It felt awfully strange. No bones jutting out, though. The pain in her hip was gone. No feeling there at all anymore. Was that a good sign? Well, whatever you do, Allison, don’t sit down. You might never get up again. Keep going. Soon you’ll be back on the boat. Could that be a song? It sure could! Soon you’ll be … back on the boat. SIS-ter! Walk on, walk on, walk on. SIS-ter!

29

Whales among us

Standing in front of a full-length mirror at the commune, Amelia fingered the linen shift her new friend Judy had loaned her. “It’s so comfortable!”

Judy helped Amelia adjust the sleeves. “Organic cotton, certified Fair Trade. We try to make responsible clothing choices here.”

“I like that it’s baggy and lets me move freely.” Amelia ran her hands across the fabric. “Do you wear a lot of clothes like these?”

“Yes, but I only need a few outfits because they’re well made.” Judy pointed to her own linen shift. “I’ve been wearing this one every Thursday for the last six years.”

“You’re kidding.” Amelia sat and pulled on the warm socks Judy handed her. “So when you wake up on Thursdays, you already know what you’re going to wear?”

Judy handed her a soft cardigan. “Every week, I rotate through the same six outfits—except on Saturdays, when I choose something different based on how I feel. Here at the commune, we try to simplify our lives. Not wondering what to wear every day frees me up to think about other things that are more important to me. Like gardening, art, music. Caring for nature, our livestock, and crops. Caring for each other. We’re not minimalists, exactly, but we enjoy living with minimal material goods.”

Amelia glanced at Judy’s tidy closet. Every outfit was separated by open space. Like having a place to rest your eyes before you looked at the next outfit.

In her own closet at home, Amelia could hardly find what she wanted anymore. And her clothes closet wasn’t the only problem. The entire house was getting buried under clutter. Think of all the purchases Shasta had made on a whim! All the food Macy had stockpiled for Doomsday. All the magnifiers and other gadgets Amelia had collected. How many things had she and her sisters purchased since moving in with Allison? (One chair! That’s all there’d been in the entry the day they arrived!)

Maybe she could suggest to her sisters they stop buying so much stuff. Would that be asking too much of them, though? One thing she knew for sure. Feeling limited wasn’t any fun at all.

She fluffed the curls around her face. Her hair was almost dry now. The shampoo bar Judy loaned her had worked well. Judy said they made those bars of shampoo right there at the commune. Judy said plastic packaging wasn’t good for the environment. Too much of it ended up endangering wildlife. Amelia glanced once more at the tidy closet, then followed Judy outside.

In the courtyard, Ed and Louise were playing a game. Ed hid a treat under one of several small wood boxes and let Louise guess which one. Louise’s rear end wiggled with excitement, just like it had during the drive over to the commune in Ed’s all-terrain vehicle. Amelia peered at Ed’s flannel shirt and well-worn jeans. Did Ed wear the same outfit every Thursday?

“Might be a good idea to give your phone more time.” Ed motioned to the bowl of rice. “While we’re waiting, do you want to see the rehab aviary?”

“You help injured birds here?” Amelia fell into step with him. The path curved around the main buildings of the commune, then stretched along the edge of a sunny meadow. Evenly spaced posts, connected by sections of rope, acted as a sort of fence. As she walked, Amelia ran her hand along the sections. Four, five, six, seven. At the twenty-third post, the rope ended.

“Here we are.” Ed guided her inside a mesh tent. Potted trees and shrubs provided shade. On a perch, a medium-sized bird shifted. Ed spoke softly. “This mourning dove has an injured foot.”

Amelia studied the bird’s bandaged leg. The bird cocked its head to one side and blinked back at her.

“Over here we have robin babies.” Ed led Amelia under the low-hanging branches of a blossoming tree. At a table, someone was feeding tiny worms into three gaping beaks. Ed handed Amelia a tiny cup woven with grass and bits of dry moss. “Have you ever seen a hummingbird nest?”

Amelia peered at the thimble-sized home in her palm. “Where are the babies?”

Back outside the tent, Ed pointed to a liquid feeder hanging from a nearby branch. Hummingbirds zipped in and out. “They’re all grown up and independent now.”

Amelia sighed.

They walked the path back to the main buildings. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. At post twenty-three, Amelia headed for the courtyard and collected her phone. She turned it on and opened a couple of apps. “It’s working! Thanks so much, Ed.”

“Would you like me to drive you home now?”

Before Amelia could answer, Judy stepped into the courtyard. “Hydrophone’s gone live. Several orcas with lots to say. Amelia, would you like to ring the gong?”

Amelia studied the large bronze disk suspended from weathered beams. “You’d let me ring it?”

Judy handed her a heavy felt mallet. “Give it all you’ve got so everyone on Wren hears. Three big whacks.”

Amelia took a deep breath and swung. GONG! The sound reverberated through her.

“Whack it again.” Judy flipped on an outdoor speaker and the sound of singing orcas filled the courtyard.

GONG! When the mallet met the disk, the thrill of it swept through Amelia. GONG! Whales! There are whales among us, everyone!

Judy handed a pair of binoculars to Amelia. “See them over there, a few hundred yards out from Allison’s property. Let’s listen for another few minutes, then hit the gong again.”

Amelia fiddled with the binoculars until the vision was right, then watched the five orcas. Nearby, several buoys bobbed on the water’s surface. “Are those crab pots they’re swimming around?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Ed’s voice was close. “Fishing gear poses a real risk for marine animals. They can become entangled in the ropes and be injured—or even die.”

Amelia watched the sleek animals emerge and submerge. Every time the orcas dove deep, their music filled the courtyard. Amelia whacked the bronze disk again, three times, then watched the orcas until they moved on.

Back at Allison’s house, just inside the service entrance, Amelia stumbled through scattered shoes and bags. She dropped her damp clothes into the washing machine and closed the lid.

“Did you just put wet clothes in the washer, Melia?” Macy appeared at her side. “And what on earth are you wearing? Two of you could fit in that—if the wrinkles were ironed out.”

Amelia told Macy she’d fallen down while walking on the beach. (True, if not the complete story.) Then she’d visited the commune. And just now, she’d been the one hitting the whale gong! She’d borrowed an outfit from Judy, who wears the same outfit every Thursday. (At this, Macy’s eyebrows inched even higher.) Amelia fluffed the curls at the back of her neck. “Did you know they use bar shampoo at the commune? They make it themselves. No plastic packaging needed. So anyway, I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

After she walked out of the laundry area, she heard the washer click off and the lid squeak open. Her sister, peering in. Maybe even poking around. The washer lid re-closed. The cycle resumed. So, it was business as usual here at Allison’s house. Macy keeping a close eye on everything—and everyone. Amelia headed upstairs to bed.

30

Limping

Limping, Allison pushed through thorny shrubbery. It didn’t matter if she got more scratches on her arms because she was already a bloody mess. The primary goal—in fact, the only goal at the moment—was to get herself back to the boat. Preferably before dark.

Up ahead, the shrubbery thinned to reveal a trail. A wide trail. The same trail she careened off? Would it lead her back to the dock? How far had she traveled on the motorbike before she went over the edge?

Oh, wasn’t that so funny to think about? Because remember when she told Virgil she was on the edge? The aunts were driving her to the edge of losing her mind. And then she did go over! But not the proverbial edge, a real edge. Went right over it. Crash, crash, crash. Wonder if Virgil would think that was funny. Because she sure thinks it’s funny! Ha ha ha! She said she was about to go over the edge! And then she did! Ha ha ha!

Oh, her head. Wobbly.

It wasn’t her aunts’ fault, though. They didn’t send her over the edge. Her dear, dear aunts. Look how much they love each other. They love her, too. Yes, they do, Allison Theodore. They love you. (Words for a new song!) Her dear, dear aunts. They’re so special. She loves them so much! Remember all the green smoothies Aunt Macy offered her? She’d like a green smoothie right now. Dear, dear Aunt Macy.

She limped to a clearing off the trail. What a view. The moon was rising, though, so better keep going. Got to get back to the boat before dark.

Soon you’ll be … back on the boat. SIS-ter! Walk on, walk on, walk on. SIS-ter!

Dark, now. And colder. A night spent in the forest won’t be that terrible. She’s alive, so that’s good. If she wasn’t alive, things would be worse, for sure. If only it were warmer tonight. The forest would be much nicer if it were warmer. Much, much nicer.

She sank to the ground under a cedar tree. Rest. Move again when it’s light. Wonder what the aunts are eating for dinner tonight. (Light. Tonight. Rhyming words. She’s Allison Theodore, songwriter.) The aunts were probably in the kitchen—the warm kitchen—right now at this very moment. If she was there with them, she wouldn’t even bother cleaning up after them. Crumbs, crumbs, bring on the crumbs.

An owl hooted, peaceful. Owls hunted at night and dozed during the day. Virgil watched an owl sleep once. He said so. Virgil said so, not the owl.

Wonder if this owl has a family. In a dry, comfy, cozy nest. Where nobody’s hip is smoldering in hot lava. Nobody’s arm feels like cooked spaghetti. Nobody’s head is about to explode.

She won’t cry, though. Owls don’t cry. Sea turtles cry, but owls don’t. (Or do they?)

Hope Aunt Macy isn’t bossing Louise. Hope someone remembers to warm up Lokita’s bedtime blanket. Wish her mom was here. Remember when her mom used to tuck her in at bedtime? With a warm blanket. When she was just a kid. And if she didn’t feel well, her mom would bring her graham crackers and peanut butter and fizzy pop.

Did she ever thank her mom for all that?

Wish she could tell her mom thanks now. For tucking her in with a warm blanket. And for everything else, too.

31

Herbal tea

Macy warmed a mug of herbal tea, brought it to the kitchen table, and flipped off the overhead lights. The under-cabinet lighting created a soft glow against the darkness beyond the windows. She found a favorite streaming music station—Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Perry Como—and sighed into a seat at the table.

Earlier, when she’d opened the clothes washer, she’d discovered Melia’s clothes smelling of salt and swishing among grains of sand. There could be only one explanation. Melia had been in the water! The question was, had Melia intended to, or had it been an accident? The way Melia scurried away from anything cold, it was unlikely to have been intentional. So it must have been an accident. When, though? When had she not been watching Melia? While she was sewing that new snack bag for Louise?

She sipped her tea. Melia in the ocean. That was nothing less than a close call. And a reminder to keep a more careful watch on her sister. Melia’s eyesight wasn’t going to get any better, so it was up to the rest of them to take care of her.

When Shasta padded in, wearing a tiger-print nightie and matching robe, Macy set down her mug. “We need to keep a more careful watch on Melia.”

Shasta leaned across the back of a chair. “Mace, you don’t have to be in charge all the time. We’re adults. We’re capable of looking out for ourselves. And anyway, I’ve been meaning to tell you … I’ll be heading out soon.”

“Heading out?”

“Away. This place is closing in on me. All the you can’t do that and the you must do this rules. As soon as I decide where I want to go, I’m getting myself a plane ticket out of here.”

Macy pulled her tensing hands away from the mug. “Getting yourself a plane ticket. With what?”

“The credit card.”

“Allison’s credit card?“ Macy’s blood pressure shot up. “You can’t use Allison’s money to leave. You can only use Allison’s money to stay here. To keep building on this.”

“There you go again. Making rules for everyone. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Ralph will help me. Or Hack. Hack is very resourceful, you know. And he doesn’t have scruples about spending money.”

Macy stared at her sister. “You would leave with Hack? He’s leaving tomorrow, isn’t he? Shasta, please don’t go.”

Shasta put a hand on Macy’s shoulder. “Mace, I thank God every day that rehab worked for you. You’re an amazing person with all kinds of talents. But you’ve got to let people live a little. You’ve got to let yourself live a little.“ She gave Macy a quick hug before disappearing down the dark hallway.

Macy wrapped her hands around the warm mug. Rules. Scruples. Rehab. Let yourself live a little. The problem was, she didn’t know how to let herself live a little. Not anymore. Throwing that greasy pot in the dishwasher without first scrubbing it clean might be as wild as she got now.

How was this happening? She’d poured everything she could into life here on Wren Island, and now it was all falling apart. Allison had left—for what she said was a quick getaway, yes. But what if Allison’s getaway was a test run? What if Allison was thinking about spending even more time away from them?

And now Shasta was thinking of leaving. With Hack! And he doesn’t have scruples about spending money. For goodness’ sake! How could someone not be careful with money? Even Allison, who was a millionaire and more, was scrupulous. Macy huffed through another sip of chamomile tea.

Would Melia want to leave too? Melia didn’t have anywhere else to go, though. Melia would always need her big sister. So, there was one consolation.

And anyway, reckless didn’t get you anywhere. Reckless was overrated. Way, way overrated. Macy swallowed another sip of weak tea.

It was times like these she was really, really glad there was no alcohol in the house. Because that would be a monumental effort even for Superwoman. She held her cooling mug, then called her AA sponsor. Talked, listened, talked and listened more—until she was strong enough again. Strong enough to end the call and do a few up and down stretches. Strong enough to prep ingredients for tomorrow morning’s green smoothie.

32

Caretaker

Later, the house quieted under a wash of stars. Macy let Lokita outside while Louise, unwilling to go out after dark, watched from the door. Wasn’t Allison smart for building a safe fenced area off the service entry? Allison knew keeping the ones you loved close was important.

A caretaker. That’s what Macy was now. No longer a raging alcoholic, but a recovering alcoholic. No longer a wife, but a woman. A woman being a caretaker for everyone she loved. Her sisters, her niece, and everyone they loved.

When Lokita finished her business and came back inside, Louise greeted her with a wagging tail. Macy closed the door and scooped up the little dog. Lokita’s ears were so cold! Just from being outside for a few minutes?

Macy checked the electronic weather station. Wind building from the northwest tonight. There’d be frost on the ground tomorrow morning. Cuddling Lokita, Macy walked through the house and made everything snug. She warmed a blanket and tucked Lokita into bed—just like Allison would have. She whispered goodnight to Louise when the dog crept into Melia’s dark bedroom. She said a prayer for Allison—their very own Allison—wherever she was.

Then she slipped under the bedcovers. She aligned her spine into the position least likely to wake her with a backache, closed her eyes, and placed one hand over her heart. Then she visualized a path to a good night’s sleep. Tonight, the path followed two spotted fawns through a meadow flitting with butterflies. Sleep would be found under a waterfall of purple mist just beyond the meadow. And tomorrow, with all its responsibilities, was somewhere beyond that.

33

Bumblebee socks

In the morning, with the house heater rumbling warm air, Amelia stretched under the covers, then creaked upright.

Standing in front of her open closet, she sighed. The clothes were so crammed together she couldn’t even see the options. So many choices! Random patterns and colors. Shirts that matched only one pair of pants. Shorts that may or may not fit right. If she had a designated outfit for Fridays, she wouldn’t be standing here feeling overwhelmed.

Simplify. That was the way to approach this. She pulled on the same linen shift she’d worn yesterday and added her favorite blue cardigan. Pulled on a cute pair of yellow bumblebee socks. If Shasta said she needed more bling, she would point to the sparkly pink hearts trailing each bumblebee.

While she dressed, she listened to another chapter of David Copperfield. That was another nice thing about audio books and e-books. They didn’t take up any physical space. She leaned against the closet door to wedge it closed.

Downstairs, she fed Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon, careful to clean up all the spilled seeds on the counter and floor. When she stepped outside with Lokita to the fenced area, sparrows and juncos were eating from the bird feeder at the forest edge. And a little gray bird was running around on the ground. Amelia squinted at it. Not a bird. A mouse. Well, as long as the mouse stayed outside, they’d be a-okay—to use a term of Allison’s. Not that anyone was going to tell Allison about a mouse. This time or any other time.

Back in the kitchen, Amelia gave the dogs their breakfasts. Shasta flashed in like a neon sign, wearing a pink sequin top—cut embarrassingly low—and black leather pants with rhinestones up the sides. A bright orange scarf was wrapped around her head and trailing down her back. Shiny jewelry clinked around her neck and wrists. Even blurry, Shasta was a brilliant flash.

Shasta handed Amelia a mug with a bow tied around it. “A gift from me to you, sis.”

Amelia read the words printed on the side. Not before coffee. “Just what I wanted. Thanks, Shasta.” She fixed herself a bowl of fruity loops cereal with milk, then joined Shasta at the table.

Macy walked in and set her phone on the counter. “Still no message. Nothing. Should we call the Coast Guard, do you think?”

Shasta rolled her eyes. “She’s hardly been gone a day, Mace. Give the girl a break.”

Macy pulled ingredients for a green smoothie from the refrigerator and sent a weak smile to Shasta. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just my ferocity coming out again.”

“Allison is perfectly capable of taking care of Allison.” Amelia took another bite of cereal.

Shasta straightened the bracelets on one wrist. “She’s probably living it up at this very moment. Eating bagels and lox with a cute new guy. Or shopping somewhere fancy. Or hang gliding.”

“Hang gliding!” Macy dropped a dish to the counter. It broke.

“Tiddlywinks, Mace!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

While her sisters bickered, Amelia collected the dirty dishes and lined them up in the dishwasher. She picked up her phone and wandered into the main entry. Remember how wonderful it felt to walk into this house the first time? Like the most beautiful place in the world was welcoming her. When her sisters’ voices grew more animated, Amelia headed outside. Wonder what the bald eagle family would be up to today.

She was videoing the frost-edged leaves of a rhododendron when Virgil came by and asked how things were going.

Amelia sighed. “Even a house as big as Allison’s isn’t room enough for Macy and Shasta to get along.”

Virgil sat on a tree stump, tugged off a nearby grass stem, and chewed on it. “How’s your YouTube channel coming along?”

“I’ve added lots of videos, but I haven’t made it public yet.”

“Are you holding off for a reason?”

Amelia fingered the edge of a leaf, melting the frost. Just one little toggle switch. That’s all it would take for the world to see Wren Island. For some reason, though, it felt like some of the videos should only be seen by friends. People who knew and loved them.

She pulled out her phone, found a video, and showed it to Virgil. Allison singing to the dogs in her pretty voice. Another video of Allison helping Shasta set up an arcade game. Allison teasing Amelia about her interview questions, a row of diamond earrings sparkling along one ear. Those diamonds must have cost a fortune. You couldn’t look at Allison and not see those earrings. No one would say Allison was flashy, but when you saw those sparkly earrings, you knew she had money.

Amelia tucked her phone away. “I guess I’m wondering if some of the videos are too personal to share. Maybe Allison doesn’t want the world watching her sing to the dogs. Or seeing all those other sweet things she does for us. I think I’ll ask her before I make the videos public.”

Virgil was watching the waves roll up the beach. Smaller waves this morning, because the tide was receding. Now would be a good time to walk the beach alone again—if she dared. She ought to do it. She ought to work her nerve up for it. What do you do when a horse throws you? You get right back on. That’s what their dad used to say.

“Have you heard from Allison?” Virgil’s voice sounded husky.

Amelia shrugged. “No, but Allison is perfectly capable of taking care of Allison, right?”

Virgil gave a slight nod and cleared his throat—a couple of times.

Amelia peered at him. Did Virgil look a fraction worried? Or was he just squinting against the sun in his eyes? Maybe he was having a not before coffee moment. She stood and motioned to the house. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

34

Smaller than the backpack

The birds came awake one at a time. First a single melody from a sparrow, then another. Robins began chirping. Warblers added their own tunes until the symphony was fully orchestrated.

Allison tried to move her stiff muscles. The pain that had been fire yesterday was now shards of ice. And how did her clothes get so damp? From dew? Was she shivering from cold or because she’d developed a fever? A fever would not be good at all right now. Not on top of everything else going on. At least the vest was warm. The bright yellow vest. Matchy-matchy.

Upsy-daisy, Allison. You can do it. Whoops. Pain went zinging up and down her neck. Pounding out of her head like a sledgehammer. Try again. There you go. She hobbled down the trail. Walk on, walk on, walk on.

Miracle of miracles, listen to that. A boat was approaching the island. Probably pulling up to the dock next to her boat! The boat’s engine died. Voices reached her. A man and a little girl. No, not a little girl. A teenager—with attitude. Arguing now. Yelling. Oh, well. As least it was someone to help her back to her boat.

Walk on, walk on, walk on. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Ice shattering inside her hip, fueling hot lava.

The voices got closer, not arguing anymore, and a man came around a bend in the trail. Big guy, wearing appropriate boots for the terrain. He looked strong enough to support her, lift her even. She nearly fainted with relief.

A girl—a teenager, maybe—stepped out from behind the man. She was smaller than the backpack she staggered under.

“Whoa.” The girl stopped mid-step.

“Am I glad to see you guys.” Allison leaned against a tree trunk. “I had an accident. I’m trying to get back to my boat.”

“That your cruiser at the dock? How’d you know about this place?” The man looked her up and down. She must be a sight.

“I happened on it.” She took a careful breath against her fracturing insides. “Would you mind helping me get back to the dock?”

He didn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. When the girl shifted the pack on her shoulders and nearly fell backward, Allison shot a look at the man. He was probably three times that girl’s weight. Why wasn’t he carrying the heavy load? The girl recovered her balance and looked up. “We’ve got a cart down at the dock. Maybe we could—”

“Don’t need the cart. She’s walking, isn’t she?” The man turned back down the trail and called over his shoulder. “What kind of accident did you have?”

Allison watched his retreating back. Lots and lots of help, this guy. “Motorbike. Went off a ledge.”

The man stopped. “We better go get yer bike. Might be worth something.”

Allison shook her head, but the zinging, punctuated by pops of pain, stopped that. Good grief. Now her heart was thumping around—and very unnaturally. Scary unnaturally. She let her breath catch up. “It’s buried in the brush at the bottom of a ravine. I’ll come back for it later.”

The girl held out an arm. “Do you want to lean on me?”

If she leaned on that overloaded girl, they’d both topple over. “Thanks, but I’m all right.”

“You on your own?” This was called over his shoulder from further down the trail.

Limping forward, Allison didn’t answer. Out of all the people in the world who might have rescued her, she’d ended up with this clown. The girl with him looked like she needed rescuing, herself.

“I asked if you were on your own.” He’d turned to face her.

She stopped walking and tried to stand taller. Ouch.

He chuckled and continued down the trail. When the girl gave her a worried look, a weird feeling—a new weird feeling—began swirling around inside. This guy was creeping her out. Or was the weird feeling just from pain? Or from the fever—if she had one. At any rate, she hadn’t been doing too badly on her own before, had she? She gathered what extra strength she could and sent it toward her voice. Going for confident. A-okay. “You know what? I’m really feeling okay now. I can get back all right on my own. Thanks for the help.”

He kept walking. The girl stopped to hitch up shorts that were falling down and spoke quietly. “What’s your name?”

“Allison.”

The man spun around. “Allison Theodore of Wren Island?”

He’d heard of her. How? In what context? She met his challenging look with her own—and accidentally let go of her walking stick. Unsupported, she swayed. Zing up, zing down, zing all around.

The girl bent to retrieve the stick, straightened an inch at a time under her load, then looked at the man. “Is it okay to give it back to her?”

When he nodded, she handed back the stick. “Here you go, Allison. I’m Mattie, by the way. That’s Lester. It sure is nice to finally meet someone all the way out here. We’ve never seen anyone out here on Seal Rock.”

Allison leaned on the stick to catch her breath. Once she was back on the boat, she’d zip away from here. Not that she was comfortable leaving a teenage girl alone with this creep. “How old are you, Mattie?”

“Old enough,” Lester answered. He was far enough away to be useless, but close enough to keep tabs. Mattie just shrugged.

35

Pulled pork sandwiches

Macy clicked closed the instant pot. Pulled pork sandwiches for lunch today. On slices of the fresh bread Virgil’s son, Jax, had promised to deliver from the market. If Allison got home in time for lunch … But Allison would probably still be away at lunchtime, enjoying herself. Eating somewhere fun. In a café, maybe. Anne used to love discovering new restaurants. Allison was like Anne in so many ways.

Shasta stuck her head in the doorway. “Hack’s getting ready to leave.”

“Now?” Macy’s heart flip-flopped. “What about you, Shasta? Are you …”

Shasta shook her head, her silver hoop earrings swinging. More new jewelry. One of these days, Macy was going to have a conversation with Shasta about her spending habits. Wasn’t an awful lot of Allison’s money going out the door? But Shasta would laugh that off, too. You’ve got to let yourself live a little, Mace. At least Shasta wasn’t flying off today. That was good enough for now.

Outside, Macy collected Melia and Virgil from the flower beds where they were raking leaves. The three of them joined Shasta, Ralph, and Hack on the beach. Just beyond the surf, Hack’s plane bobbed.

“There’s nothing like Alaska in the summertime!” Hack flexed muscled arms over his head. “Anyone want to come along?”

Shasta elbowed him. “Not this time, Hacky-boy. See you in the fall.”

Virgil nodded toward Hack’s plane. “You can fly pretty low in that thing, can’t you?”

“Yep. That’s one reason it’s handy for filming.”

Macy glanced at Virgil. Was Virgil thinking the same thing she was? “Hack? Why don’t you fly around today and see if you spot Allison?”

“Oh, pooh, Mace.” Shasta rolled her eyes.

Ralph shook his head. “All you biddies and your worrying. All you’ve got to do is look up her tracker.”

“What?”

Ralph nodded toward his own flat-fronted cargo hauler. “It’s a GPS device attached to the vessel. To prevent theft. Or track when the owner’s not on board. Knowing how safety conscious Allison is, I’ll bet she’s got one. Look it up.”

“Website?” Hack pulled out his phone and tapped in the address Ralph gave him. “Name of vessel?”

Macy looked at her sisters. Didn’t any of them know the name of Allison’s boat?

“Buttercup.” Virgil and Ralph answered at the same time.

“Like the little yellow flower?” Melia’s smile widened.

Macy smiled back at Melia. Allison’s bright yellow cruiser did look a lot like a buttercup. In one of her visions to fall asleep, Macy sometimes wandered through a field of the blooming yellow flowers. But why were Ralph and Virgil the only ones who knew the name of Allison’s boat? Wasn’t that the sort of information Macy ought to be included in, too?

“Here she is.” Hack held up the phone. “Right here on Wren.”

Macy looked at the screen. Looked at Allison’s dock. Allison’s vacant dock. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Hack. That’s not at all helpful.”

Ralph reached for the phone and scrolled. “Wren must be the last location she allowed a public update. No collision signals, though. And no SOS. She’s probably fine.”

Hack retrieved his phone. “I’ll be able to see more if I get into her account.”

“Get into her account?” Virgil’s eyes narrowed.

Hack tapped the screen. “Here you go. She’s at a little island south of the Canadian border. Seal Rock. Been there since yesterday afternoon. Probably relaxing. Drinking something fun.” At the look Hack sent her, Macy cringed.

A few minutes later, with a whine of the engine and a spray of saltwater, Hack flew off. Soon, he was a disappearing speck in the blue sky. Shasta and Ralph linked arms and walked toward the forest. Melia and Virgil chatted their way back toward the house. Macy followed, listening.

Stepping carefully around a clump of dune grass, Melia sighed. “I don’t think I’d want to spend the summer in Alaska.”

“Oh? Why not?” Virgil adjusted his ball cap.

“Alaska can’t be any nicer than Wren.”

Virgil agreed this must be true.

At the house, Virgil turned to Macy. “Ed and I are putting in some fence posts today.”

“Fence posts?”

“As a guide along the trail leading up to the market. We might add them to the forest trails, too. Just wood posts with rope strung between. Like they have at the commune.”

“Can I help?” Melia propped her rake against the house.

“Was hoping you’d ask.” Virgil handed Melia a pair of work gloves and they walked up the drive toward the market.

Macy turned to go inside and almost stumbled over a blinking Louise. She looked at the dog. “Don’t you want to go off with someone more fun, too?”

Louise twitched her upper right lip and showed her teeth, her whole back end wiggling. The sound of Ed’s all-terrain vehicle approaching the market reached them. When the engine stopped and cheerful voices called to each other, Louise tilted her head, listening, then blinked back at Macy.

She patted the dog. “Just for you, we’ll go in through the front door.”

As Macy prepared lunch, she passed bits of pork to both dogs. That business of Hack getting into Allison’s vessel tracker information was strange, wasn’t it? Ralph specifically said there was public info and there was … not public info. Then Hack said something about logging in as Allison. How could he do that, though? Goodness. Was Hack even his real name? Or had he earned it as a nickname?

Shasta would tell her she was worrying too much. Take a chill pill, Mace.

And that comment about Allison maybe wanting to get away to drink. Allison had always said she didn’t mind if they didn’t keep alcohol in the house. And Macy had always believed Allison meant it! The thought of Allison sneaking away on her own just because she wanted a drink was enough to … Macy pulled out her phone, tapped a text to her sponsor, tapped a few responses back and forth. Took some deep breaths. Did more stretching.

Jax arrived with the promised loaf of bread. When he eyed the bowl of steaming pork, Macy fixed him a sandwich and sat him down at the table. She poured him a glass of milk and brought the cookie platter near. She asked him questions she thought a teenage boy might want to answer and learned about all kinds of interesting stuff. Riding lawnmower engines, baking recipes, the latest video games. Stuff she would have felt bad about missing out on if she never got another chance to ask.

Because she was a caretaker now. And she was mostly good at it—if you didn’t count everything that got broken along the way.

36

A snowplow

On the dock, Allison peered into the water around the pilings. Her phone was down there somewhere. She could dive in after it. Wouldn’t that icy water feel good right now? Put out the fire rolling around inside.

Lester hopped onto his own boat, a rickety cargo hauler that must have seen better days long, long ago. “Get in. We’ll come back for your cruiser later.”

Uh-uh. No way was she going anywhere with this guy. She hobbled the final distance to her own boat. Climbed aboard with Mattie’s help. Stood at the helm, lost her balance, and crashed to the deck.

Like being crushed under a snowplow. That’s how it felt. Not that she’d ever been. But if she ever was in the future, she would already know how it felt.

Oh, wasn’t that so funny to think about? She knew how it felt to be crushed under a snowplow! Ha ha ha! She waited for the pain to ease. It didn’t. With Mattie’s help, she pulled herself upright again.

All she had to do now was navigate back home. Back home to … Back home to … Where was she going? Oh, yes. Wren Island. She managed what she hoped was a convincing goodbye wave. “Thanks again! I appreciate it!”

Lester untied his boat. “Get in, Mattie, unless you want to be left behind again.”

The girl shrieked, scrambled out of Allison’s boat and untied it, then hopped into Lester’s boat just before it roared off.

As her boat bobbed in the wake left by Lester’s departure, Allison fought for balance and stared at her navigational equipment. Drive a boat. Drive a boat to Wren Island. First, untie from the dock. Done, thanks to her new best friend, Mattie. (Would Lester really have left that little girl alone on this remote island?) Then, make a starboard turn away from the dock, with engine power low. Whoops. Keep your balance, Allison. Wouldn’t want to fall down again and not be able to get back up.

Several hundred yards out of the cove, she passed Lester’s idling boat. He tossed his cigarette into the water and began trailing her. (Littering the ocean. Another demerit.) She should radio for help. How to reach the handpiece, though? For balance, she needed to keep one hand on the wheel. And the other hand was … useless. Attached to a spaghetti arm. She let go of the wheel with her good arm and swiped at the radio handpiece, but accidentally knocked it off its cradle and sent it swinging out of reach. Swing to the right, swing to the left. Oh, her wobbly head. If she bent over to retrieve the handpiece, would she fall again? Ick. Look at all that blood on the deck. That was going to be tough to clean up.

Lester was still trailing her. Could she lose him? Head to a different island? Cruise around until he gave up? He knew where she lived, though. She was supposed to be going there right now. To that island she called home. She checked her navigation. Wren. That was where she was going.

With any luck, that old guy on Wren … What was his name? The one who delivered mail? With any luck, that guy would be on the beach swearing when she arrived. That ought to be enough to scare off Lester. Or that other guy would be around. The pilot with the muscles. Maybe he would swoop down in his floatplane and buzz the greasy hair right off Lester’s head.

Oh, that wasn’t very nice of her. Not very nice of her to hope for something bad to happen to someone else. Hair being buzzed off by a floatplane would hurt. A lot. Gazillions and gazillions of hurt is how it would feel. Her heart was thumping around again. Strange. Everything inside her felt strange.

The boat veered. She corrected. Whew. What had happened? Oh, she leaned on the wheel. Probably should try to avoid doing that. The pounding inside her head was going to make her throw up. What a job cleaning the deck was going to be. Maybe instead of throwing up, she’d just pass out. Less mess.

Wren Island, finally. Her own beautiful dock in sight. Lester arrived first, though. How’d he do that?

Lester stepped off his boat, barked at Mattie to tie up, and poked his head into the boathouse. Mattie tied up Lester’s boat, then Allison’s.

“That big house up there yours?” He strode off the dock, up the beach, toward the house. Her house.

Where was everyone? No mail guy swearing on the beach. No floatplane pilot buzzing over. No aunts, no dogs, nobody. How could they not see she’d returned? How could they not see her bright yellow boat? That creep was going to walk right into her house—without having been invited. Of all the nerve. Were her aunts inside? Baking brownies, painting toenails, peering through a magnifying glass?

This called for emergency action. She was still on the water, right? So, sound the horn. Five short blasts. The universal boating signal for danger. “Put your hands over your ears, Mattie. This is going to be loud.”

One, two, three, four, five.

What if they didn’t hear the signal the first time? She couldn’t reach the horn anymore, though, now that she was slumped on the floor. The sticky, icky floor. She lifted a hand, stared at it. Was it even hers? “Mattie? Five short blasts again?”

One, two, three, four, five.

Mattie kneeled close, squish, squish, and placed a light hand on Allison’s back. “Lester didn’t think anybody would be around. Somebody’s talking to him now. And people are running over here. You’ve sure got lots of friends.” In Mattie’s voice, a wistfulness.

Other voices reached her then. People she loved. Coming closer.

Part 4

Expectations

37

Resting

On a lounge chair at the edge of the dune, overlooking the ocean, Allison soaked up the warm sunshine. Her wide-brimmed hat and large sunglasses dimmed the brilliance coming off the water. The cotton blanket Aunt Macy had tucked around her shielded the cool breeze. Curled into a ball across Allison’s legs, little Lokita snored rhythmically. Allison stroked the dog’s white fur—clean and sweet-smelling, thanks to Aunt Macy taking charge of bathing the dogs regularly.

In the forest behind Allison, several crows cawed to each other. Raucously chattering, quieting, then raising a ruckus again. Holding court, as Aunt Amelia liked to say. Virgil said that a group of crows was called a murder of crows. Whoever thought of that one must have had some time on their hands.

Allison played with Lokita’s soft eyebrows and watched a sailboat make slow progress toward the west. A boat that size could be piloted by one person. On their own, going somewhere interesting. Allison sighed.

The day she had returned to Wren, slumped on the boat deck and not at all certain of anything, she’d shocked poor Aunt Macy into panic mode. Then Aunt Macy galloped into boss mode. Allison was whisked off to the mainland hospital in Virgil’s fishing pontoon with Aunt Amelia and Ed along for support. Ralph was ordered, in no uncertain terms, to keep an eye on Lester—a job Ralph had already willingly taken on. Mattie and Jax were put to work scrubbing Allison’s boat deck. (Scrubbed it so clean you could eat off it, Ralph said. But Ralph might have lower standards than herself in that department.) As soon as the boat was clean, Lester had hollered for Mattie, and off they went. Back to where they lived on Reclamation Island, probably.

Allison had spent twelve days in the hospital. First, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her neck and head injury to stabilize. Careful breaths with a punctured lung. Then, the excruciating first days after hip surgery. Physical therapy to get her sprained knees working well enough to support the new hip. Every time someone other than Aunt Macy visited her in the hospital, she scrambled to pull the sheet across her icky, scabbed arm. You’d think she’d be mature enough by now to not be concerned by her looks. True beauty was on the inside, not on the surface, and all that. But there she was, trying to be presentable, even in a hospital gown.

When Aunt Shasta noticed Allison’s embarrassment, she went out and bought three linen robes with long, wide sleeves. Comfy, practical, and pretty. That was the same day Aunt Shasta delivered a bunch of cashmere cardigans and gourmet coffee to the nurses.

Once Allison got home, the real work began. Learning to roll into a seated position with cracked ribs. Inching around the house a little more at a time. Keeping up with the physical therapy someone was always on hand to help with. Staying on top of the pain with just enough, but not too much, medication.

Aunt Macy still insisted Allison rest every afternoon. These days, Aunt Macy took care of everything. The dogs, the house, the property. All the meals, unless Aunt Shasta and Ralph got inspired to barbecue. The cleaning chores Aunt Macy delegated to anyone who happened by. One morning, Aunt Macy convinced Ralph, Ed, and Jax to pull the arcade games out from the garage wall, sweep the cobwebs, and polish the units. Then she handed out lemonade and quarters.

And when Allison cried about having lost Gemma’s motorbike, Aunt Macy took charge of that, too. She put Gemma on speakerphone so Allison could hear for herself that Gemma wasn’t at all worried about losing the bike. All Gemma wanted was for Allison to make a full recovery. We’re all pulling for you, Allison. And Allison had laid back against the pillow and cried some more, while Aunt Macy covered for her by chatting away, all upbeat.

One of these days, when the boathouse didn’t feel too far away and she could keep her balance better, she was going back to Reclamation Island. She’d bring a gift to Gemma and check on Mattie Conway.

She dozed, watching Louise chase dragonflies in the grassy dune, then woke up when Aunt Amelia settled into a nearby lounge chair. Aunt Amelia tugged her pink cardigan into place and held her e-reader up to her face, reading in large print, probably. Aunt Amelia was a real trouper. Never any complaints. Not a single one. Aunt Amelia was a trouper, all right.

The gong from the commune sounded. Aunt Amelia pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and angled it toward Allison. They listened as nearby orcas sang. When the orcas moved on, Aunt Amelia tucked away her phone and picked up her e-reader again. All without either of them having said a word.

Lokita burrowed deeper into the blanket across Allison’s legs. When Louise came close, Allison played with the dog’s wide, brown eyebrows.

38

Not exactly snooping

In the sunroom, Macy stepped back from the window so she wouldn’t be seen snooping. Not exactly snooping. More like watching.

Shasta and Ralph were standing around the firepit. Talking, mostly. Shasta’s head was bobbing up and down, her unicorn-colored hair faded and dull. And those baggy overalls! The Shasta Macy had always known wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a pair of overalls. But there was Shasta, standing on tiptoe to say something in Ralph’s ear. And Ralph doing that thing where he sort of half-admitted to a smile. Uh oh. Now they were heading into the forest again.

The obvious explanation was that they were … well … noodling. But something didn’t quite fit. With previous boyfriends, Shasta came back from a rendezvous looking perky and that much more certain of herself. After spending time with Ralph, she came home looking drawn and worried.

Plus, weren’t Shasta and Ralph a little old to be … noodling … so often? Multiple times a day! Just thinking about it made her spin—made her head spin, she meant. No, there must be something else going on. She ought to figure it out. After all, she was in charge of things around here. Allison hadn’t said so, exactly—but who else was responsible enough?

Macy used the edge of her apron to wipe a damp spot from the windowsill. Slobber from Louise, probably. With Shasta and Ralph disappeared, there was no reason to stand around anymore. Macy moved to the television room and straightened the remote controls, board games, and foam cheeseheads. So far, Allison hadn’t said anything about the growing collection of fan gear for the Green Bay Packers. Five cheeseheads on the shelf now! One for each of them and one for Ralph. And a bunch of pennants they were all supposed to wave every time the defense got into the red zone—whatever that meant. Macy refolded one of the green and yellow outfits Shasta crammed the dogs into every Sunday.

She checked her watch. Almost time for her AA meeting. She headed upstairs, sat in front of her computer, pulled off her socks, and rolled her bare feet across the foot massager.

During the meeting, others shared about their highs and lows. Macy nodded sympathetically. When it was her turn, she, too, shared the brutal truth. Right at this very moment, there was a boatload of painkillers in the house. And she was the one in charge of dispensing them! But every time she thought about … doing that … one vision stopped her.

Allison, crumpled on the boat deck.

One measly little pill would have made a difference for Allison on that awful day. So, yes, Macy was in charge of the pills. And she was guarding them like they were gold. Because she never, ever, wanted to see anyone she loved in that much pain again.

When the meeting ended, Macy clicked off. That new girl in the group didn’t look much older than the little girl who had saved Allison’s life. How a young girl like Mattie Conway had ever gotten mixed up with a loafer like Lester was beyond her. During the one afternoon Mattie had spent here on Wren, Macy had hinted around every which way, trying to draw Mattie into telling her why she was with Lester. But Mattie didn’t give up a single bit of information Macy could use for leverage. You had to admit, Mattie Conway knew how to fend for herself. Except that fending for herself had somehow mixed her up with Lester.

Macy pulled on socks and headed downstairs. A threadbare t-shirt and too-big shorts. That was all Mattie had been wearing that day! Clothing like that wouldn’t get her through the winter. Did Mattie have a warm coat? Lester ought to get Mattie one of those thick, puffy, down jackets. Make himself useful, for once.

In the kitchen, Macy straightened the pressure cooker on the shelf. One less thing for Allison to worry about.

She reached for her phone. Time for a little communi-cay. She scrolled through her contacts, held the phone to her ear, and waited.

“Hello?”

“Gemma? It’s Macy. Over on Wren.”

“Hi! How’s everything? How’s Allison doing?”

“She’s fine, just fine.”

“Well, Allison is certainly in good hands!”

Macy beamed.

“How can I help you, Macy?”

“I was wondering if you know how I can get in touch with Mattie Conway. We’ve got an awful lot of work to be done around here, and we’d like to offer Mattie a housekeeping job. Allison suggested Mattie could live in the wing off the sunroom.”

“Oh, wow. Great offer. But I probably should tell you that several of us here on Reclamation Island have tried to help Mattie. So far, she hasn’t taken us up on much of it.”

“Oh. I see.”

“But maybe Mattie would like the idea of moving to Wren.” Gemma’s voice turned thoughtful. “I don’t have a phone number for her, but I’ll give her your message next time I see her.”

After Macy ended the call, she tapped her fingers on the kitchen counter. If only she were Superwoman! If she were Superwoman, she could help everyone in the world. With every problem they had. What kind of work do you do, Macy? I’m a caretaker. I solve problems. For anyone who needs me.

There was a bumping sound at the front door. Noon on the button. Macy walked to the front entry, let Louise inside, and gave the dog a cookie. The no-crumble kind, so Allison wouldn’t have to worry about that, either.

39

He just popped up (again)

Amelia finished a chapter of Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures and tucked her e-reader into a zippered, waterproof oilcloth bag Macy had sewn. She repositioned herself into a more comfy position and draped the lightweight blanket over her bare toes. On the lounge chair next to her, Allison was sleeping. Or maybe just resting. Except for stirring to listen to the orcas earlier, Allison had been pretty quiet. Now, the only sounds were Lokita’s soft snoring and a murder of crows holding court in the forest.

Listen to that, folks. A real murder of crows. And it sounds like they’re holding court this afternoon. Amelia sent the words around her head again. Lines like that could make the difference between amateur and pro on YouTube.

A swirl of dry leaves danced along the high tide line and came to rest against a driftwood log. A toothpick tossed aside by a giant. Amelia pulled out her binoculars and squinted at the tree line on the east edge of Allison’s property. All three bald eagles were perched up there. The parents were the ones with the distinctive black and white feathers. Virgil said the juvenile would keep its mottled, less flashy feathers for at least a year. After that, it might be another few years before the eagle’s feathers became pure black and white. Virgil knew a lot about birds. Good thing Virgil had been paying attention the day the baby took its first flight. With everything else going on, Amelia might have missed it.

Allison had missed the baby’s first flight. That day, Allison was in the hospital, practicing with a new cane and eating a real sandwich for the first time. A BLT without the bacon or lettuce. Just tomato and mayo, because the smell of everything else made Allison feel sick. But it counted as a real sandwich.

Amelia pulled out her phone, opened the YouTube app, and found the video of the baby’s first flight. Both parents taking off. One flying high in circles, the other perched nearby. The poor little baby, left on its own. Then the parents singing. Teetering, whistling, swirling. On and on and on. The baby flapping its wings and looking at the big wide world, scared and excited all at once.

On the video, you could also hear the conversation between her and Virgil. She’d asked what she now knew were dumb questions. Virgil was nice about it, but it was kind of the pits to know that her naivety had been recorded. Another reason to keep her YouTube channel private.

Then, whoosh. There went the baby. Flap, flap, flap toward the ground, then rising. Landing so clumsily on a branch, the perched parent had to flap around and regain its own balance. Amelia had cheered. She smiled now, too, watching the video again.

A thumbs-up appeared below the video.

Huh. Did a thumbs-up appear, automatically, after you watched a video a certain number of times? Below the thumbs-up, a comment appeared.

Nice shot. With those skills, you’ll be raking in the big bucks any day now.

The username was Hack Wesson.

Amelia tapped a reply. Hi Hack. How are you?

No response.

Maybe a private YouTube channel wasn’t all that private. Maybe friends could see it? Shasta would know the answer.

Virgil stopped by at the usual time, before the setting sun could create a glare across the water and make Allison uncomfortable. He threw a frisbee for Louise until Allison woke up, then helped Allison, Amelia, and Lokita back to the house.

Inside, they found Macy pulling a steaming lasagna from the oven. Amelia collected dishes from the cabinets and set the table. All those labels Allison had posted in the kitchen were really helpful. Not that Amelia could read them without squinting. But with this many people in and out of the kitchen, it sure was nice to find things where they were supposed to be.

They invited Virgil to stay, but he left to have dinner with Jax at his own house. Shasta breezed in just as Macy was sorting everyone into their places at the table.

Amelia passed a basket of garlic bread around. “Guess what, you guys? I heard from Hack.”

“What? When?” Shasta set down her fork.

Macy helped herself to the green salad and added some to Amelia’s plate. “What’s that boy up to these days?”

Amelia pulled the crusts off a piece of garlic bread. “He didn’t say. But he did say hi in a comment on my YouTube channel.”

“Can I see?” Shasta wiped her hands on a napkin and reached for Amelia’s phone.

Allison finished chewing a bite. “This lasagna is delicious, Aunt Macy. I thought you hadn’t made that channel public yet, Aunt Amelia.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then how did Hack make a comment on it?”

“I don’t know.” Amelia shrugged. “I was hoping Shasta could tell me.”

“Me! Why would I be able to tell you?”

“Because you know so much about social media.”

Shasta looked at Amelia, narrowly, then returned her attention to the phone. She shook her head. “There’s no comment here. Maybe you were imagining things.” When Shasta stood and headed for the door, Amelia caught a whiff of Spell on You. Shasta had stuck with the same perfume for a while now. Allison’s credit card was probably happy about that.

“Where on earth are you going now, Shasta?” Macy clunked her fork to her plate.

“Out.” The service door slammed behind her.

Allison sighed.

Macy reached for the salad bowl, clattered a serving spoon to the floor, and nearly toppled a water glass.

Amelia returned the uneaten bread crusts to her plate. “If we were a murder of crows, someone might say we were holding court.”

Allison, wiping salad dressing from the table, caught Amelia’s eye and winked.

40

Progress

First, Allison walked the stone path around the house. (All in one stretch without having to sit down and rest!) A few days later, she crossed the dunes with only the aid of her walking stick. A week after that, she made a jaunt down to the beach with Aunt Amelia, who kept her promise to not help unless Allison was truly going down. Which she never did, so woo-hoo about that. Now, finally, Allison stood in the doorway of her boathouse.

Buttercup looked amazing. Mattie and Jax had done a stellar job spiffing her up. You really could eat off the deck—if you swept up the dust first.

Allison closed the building, retrieved her walking stick, and took a few steps along the dock. Pretty steady today. Now we’re on the dock. We are on … the … dock. So be careful where you walk. Careful where … you … walk.

She crossed the beach and headed for the road, although referring to it as a road was being generous. Just wide enough for Ed to get his all-terrain vehicle through, it was littered with potholes and fallen tree branches.

Overhead, a wild wind swept in from the west. Blowing so high, it left Wren in peace and didn’t even touch the tips of the evergreens. Several little birds scampered around the trunk of a cedar. The crisp scent of burning leaves indicated a farmer on the north side was preparing the land for winter. Allison followed the fence Ed and Virgil had constructed, a rope strung between posts. It helped Aunt Amelia keep track of where she was. That post up ahead was number eighteen.

No more blazing through the forest for this girl. Not yet, anyway. She passed post seventeen and crunched through the fallen leaves of a birch tree. If Ed were driving Aunt Amelia along here, he’d plow through that big puddle just to hear Aunt Amelia whoop.

At post sixteen, Allison stopped to shed her warm outer layer, tied it around her waist, then resumed walking. Between this jaunt to the boathouse and two sessions of physical therapy, today wasn’t a good one for any other big efforts. Like climbing upstairs to her den—her home office, she meant. Well, it actually felt more like a den. So why resist calling it that? Post fifteen. Office, den, what did it matter, as long as she was writing music there? Except that she wasn’t writing music there. She wasn’t writing music anywhere these days. With all this time on her hands, you’d think she’d be cranking out one hit song after another. Wow, still fourteen more posts to go.

Back at the house, she waded through the stuff tossed just inside the service entrance. Shoes and bags, or bumpy paths and puddles. It all made you slow down.

She ought to pick things up around here. Label where things were supposed to go. Like she’d done in the kitchen. When she got the energy to, she would. She kicked somebody’s gardening basket out of the way, lost her balance, and slid to the tile floor. Just slid down, real slow. It hardly even hurt. It might be a minute before she could stand up again, though.

Aunt Macy walked in while she was still thinking about how to get up. “Allison Theodore, sit down.”

“I am sitting down.”

“I mean, sit down in a chair and rest. You are trying to do too much, too soon. Are you hurt?”

Allison shook her head.

Aunt Macy scraped a chair close and helped Allison into it. Then she disappeared through the doorway. The refrigerator door opened and closed. The blender whirred. When Aunt Macy returned, she put a glass in front of Allison. “Drink this.”

Allison clinked the metal straw around. “There isn’t another fiber supplement in this one, is there? Because I’m good for today.”

Aunt Macy scooped loose shoes and bags and threw them into a corner. “Tripping hazards, all of it. Three women in their golden years. You, recovering from hip surgery. And a blind dog. You wouldn’t think this house would allow tripping hazards. Drink up, sweetheart.”

Allison peered into the glass. Impossible to tell what all was in it. She drank a third of it and set it aside. “One of these days, I’m going to get back on a motorbike. A fast, noisy one. And I’m going to tear it up all over Wren.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Aunt Macy stuffed shoes into a basket. “You’re not getting back on a motorbike.”

“If the roads were better on Wren, it’d be easy-peasy. Gemma Campana rides a scooter all over Reclamation Island. She can because the roads are in good shape. Why doesn’t Wren have better roads? We could have, you know, if we organized ourselves.”

Aunt Macy inspected a pair of socks and tossed them in the washing machine. “People on Wren don’t want to travel at the speed of light. People on Wren like slowing down.”

“It would be really helpful for getting supplies delivered. Think how happy Ralph would be if he could pull into a real port instead of hoping for a flat spot on the beach.”

“A port! Here on Wren? Now I know you’re not thinking straight.”

“Well, maybe not a port. But I definitely think we should improve the roads. I could pay for it.”

“With your own money?”

“If everyone on Wren wanted it, yes.”

Aunt Macy tsked. “Faster roads would invite riffraff. People would come and do that thing where they add a hashtag. That’s all we need around here.”

Allison sipped more of the smoothie. “Just picture it, Aunt Macy. Flat, paved roads with a neat yellow stripe down the middle. Me, buzzing by on a cute yellow scooter.”

“Oh, I’m picturing it, sweetheart. And I’m telling you right now, you’re not getting a scooter.”

“You’re being bossy again, Aunt Macy.” Allison smiled. Lately, Aunt Macy’s edges had been softening. She talked in capital letters less often. Aunt Macy would have a ton of fun with a scooter! “You could get one, too.”

“Get one what?”

“A scooter! We’ll get a two-seater for you and Aunt Amelia. I’ll even spring for a cup holder so you can bring along a smoothie.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Aunt Macy flushed.

Louise bounded in and skidded to a stop in front of them.

“I know, I know. Time for your cookie. Let’s go, funny doggie!” Aunt Macy galloped off toward the kitchen, collecting Lokita as she went.

Allison took another sip. Her shiny, clean boat was sitting in the boathouse, just waiting to go out. Remember how good it had felt to be on the water? Far away, on her own? Remember how free she’d been, buzzing around on Gemma’s motorbike? Until she’d buzzed over the edge, of course.

Improving the roads here on Wren would be a great thing to do. An important thing to do. And she could manage the entire project! Allison Theodore, in charge of transportation.

She eyed her nearly empty glass. That would really be something, all right. Because these days, she wasn’t even in charge of her fiber intake.

41

The same outfit

Amelia opened her audio book app, connected the Bluetooth speaker, and hit Play. She brushed her teeth quietly, so she could listen to Marcellus’s thoughts in Remarkably Bright Creatures. She rinsed her mouth and applied the teeth-whitening strips Allison had gotten her. She wiped the counter around the bathroom sink and dabbed dry the bar of shampoo in the shower. Lavender rosemary. Allison’s bar was lemon scented. So far, Allison was the only other person in the house on board with using a shampoo bar. But the two of them were working on the others.

Amelia moved to stand in front of her clothes closet. She pulled on the same outfit she’d worn last Wednesday. A purple gingham dress with embroidery around the collar. She added a gray sweater and warm tube socks because today’s temperature was cooler than last Wednesday’s temperature. Then she was all systems go, as Allison would say.

Amelia studied the clothes in her closet. A white cardigan still had tags hanging from it. When would she ever wear a white cardigan? Not for collecting shells. Or taking care of birds at the rehab aviary. Or playing with Louise in a puddle. Amelia pulled the cardigan off the hanger and tossed it to the bed. She pulled a few other pieces from the closet and tossed them to the bed, too.

When the chapter ended, Amelia clicked off the audiobook and returned to the bathroom. She removed the whitening strips from her teeth, rinsed, wiped the counter. Leaned close to the mirror and grinned. Look at that! Her teeth did seem whiter!

Downstairs, she gave fresh water and birdseed to Kitty and Matt. She cornered a mouse (all by herself!) with a broom and dustpan. When she let the dogs out to the fenced area, she let the mouse out, too. Louise trailed it until it scooted under the wire fence.

Back inside, Amelia found Macy and Shasta preparing a vegetable smoothie and a bagel with cream cheese, respectively. (That was a trick she’d learned for narrating videos. You said two things about two people, and the respectively part of the sentence clarified who was doing what.) Amelia fixed herself a bowl of fruity loops cereal with milk, then sat at the kitchen table.

Shasta snapped the lid back onto the tub of cream cheese. “Hey, sis, what’s up with all those clothes on your bed?”

“I have too much stuff. Did you know some clothes are made by children working in factories? And they only get paid pennies.”

Macy scooped something into the blender. “Melia, you can’t believe everything you hear. All that business about children working in factories is just a scare tactic. A marketing ploy.”

“No, it’s true, Mace.” Shasta brought her plate to the table and sat next to Amelia. “Kids as little as five, working all day. I saw it when I was volunteering for that humanitarian group in Vietnam.”

“You actually saw children working in factories? Why didn’t you do anything about it?” Macy poured something purple-colored into a glass. A berry smoothie, maybe.

“Oh, that’s rich, Mace. That’s real rich.” Shasta tapped loose seeds off her bagel. “You do know that sometimes the problem is too big for one person to fix—even if that person is as determined as you to run the world.”

Amelia listened to her sisters banter. In a lull, she looked up. “I think I’ll donate my extra clothes. So someone else will benefit from them.”

Macy smiled. “Why don’t we all go through our clothes for donation? And we’ll organize the stuff lying around the entries while we’re at it. We don’t want Allison tripping.”

“We don’t want me tripping, either.” Amelia collected the dirty dishes and brought them to the sink.

Later, upstairs, they designated Amelia’s bed as the collection point. Shasta breezed in and threw down an armload of clothing. “We’re going to make tons from this stuff!”

Amelia stacked more shirts.

Macy pulled a blouse from the top of the pile and folded it. “Shasta, what is going on with you? First, you bought all kinds of things you didn’t need. Now, you want to sell it. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Rules, rules, rules. Why can’t I sell my stuff?”

“Because it’s not your stuff!” Macy threw her arms in the air. “Allison paid for it. Allison paid for everything.”

Shasta wadded a pair of jeans and tossed them. “Allison’s got plenty of money. We bought stuff and now we’re selling stuff for a good cause. I don’t see how there’s anything wrong with that. Hang onto those green pants, Amelia. You can wear them to watch Packer games.”

“Anybody home?” When Ralph’s voice drifted in, Louise raced to the open window and put her paws on the sill.

Shasta leaned out. “Come on up!”

Macy tsked. “To Melia’s bedroom, Shasta?”

“Oh, pooh, Mace.” Shasta headed for the mirror above the fireplace and primped her hair.

Macy sent Amelia an exasperated look, but Amelia just shrugged. “It’s not like we’re wearing our nighties.”

Ralph appeared in the doorway and Shasta motioned to the piles of clothing. “We’re selling stuff. We’re going to donate the money to a worthy cause.”

“We’re helping kids in factories.” Amelia returned a skirt to the closet. Red plaid flannel, so she might want to wear it at Christmastime. When she turned around, Shasta was in full flirt mode with Ralph. Louise was leaning against Ralph’s leg, her right upper lip twitching and her tail wagging.

Ralph glanced down at Louise and shook his head. “Something not right about that dog.”

Amelia paired socks together. Yellow and green, so Shasta would say to save them for football games. “It just looks like Louise is snarling. See how happy her back end is?”

“She likes you, Ralph. And we like you, too.” When Shasta kissed Ralph on the cheek, Amelia giggled. She couldn’t help it. Shasta and Ralph were so funny together.

Ralph grumbled something and turned to go, with Louise padding along behind him. Ralph’s voice faded down the hallway. “I’m not giving you no cookies.”

“Give her the kind that doesn’t make crumbs, Ralph!” Shasta hollered after them. “In the yellow and white canister next to the toaster!”

Amelia returned to sorting socks.

“I don’t know.” Macy sank to an upholstered chair. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on around here anymore. Did I miss the reason Ralph was here? In Melia’s bedroom?”

Shasta gave Macy a quick hug. “Because he wanted to say hi? Because he wanted to see if we need anything? Because he’s a sweetie even if he doesn’t want anyone to know it? Put that yellow sweater back, Amelia. Mace can wear it on game days.”

42

A situation

The next afternoon, Allison put together plans for road improvements, left messages with contractors who might want the work, and emailed a request that the topic be discussed at the next community meeting. Then she called her financial advisor.

“Allison.” Mark’s voice was tense. “I was just about to call you. We might have a situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“One of your credit cards has a suspicious charge on it. It’s not for a large amount and it looks legit. I didn’t think anything of it until the FBI contacted us.”

“What?”

“Apparently, the payment went to something connected with a case they’re working on. Who all has access to that credit card?”

“Just my aunts. But they only have access to the credit card, not the connected bank account.”

“Is the credit card saved on any websites?”

“Probably. My aunts use it for online shopping.”

“Well, we’re not supposed to freeze the card. If we do, whoever’s using it will know someone has noticed.”

“So we just wait around to see if they steal more money? Wonderful.” Allison mentally ticked through her accounts and their locations. This one was entirely separate. In fact, most of her accounts weren’t connected to each other. Early on, she’d set them up that way as a safeguard. “Do I need to do anything about my other accounts?”

“No. We’re taking care of that. But don’t do anything out of the ordinary until we know more. Use your credit cards, but don’t move money around. I’ll call you back when I’ve got an update.”

When the conversation ended, Allison sat there with a knot tightening in her stomach. It wasn’t the money, exactly. Her aunts would have easily blown through that amount. It was the idea that someone would take advantage. That someone she didn’t even know would think they could help themselves to her property. Such a helpless feeling! Like when that creep Lester had headed toward her house without an invitation. Was Lester somehow involved in this credit card thing? No, he wasn’t smart enough. It was probably being done by an organized crime group. Did that mean her money was paying for drugs? Human trafficking? She might be going to throw up.

Imagine stealing from three kindhearted sisters who thought buying twelve muffins at once was a splurge. And using the money to buy … She took a square breath around the corners. One, two, three, four, then rubbed her hands through her hair. Maybe Aunt Shasta would give her another haircut. The last one had turned out pretty good. And it would occupy Aunt Shasta with something other than whatever she kept disappearing with Ralph to do. They could set up a real hairstyling space here at the house, with a shampoo sink and everything. Aunt Shasta would think that was a hoot. A goldfish bowl for tips. The first dollar tacked up on a bulletin board.

Assuming, of course, there was still cash to go around.

43

Totally doable

What Allison really wanted to do was walk through the forest. Hike up to a viewpoint. But her hip wasn’t ready for that kind of climbing yet, so walking along her driveway and the road to the market had to be enough.

A cranberry orange muffin and a few moments with this year’s Old Farmer’s Almanac would be just the ticket. She said so to Aunt Macy, then tried to ignore the worried look on her aunt’s face. That kind of look probably meant Aunt Macy was on the phone right now, alerting Virgil. The invalid’s on the move again. Don’t let her do anything she shouldn’t. Oh, well.

Allison shuffled through a scattering of birch tree leaves along the new fence running the length of her driveway. Like the fence along the beach road, it was a single rope strung between posts as a tangible guide for Aunt Amelia. And a visual marker.

She stopped to listen to a symphony in the branches of the cedar trees above. The birds were so little, and so high up, she couldn’t identify them. Virgil would know what kind of birds they were, just by their song.

At the market, she climbed the steps one at a time. Upsy-daisy, Allison. And just that easily, she was on the porch. So, actually, she was doing pretty good these days. Maybe that hike through the forest wasn’t far off. First a hike, then a scooter ride. Or a boat trip. She leaned her walking stick against the wall and tested her balance. Actually, a boat trip might be totally doable now.

She found Virgil in the stockroom, unloading a carton of oat milk. Storing oat milk on the same shelf as whole wheat flour. How did that make any sense? She glanced around the stockroom. More oat milk was stored on a different shelf next to a supply of bar soap. There was absolutely no organization to the stockroom at all. She sighed.

“Might not make sense to you,” Virgil said, without looking up, “but it works for me.”

“But the same product stored in two different places?”

Virgil stood, brushed his hands against his apron, and cocked his head at her. “Are you here strictly in an advisory role, or can I offer you a cranberry orange muffin?”

“A muffin and coffee, please. And I want to look at the Almanac.”

She made her way to the bookshelves wedged into the space under the stairs. No walking stick or cane needed. (Allison Theodore on a roll!) She flipped through the almanac and found the weather predictions for the week. Look at that. This high, dry weather was only going to last another few more days before a low, wet system moved in. And everybody knew boating in the sunshine was a lot more fun than boating in wet weather.

She headed back outside to the porch and got comfy on a cushioned twig bench. Watched the ocean for a bit. A flat sea, except in the currents. According to the tide table, tomorrow morning would be perfect for cruising. Just a girl on her own.

Virgil came out to the porch, the screen door swinging shut behind him. He set down a tray, handed the plated muffin to her, and placed a mug of coffee within reach. “Mind if I join you?”

“That would be a-okay.”

Virgil picked up his own drink and sat in a wood-planked chair.

I’ve got a problem, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Somebody’s stealing my money, she wanted to add. But the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. Anyway, Virgil would just ask questions. Lots and lots of questions.

“What breed of dog is Louise, do you think?” Virgil, with another question.

Allison shrugged. “I don’t know. Some kind of hound mix?”

“She didn’t like Lester. That day you barely made it back to Wren. Lester claimed he’d saved you. Then we found out he’d nearly let you die. ”

“What’d Louise do?”

“Nothing, because Ralph held onto her collar.”

“I bet she loved that.”

Virgil laughed. “She hated it. She wants to be free and independent almost as much as someone else I know.”

Virgil gave her a look when he said that. One of those looks. If she felt more up to it, she might … But she had enough going on right now. And besides, it was no fun getting going in a relationship like that and then finding out you weren’t interesting anymore. She ate another bite of muffin, chewed, and swallowed. “We probably don’t want Louise loose if Lester’s ever back on Wren.”

“We probably don’t want me loose if Lester’s ever back on Wren. Next time, Lester will wish he was wearing a helmet.”

“Oh, Virgil.” Allison laughed. She finished her muffin and sipped the rest of her coffee. “Mattie Conway probably saved my life. Maybe more than once. Hope she’s doing okay. Hope she’s left Lester by now.”

Over his mug, Virgil raised his eyebrows. Allison got the message. Probably not likely. And suddenly she felt very, very tired. From the weight of it all. The stolen money. The bickering aunts. The daily struggle to move around without help. The thought of a teenage girl caught in a situation she couldn’t escape.

She eyed the flat sea. Anyone with half a raft could sail a sea that calm. First, though, she’d have to convince Aunt Macy to let her go.

She stood, slowly, testing her legs. All systems go. (One of these days, she’d look up where that phrase came from!) “I’d better get back to the house. If I’m gone too long, Aunt Macy will send out a search party.”

Virgil helped her down the porch steps and waved goodbye. Virgil at this end, Aunt Macy at the other. On the road between, fence posts to mark her slow progress. What she wouldn’t give to get away by herself.

Down the driveway a bit, Virgil jogged up next to her, his dark hair flopping down his back. “I just remembered. Macy wants a bag of brown rice.”

Allison pulled a folded fabric bag from her pocket and motioned for Virgil to put the rice in it.

He took the fabric bag from her and kept walking.

She followed him. “I can carry a bag of rice on my own, you know.”

“I know. But Macy also wants my help to fix a faucet leak. And if she sees me coming up the driveway empty-handed while you toil under a load—her words, not mine—she’ll put me in the doghouse.”

“So the idea is, I’m doing you a favor by letting you carry it.”

“You got it.” Virgil walked on ahead, humming.

44

Not wearing their nighties

Somebody’s got to keep an eye on him. That’s what Shasta had said when Macy asked her why she spent so much time with Ralph. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on him! If that’s what they’d come to around here—if they’d come to Shasta keeping an eye on someone—they were in trouble. Big trouble. That girl needed someone keeping an eye on her.

Macy slid a sheet of cheesy biscuits into the oven. What on earth was going on around here, anyway? Shasta selling off brand new stuff. Melia wearing the same clothes every day and feeding baby birds—with an eyedropper! Ralph, hanging around more and more—thank goodness only during the daytime, when they weren’t wearing their nighties. Children working in factories and getting paid pennies. Mattie Conway stuck with an ogre. Allison with her plans for road improvements. A double-seated scooter? For goodness’ sake. Someone needed to stop the insanity.

So when her niece presented the most outlandish idea yet, Macy put her foot down.

“Absolutely not. You’re not taking your boat out alone. Tell her, Virgil.”

Virgil filled a glass of water at the kitchen sink and brought it to Allison, who was sitting at the table. “I agree with Macy this time, Allison.”

Macy nodded at Virgil. “She’s nowhere near ready to do something like that yet.”

“Just for a morning, Aunt Macy. I’ll go to Reclamation Island—”

“Reclamation Island?”

“And then I’ll come right back to Wren. You’ll hardly know I’ve been gone.”

At this, Virgil grinned. “Not miss you? I doubt that.”

Allison blushed. Macy watched an invisible tide—a beautiful, lovely tide—pull the two of them together until Allison finally looked away.

“There’s a guy over on Reclamation who might bid on our road project. I’ll check in with him, say hi to Gemma, buy myself an ice cream cone, and head right back to Wren.”

Macy glanced at Virgil. Was Virgil as worried as she was? But she was the caretaker, right? So it was time to do some caretaking. “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, Aunt Macy, I appreciate it, but I want to go on my own.”

Allison had once said Macy had skills at directing conversations. And skills she was going to use. Right now. “You know what, Allison? You’ve always said you want me to learn how to drive the boat. So if you want to take your boat out, you can take your boat out. But I’m coming with you because you said I need to learn to drive the boat. And this is as good of a time as any, right?”

“I have to say, Allison, I think your Aunt Macy’s right about this.”

Macy shot Virgil a look she hoped showed her gratitude and sat at the table next to her niece. “Let me do this for you, sweetheart. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse and you don’t even have to buy me an ice cream cone.”

Allison laughed. “If you come along, you get an ice cream cone. Rules are rules.”

Macy smiled. “All right then. We’ll go to Reclamation Island together sometime.”

“Let’s go tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“If you’re not ready yet, Aunt Macy …”

“No, no. You’re ready, I’m ready. We all scream for ice cream.”

Virgil stood and gave Macy a quick hug around the shoulders. “Do me a favor? Bring her home in one piece?”

Macy patted Allison’s arm. “Bring her home in one piece. Okay, then. We’ve got our marching orders.”

45

They're all still alive

The next morning was Tuesday, so Amelia dressed in the same short cotton pants and tunic top she’d worn last Tuesday. She added a wide-brimmed hat and pulled on sturdy sandals Macy had ordered. Downstairs, she fastened the low-profile lifejacket Shasta had given her as a gift.

The water was calm, the air warm. And the tide was dropping exceptionally low. Jax had described these are perfect conditions to find a whole sand dollar.

Shasta caught up with her on the beach. They waved as Allison and Macy sped off in Buttercup, the radio blaring, Allison whooping, Macy probably holding on for dear life.

When it was quiet again, Amelia turned to her sister. “Will you help me look for a whole sand dollar?”

“I’d be honored to help you look for a whole sand dollar.”

They walked along the flat, damp sand, looking for divots. Any disturbance in the sand as the water washed away from it, indicating the presence of a shell. The only things they found, though, were little pieces of driftwood and broken clam shells.

“Maybe today isn’t the day after all.” Amelia shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other.

“What time is low tide?” Shasta bent to pick up something. Another broken clam shell.

“About twenty minutes from now.”

“Let’s search closer to the water’s edge.”

Amelia looked out at the blur of waves. “It makes me nervous.”

Shasta reached for her hand. “We’ll hold on to each other.”

Closer to the water, they struck gold. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of whole sand dollars. Each wash of a thin wave revealed more. Amelia picked one up.

Shasta touched it. “Why is it fuzzy?”

“Oh, my gosh.” Amelia looked at her sister. “It’s still alive. It’s an alive sand dollar.”

“Are you sure?”

Amelia ran her fingers along the green fuzz covering the front and back. “It must be. They must not bleach to a white color until they’ve died. That makes sense, because other shells don’t turn white until after the critter dies.”

Shasta looked around. “So these are all alive?”

“If they’re fuzzy like this, yes. Shasta, let’s move back up the beach. We don’t want to crush any of them.”

“Are you going to keep this one?” Shasta touched it lightly.

Amelia cradled it, lifted it to her nose, and sniffed. Fresh, like a plant. Like the lichen growing in the forest. But instead of an earthy scent, the smell of the sea. Amelia sniffed again. She’d always remember that. The smell of this living, fuzzy critter. She bent to return it to the sand, wedging it in the way she’d found it.

Shasta took her hand as they walked up to the high tide line.

“That was really something.” Amelia sat on a log, a toothpick tossed aside by a giant. “When Jax said I might find a whole sand dollar, I didn’t know he meant I’d find an alive sand dollar.”

“It’s been a fabulous experience. Fabu-lo-so.” Shasta twirled before sitting.

Amelia squinted at her. “Shasta? Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot, sis.”

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Why would you ask that?”

“Because sometimes you seem kind of preoccupied. Worried.”

“Me! Worried!”

Amelia waited for more. When Shasta didn’t say anything else, Amelia recorded a ladybug making its way along the driftwood log. “Here you go, folks. This late in the year, and we’re still seeing ladybugs. One more extra special thing about Wren Island.” She stopped recording and tucked her phone away.

Shasta scooped sand and let it run through her fingers. “Is your YouTube channel still private?”

“Yes, because I want Allison to see all the videos first.”

“Have you gotten any more comments from Hack? Or anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me if you see another comment?”

Amelia looked up. “Why?”

Shasta shrugged. “I just want to be helpful.”

“Okay. As long as you’re not as helpful as Macy tries to be.”

Shasta laughed. “Mace is going to have a blast with Allison today. I’m glad she’s taking a break.”

“She’ll still be taking care of Allison, though. Even though Allison is perfectly capable of taking care of Allison.”

Shasta smiled. “That’s Virgil’s line.”

“He’s awfully nice.”

“Cute, too. If Allison isn’t careful, she’s going to be swept right off her feet.”

“That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?”

Shasta scooped more sand, released it. “With Virgil, it probably would be.”

46

Too tired

Allison angled wide around the western point, gave the boulders a wide berth, pulled into the boathouse, and killed the motor. “Whew.”

Aunt Macy helped her tie up, disembark, and close up the boathouse—one painstaking step at a time. Then Aunt Macy looked at her. “Home for a while?”

Allison hobbled along the dock next to her aunt. “To tell you the truth, Aunt Macy, that trip took more out of me than I expected it to. I think I’ll be happy to stick around Wren for a while.”

Closer to the house and back within cell service, her phone dinged with a bunch of missed messages. She peeked at the screen. All the calls were from an unlisted number. No voice mails, though.

“I want you to take a nap this afternoon, sweetheart.”

“Yeah. I will.” With Aunt Macy’s help, she worked her way up the grassy dune.

She was taking a break, leaning against one of the concrete lions, when her phone rang. Her financial advisor. “Mark? Can you give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back?”

She waved for Aunt Macy to go inside without her, crossed the final steps to a bench near the fire pit, sat, and returned Mark’s call. “What’s the news?”

“Not much. Except that the FBI will be getting in touch. And you’re not supposed to communicate with anyone you don’t know.”

Allison rubbed one aching knee, then the other. “Can you make sure my other accounts stay protected?”

“Of course.”

When the call ended, she leaned against the bench’s backrest and closed her eyes. Couldn’t anything around here be straightforward anymore?

When Virgil sat next to her, she was too tired to open her eyes.

“Trip wore you out,” Virgil observed.

“Yep. Everything okay around here?”

“Yep.” Virgil adjusted his ball cap. She knew that even without opening her eyes.

When her phone rang again, she ignored it.

“Want me to answer that?”

“Can you look and see who it is?”

Virgil shifted on the bench. “Unidentified number. Probably a salesperson.”

Either that or the FBI, she wanted to say, but didn’t. The phone stopped ringing. A flock of starlings fluttered into a nearby tree, chattering.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Virgil finally asked.

She squeezed her eyes tighter against the tears. Took a square breath around the corners. One, two, three, four. “Aunt Macy asked all around for Mattie Conway. She wants to give Mattie a job here on Wren, housekeeping for us. Save her from Lester. But we never found her.”

“You didn’t cover all that ground with her, did you?”

“No. I rested at the tea shop. But I think the worst part is …” When her voice cracked, she swallowed. “The worst part is, Aunt Macy’s really good at saving people. At helping people when they need it most. So I wish she could save the world. Or at least Mattie. But things don’t always work out the way you want them to, do they? Sometimes you put in all that effort, and all you end up with is a raging headache and an aching hip. And a vanilla ice cream cone.”

Her phone rang again. She opened her eyes, reached for it, and silenced the ringer. “We did learn something crucial today, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Aunt Macy’s going to need a lot more lessons before she can pilot Buttercup on her own.”

With Virgil steadying her, she stood and walked back to the house.

47

Up to something

So, they were at it again. Shasta and Ralph. Heading into the forest to noodle. Or whatever it was they were up to. Macy pulled on boots, as quickly as a woman her age ought to be expected to, and darted out the door of the sunroom.

Darted wasn’t quite how she’d gone. More like clomped across the concrete steps and patio like an elephant wearing too-big cowboy boots. But Shasta and Ralph hadn’t noticed her, so the effect was the same as if she’d darted. Thank goodness Louise was down at the beach. Louise would have given her away, for sure.

She followed the sound of Shasta’s laughter and Ralph’s rumbling voice. Under the thick shade of evergreens, the temperature dropped. When she tripped over a tree root and flailed into the dry branches of a bush, a flock of birds lifted, startled. Up ahead, the voices continued. So they didn’t know she was following them. She paid closer attention to her steps along the trail as she walked deeper into Ralph’s property.

Hansel and Gretel. Wish she’d thought of them before she’d started. Trail markers to find her way back home would have been a smart idea.

Was this just the craziest thing ever? Following her own sister? But, oh well. She’d started following them, so she’d keep following them. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Whatever she discovered out here, though, she was not telling Allison about it. What Allison didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

When Shasta stepped into a clearing, sunlight lit the top of her faded unicorn-colored hair. Ralph’s head lit up, too. In a movie, that would suggest they were angels. But they weren’t, obviously. Macy slowed her pace and crept closer to the clearing.

What on earth?

A storage shed, maybe. Partly finished. Mostly finished. Or was it a barn? No windows, though. Shasta and Ralph came here to noodle?

Shasta sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. Ralph walked around the building, talking, and Shasta seemed to be agreeing with whatever Ralph said. Then Ralph walked off, leaving Shasta to inspect her nails. There was the sound of Ralph’s truck door slamming shut, then the turnover of the engine. The crunch of gravel quieted as Ralph directed the truck toward the main road.

Macy stepped out from the forest. “Shasta.”

“Golly!” Shasta’s hand flew to cover her heart. “Good golly, Mace! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Shasta. What is going on around here?”

Shasta stood and put her hands on her hips. “You’re snooping.”

“I’m worried about you. I think you and Ralph are up to something.”

“Up to something! Ralph Wesson is a better man than you’ve ever known, Mace! You remember that, next time you get on your high and mighty horse and tell people what to do.”

Macy stepped back from the force of her sister’s message.

“He’s the best man I’ve ever known,” Shasta spat through tears. “I don’t care about his past. And I’m sure not going to let anyone take advantage of him.”

“Shasta, please.” Macy reached for her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? So you can fix it? Well, guess what, Mace? Some things are beyond even your super powerfuls.”

“Super powerfuls. Do you mean superpowers?”

“Whatever.” Shasta tried to sound tough about it, but ended in a giggle. She sank back to the log. Macy sat and put an arm around her.

Shasta leaned into her. “Mace, I can’t tell you anything. Can’t you just trust me?”

Macy sighed. “I trust you, Shasta. It’s Ralph I’m not sure about. You say you don’t want anyone taking advantage of him. But … are you sure Ralph’s not taking advantage of you?”

48

Software

On a lounge chair at the edge of the dune, overlooking the ocean, Allison pulled the warm blanket close against the chilly breeze. How many more afternoons would be warm enough to sit outside like this? Those clouds building in the west meant rain tonight. Maybe Virgil would offer to pull the lounge chairs into the storage shed before dark.

Or maybe Ralph would do it. He was angling his boat onto the beach landing now. With two passengers leaning over the front railing. (Whatever happened to the Ralph who didn’t get paid enough to transport passengers?)

Before the boat was fully in position, the passengers hopped off. Wow. You didn’t jump off Ralph’s boat like that unless you were confident in your physical abilities. Allison repositioned her own stiff legs.

Louise raced down to the beach and barked in circles, happy. One visitor stayed to talk with Ralph and pet Louise. The other headed toward the house. Allison shut down the image of Lester striding toward her house. Thank goodness Ralph had run interference that day.

The passenger yakking with Ralph was obviously interested in Ralph’s rig. Ralph was obviously pleased to have someone so interested.

The other visitor must be at the house by now. Should she get up and greet them? No, let Aunt Macy take care of it. Allison closed her eyes, listened to Ralph’s guffawing laughter above the rolling waves.

“Allison, sweetheart.” Aunt Macy tapped her arm. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.” Allison fended off Louise’s cold nose and blinked against the sunlight. Aunt Macy had someone with her. “Oh, hello.”

“Allison, this nice lady is from a music composition software company.” Aunt Macy turned to the visitor. “Can I bring you and your partner a muffin? A glass of lemonade?”

“Thanks, but we won’t be staying long.”

Aunt Macy tsked. “You sales people will sure go the long way for a sale. I’ll leave you two to talk music, then.” Aunt Macy headed back toward the house.

The visitor pulled a lounge chair closer.

Allison worked to sit up. “Sorry I’m not more mobile. Or moving very fast. I’m recovering from an accident.”

“Yes, I know.” The woman smiled, kindly, and produced a badge. “Special Agent Nancy Sterling, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Allison sat back. “Seriously? Couldn’t you have just called?”

Nancy raised her eyebrows. “We tried that?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t want to answer calls from numbers I didn’t know. Why does my aunt think you sell music composition software?”

Nancy motioned toward the beach, where her partner and Ralph were now rapping on the hull of Ralph’s boat. “The software is our cover. You’re one of our most valued customers, so we came here ourselves to demonstrate the newest features.”

“I see.”

Nancy handed Allison a business card. “Here’s the name of our software company. That’s the number to call when you need us. Put that number in your phone so you’ll recognize our calls.”

“Okay.” Allison tucked the card into her pocket.

“Put the number in your phone. I’ll wait.”

Allison pulled out the card and her phone, added the contact information, showed it to Nancy for approval, then tucked everything away. “Now what?”

Nancy opened an electronic tablet and held it between them. Even though the screen was blank, Nancy pointed to it as she talked. “This is me showing you the new software features. We have a lead on who we think moved your money. Someone we’ve been following for a while. Not an organized unit, but an individual who gets their kicks from playing with other peoples’ money. Your financial advisor tells us your other accounts are protected.”

“Yes.”

“So we’ll bait the account this individual already got into. We think he works on money from people he knows.” Nancy pulled up a list of names on the tablet. “Do any of these look familiar?”

Allison read the names. “No, I don’t think so.”

Nancy pulled the screen closer and read aloud more names.

“No.” Allison shook her head. “None of those sound familiar. Sorry.”

“Okay, here’s a few more. Hack Smith?”

“Hack?”

“Do you know someone called Hack Smith?”

“I know someone named Hack Wesson. He visited Wren. His dad is Ralph, the guy who brought you here.”

Nancy angled the screen to show Allison a photo. “This the Hack you met?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“And you met him in person. Here on Wren Island. And he said he’s related to that guy over there. Ralph …”

“Wesson.” Allison’s heart seemed to sink.

Nancy scrolled through the screen and looked up. “The guy you met here on Wren is our guy. But he’s not related—biologically, anyway—to Ralph Wesson.”

Allison blinked. “I don’t understand. Why would Ralph say Hack is his son, if he’s not?”

Nancy drummed her fingers on the lounge chair armrest, then stood. She stepped forward to the edge of the dune grass and tucked her hair behind one ear. “Nan to Zel.” Her voice was so low, Allison hardly heard it.

The partner on the beach pointed to something in the distance.

“Your guy might be connected,” Nancy continued in the same low voice.

The partner raised both arms high and stretched.

Nancy sat back down next to Allison and smiled. “Always wanted to see this part of the country.”

Allison watched Ralph and Nancy’s partner laugh about something. The knot in her stomach tightened. “He told all of us Hack was his son. Why would Ralph say Hack is his son, if he’s not?”

“It is unexpected that our guy would partner with someone using their real name. We’ll sort it out.” Nancy folded the electronic screen, stood, waved to her partner on the beach, and turned to Allison. “Remember, don’t say anything to anyone about any of this. And whatever Ralph Wesson says, act like you believe it.”

Allison smoothed the blanket on her lap. Aunt Shasta was awfully tight with Ralph these days. Ralph was hanging around the house more and more. What if everything wasn’t as it seemed? What if Ralph was involved in something that might hurt them? Allison looked up. “Hack said he’d come back to Wren this fall.”

“Perfect. We’ll be ready for him. Don’t worry, Allison. We’ve got your back. Oh, look. Whales. I was hoping I’d see whales.” Nancy sat back down and smiled. “Maybe I will stay a while longer.”

Part 5

Following the Rules

49

Some punk kid

Allison watched in the mirror as her hair got shorter, one section at a time. Snip, snip, snip. The hairstyling space she’d set up for Aunt Shasta included a large mirror surrounded by stage lights, a wall rack for tools, a turquoise-colored cabinet for styling products, and a top-of-the-line shampoo bowl. Allison tried not to wince every time Aunt Shasta punctuated her animated story with a wave of the scissors.

“So then what your mom did,” Aunt Shasta continued, “is go straight to the principal. Walked right into his office! Told him the school shouldn’t allow bullies in this day and age. That’s exactly how she said it. In this day and age. Funny thing for a fifteen-year-old to say.” Snip, snip, snip. “Anne became our hero for that. Mace never got over it. Mace likes to think of herself as our hero. But it was Anne who saved us that time. Aww, these curls are just like Anne’s used to be.”

While Aunt Shasta fingered the curls at the back of Allison’s neck, Allison let a wave of loneliness wash over her. Even surrounded by her mom’s sisters, or maybe because she was surrounded by her mom’s sisters, the emptiness that was Anne, gone now, nearly fogged her in at times.

Wouldn’t her mom laugh at cute Aunt Shasta today? Yellow corduroy overalls patched with flowery hot air balloons. A wad of gum blown into a pink bubble, then popped with satisfaction.

Aunt Shasta looped Allison’s hair behind one ear. “Those diamonds real? Golly, they’re pretty.”

Allison studied the sparkling gems reflected in the mirror. “They’re real, but lab grown, so they’re produced without dangerous mining work. Or forced labor.”

“Woot!” Aunt Shasta hopped in place and Allison dodged the scissors. “Good for you, chickee. Buying responsibly. We all could do more of that.”

While Aunt Shasta spritzed water onto Allison’s hair, Allison closed her eyes. Aunt Shasta could benefit from tips about buying responsibly. All those online purchases! Then selling most of what she’d bought. And what about all the time Aunt Shasta was spending with Ralph—a guy who may or may not be involved in a sketchy credit card situation the FBI was investigating. When the spritzing stopped, Allison opened her eyes to see a worried version of herself in the mirror. “What are you using the money for, Aunt Shasta? From the stuff you sell?”

“Oh, I don’t know what I’ll do with it, exactly.” Aunt Shasta blew a bubble, popped it, sucked it back in. “It’ll go to a good cause, though.”

Allison eased her shoulders out of their tight position. “Like what?”

Snip, snip, snip. Another pink bubble blown, popped, sucked in. Aunt Shasta sighed and set aside the scissors. She pulled a rolling stool close and sat. “I gotta tell you something, chickee. You gotta keep this quiet. Nobody but you and me. Ralph’s in trouble. Like prison time trouble.”

The tension returned to Allison’s shoulders.

“Ralph did time. Long ago. Before he got saved and came to Jesus, if you know what I mean. And now somebody’s blackmailing him.”

Allison’s mind raced, filling in the possibilities. Was Hack the someone blackmailing Ralph? Was Ralph involved in stealing Allison’s money? Did the FBI want Ralph now, too? Oh, no. What about Aunt Shasta? What if she got caught up in this, too?

“Ralph hasn’t been paying taxes, see?” Aunt Shasta shook her head. “Because here on Wren, it’s not like we have much for taxes to go toward. No schools, no paid fire department. Golly, not even any law enforcement—and don’t you think that might be a problem someday? Anyway, he thought why pay taxes when he isn’t getting anything? And I’m not saying I think he’s right for doing it. I’m just saying that’s what he did.”

Allison tried for a relaxed tone. “Who’s blackmailing him?”

Aunt Shasta snorted. “Some punk kid who got the big idea to pretend he was Ralph’s son and come here to Wren and everything.”

“Hack.”

“Right-o, chickee. Hack said he’d keep quiet about the tax money if Ralph would pretend to be his dad. For what purpose, who knows? I mean, the kid’s a whack job. Hack the whack job. And by the way, I’m sorry I ever pushed him on you. You’re better off with Virgil. Not as good looking, but much better material.” Aunt Shasta took a breath. “Anyway, that’s what my money’s going toward when I sell stuff. For Ralph to pay off his taxes. Ralph doesn’t want to go back to prison, that’s for sure. Remember when I almost went to Alaska with Hack?”

It was a lot to keep up with, but Allison nodded.

“Ralph stopped me just in time. Told me what was going on. Can you imagine? Me and Hack and the bears. They have enormous bears in Alaska.” Aunt Shasta heaved a long sigh. “Thanks, chickee. I feel better already from telling you about it. Talk about a load off!”

While Aunt Shasta swept the hair on the floor, Allison sorted through the information. The FBI must know about Ralph’s record and that he hadn’t been paying taxes. Ralph and Aunt Shasta knew Hack was blackmailing Ralph, but it didn’t sound like they knew Hack had stolen money from Allison. Or that Hack was wanted by the FBI.

Or maybe Ralph knew about Hack, but Aunt Shasta didn’t. Was Ralph another of Hack’s victims, or his accomplice?

When Aunt Shasta finished sweeping, Allison swiveled the chair to face her. “Are the unpaid taxes the only thing Ralph’s guilty of right now?”

“The only thing? Isn’t that bad enough?” Aunt Shasta removed the slick bib from Allison’s shoulders and shook it clean.

Allison stood and brushed off loose hairs. Maybe the FBI would ease the tax evasion charges if Ralph helped bring in Hack. Did that only happen in movies? “Is Ralph still in contact with Hack?”

“I hope not.” Aunt Shasta blew another bubble, bigger, bigger, until it popped across her lips. Giggling, she sucked it back in. “I sure do feel better now that I’ve told someone.”

“Thanks for the great haircut.” Allison stuffed a five-dollar bill into the goldfish bowl labeled Tips Gratefully Accepted. She left her aunt twirling in delight and stepped outside.

Usually, hairstylists became unofficial therapists, listening to and sympathizing with their clients’ woes. This time, Aunt Shasta was the one confiding worries. Sharing them with someone she trusted. More than anything, Allison wanted her aunts to know they were safe. Free to do, or say, anything.

But, oh, the weight of it. The burden of the knowledge she must keep inside. All those pieces rattling around. One secret after another she couldn’t share because doing so might endanger people she loved.

If the FBI never caught Hack, would she always have to live like this? Worrying he’d steal her money again? Worrying he’d steal from, or hurt, someone else? Regretting she hadn’t been able to help stop him? Hack had said he’d come back to Wren in the fall. What then? Would she have to face him in person?

There was one person she could ask. One person she could talk freely with. One person who always wanted to know everything she knew.

As usual, she spared no details in her text to Nancy. She told Nancy about Hack blackmailing Ralph for unpaid taxes. She said she was worried about Aunt Shasta’s safety and what might happen when Hack returned to Wren. She wrote it all in one lengthy, thorough text, like she always did, so Nancy could be that much more prepared to catch Hack.

Nancy’s reply came a few moments later.

We know about Ralph. And your aunt’s activities. Would it make you feel better to talk in person?

Would it make her feel better to see Nancy? To hear Nancy’s calm, assuring voice tell her, again, that the FBI was working on it? That the FBI had a plan? A solid, fool-proof plan where no one would get hurt? She texted a reply.

Yes, please.

Nancy’s reply came so quick, it must have been an auto-fill option.

Meet at the usual place in 30 minutes?

Allison texted her reply and headed for the forest trail.

50

Keeping track

Allison climbed the ascending trail into the forest, keeping a pace that pushed her physically. She wasn’t as quick or agile as she’d been before the motorbike accident, but she was stronger than yesterday. And, hopefully, she’d be stronger tomorrow.

She stopped to rest at a large arbutus tree like the one on Virgil’s property. Bright red berries declared winter was at hand. As Allison touched the tree’s smooth, orange trunk, a bald eagle circled overhead, teetering its familiar whistle. In the distance, another eagle responded. In still another direction, a third eagle called. The family, keeping track of each other.

Allison moved on, taking the west fork to travel between the commune property and Ralph’s property. Nancy would be coming from the opposite direction. The farmhouse Nancy and her partner, Zelda, had rented rooms in served as a bed-and-breakfast. Guests were invited and expected to help with farm chores. For the last several weeks, either Nancy or Zelda or both had stayed on Wren. Based on information their team collected, Hack might return any time.

So far, there’d been no more suspicious charges on Allison’s credit cards. No movement around her bank accounts. Nothing out of the ordinary except now she was surrounded by an FBI investigation she wished would just go away. Because it wasn’t just her she was responsible for now. Her aunts depended on her! The sooner Hack got caught, the better. It was eerie the way someone could take over your life without even being there.

Like the other night, when they’d all been watching a football game on television. Ralph, Virgil, and Jax were there. The dogs were wearing the green and yellow outfits Aunt Shasta insisted on stuffing them into for Green Bay Packers games. A commercial came on for a show about a family in Alaska, the same show Hack had said he’d flown for. Aunt Amelia wondered aloud if Hack had flown the plane to film that particular segment.

Allison had taken advantage of the opportunity. “Hey Ralph, any idea when Hack’s planning to come back?”

Ralph muttered an answer no one could understand.

Allison, pushing, had asked him to please repeat what he’d said.

“How am I supposed to know when the kid’s coming back?” Ralph’s bellowing woke Louise from her snooze.

“Okay, okay.” Aunt Shasta had smoothed Ralph’s shirt and refilled his bowl of Doritos. “Nobody said you had to know.”

Everyone settled back into watching the game after that, but Allison had felt like she was being crushed from the inside out. She’d never been good at keeping secrets. Maybe that’s what made her so uninteresting. She had set aside her glass of root beer, stood for a second or two until her legs were steady, then headed for the kitchen.

Next thing you know, Virgil was at her side asking questions. Was she okay? Was she feeling sick? Was something bothering her?

Couldn’t Virgil see she’d come to the kitchen to get away? Yet here were more questions piling up in front of her. She’d snapped at him. Instead of drawing back, he’d given her an odd look. Like he, too, was puzzling things together. Like he might be … worried about her. Worried about her! Well, guess what? Allison Theodore wasn’t the one they needed to worry about. The one they needed to worry about was a whack job named Hack Wesson. Or Hack Smith. Or whatever his name was. All those aliases! He could be anyone, anywhere!

She continued on the trail to meet Nancy, picking up the pace, pushing herself. Her mending hip wasn’t going to appreciate it. But no pain, no gain.

The tree she was meeting Nancy at was a giant oak, surrounded by moss-covered fallen trees. A dead zone for Allison’s cell phone, but Nancy always got service.

Nancy was counting jumping jacks when Allison arrived. Wow, over three hundred already. Allison sat on a log and waited, mostly ignoring her throbbing hip. Finally, Nancy finished. Four hundred and fifty!

Allison asked about Hack’s history flying for television film crews.

“He never flew for a film crew.” Nancy wiped sweat from her brow. “He’s never been in Alaska, that we know of. Probably said that thinking you and your aunts would swoon.”

Allison nodded. “One of my aunts nearly left with him. Supposedly to go to Alaska.”

“Shasta?”

“Yep.”

“You can thank your lucky stars that didn’t happen.”

Allison sighed. “So what’s the plan? We just keep sitting around, waiting for him to come back? And then you guys confiscate his laptop and take him in? Nobody’s carrying guns around the island or anything, right?”

“This isn’t exactly a typical case. We’re prepared for anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t want to use firearms. Only as a last resort.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Allison sank her head into her hands. If the FBI was prepared to use guns, did that mean they thought Hack might have a gun? Not good at all! How had she gotten herself into this?

She hadn’t gotten herself into this at all. Hack had started it—with the help of her neighbor, maybe. Did Ralph carry a gun? Aunt Shasta had said Ralph had a record. Allison closed her eyes tighter, curled forward into a ball.

“Allison. Hey.” Nancy touched her shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just hard to know what’s okay to say to who. I feel like I’ve got a million secrets I can’t leak out. How should I treat Ralph now?”

“The same way you have been treating him. Whatever Ralph says, act like you believe it. Anytime you think you’ve learned something helpful or concerning, call or text me. Just like you’ve been doing. Same game, same rules.”

It felt like a lot bigger deal than a game, but the part about following rules was easy enough. She sorted through a few more thoughts with Nancy, thanked her, then headed home by the west trail because it was farthest from Virgil’s cabin. No need to risk running into Virgil. She might end up blurting out something she shouldn’t. She might take one look at that single line of concern creasing his forehead and fall apart. Not okay to do, when there was so much to keep quiet about. She picked her way around a fallen cedar.

Above the forest, the whine of a small airplane grew louder. Was it Hack’s floatplane? Allison picked up her pace. Got to get back home. Got to be with the aunts, preferably inside with the doors locked, when whatever was going to happen, happened.

The plane angled past Wren and continued on. So, not Hack. Allison sat on a log and caught her breath.

What if Hack was never caught? What if he went on to hurt someone else? Some other girl giving life the best she could. Some other girl who wished her mom was here to talk to.

She headed home. Back to the grand house that, a lifetime ago, had existed only to protect her—from stormy weather and anything else the world threw at her.

Now, the magnificent, unending house was spilling over with aunts, dogs, birds, and any friends who happened by. Now, the house was full of treasures she needed to protect.

51

Planning

In the kitchen, Macy took inventory. The upcoming holidays meant planning for both traditional and new recipes. She sorted through baking supplies. When she found a package of vanilla cookies with an expiration date looming, she tore it open and set it next to her coffee. Real coffee, not decaf, because she needed an afternoon pick-me-up. She munched on a cookie. Sipped coffee to take the edge off the sweetness.

By the time she had inventoried the nuts, dried fruit, and chocolate chunks, she was in full flight, buzzing through the kitchen, taking care of things this way and that.

Yikes. Were those more mouse droppings? Macy cleaned the area, then began scrubbing the floors throughout the kitchen and mudroom, because why not keep going once she’d started? In for a penny, in for a pound. It was a lot of floor to scrub, but at least a floor couldn’t break as easily as a windowpane. When she finished, she was wiped out.

Wiped. Out.

She refilled her mug, brought the coffee and cookies to the table, and sat. Actually, the first cookie was the only real kicker. After that, they stopped tasting sweet.

She reached for a pen and paper and jotted menu ideas. For Thanksgiving, she’d make roast turkey with stuffing, green bean casserole, and gingered cranberries. Would Virgil and Jax join them for Thanksgiving dinner? Ralph?

The way Ralph was kicking around the house, it was almost as if he’d moved in. Every so often, Macy checked for signs Ralph had stayed more than one night in a row. But so far, so good.

What Macy really wanted to know, what she was dying to know, was what’s up with that half-built storage shed on Ralph’s property? She had hinted around every which way, trying to draw Shasta into telling her. One thing she knew for sure. Ralph had better not be taking advantage of Shasta. If he was, he was in trouble. With a capital T.

And then there was the Hack factor. The other day, when Macy asked Shasta if she still thought Ralph’s son would be a good match for Allison, Shasta nearly bit off Macy’s head. It was just as well. Virgil was the obvious choice. He was smart, funny, dependable, and kind. Plus, he was crazy about Allison. Patient, too, while Allison took her sweet time coming around.

Another cookie, more coffee. Macy returned to her menu planning.

After Thanksgiving, they’d do Christmas. Imagine how gift giving would go! Shasta would bury them under unnecessary stuff. Impractical gadgets, jeans with holes torn out of the knees, headbands with whirligigs. Then they’d have to give it all back so Shasta could sell it.

Maybe they’d do a no-gifts Christmas. It might not be a bad idea, with Allison acting so strange about money. All that hoopla about making road improvements, gone by the wayside now. It wasn’t like Allison to announce big plans like that, then walk away.

Was it possible Allison’s money was running out?

Macy recalled what she knew of the situation. Those miniature paintings Anne bought at a yard sale had brought in a boatload. It had always seemed like there would be plenty of money to go around. Enough to last several lifetimes. Much, much more than needed. Like how people sometimes went to prison for several life sentences.

Why she thought of that comparison, she honestly didn’t know. Her brain went every which way these days! Firing on all cylinders, all the time. Oh! Probably she thought of it because Shasta had said Ralph had a past. I don’t care about his past, Shasta had said. In a way that indicated Ralph was some sort of criminal. Or had been.

Macy downed another half cup of coffee and warmed up the espresso machine. Popped another couple of cookies. Flustered and warm, she removed her cardigan and tossed it to the back of a chair—like a rockstar tossing undies into the crowd! Goodness. The notions tumbling around in her brain these days. She turned down the thermostat, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and dropped an ice cube in it because she didn’t want to wait for it to cool.

What had she come down here to the kitchen for, anyway? Oh yes. To plan for the holidays.

After the first of the year, she’d go back to green smoothies. And exercise. Jazzercise had worked once, years ago. She jumped up and did a couple of moves she remembered, then sagged back into a chair.

Oh! She popped up again. Cheesy potato casserole for Thanksgiving! And pumpkin crunch cake! With tons of whipped cream!

52

The rules still apply

Allison slid a thin metal spatula under a cutout sugar cookie and transferred it to a cooling rack. Aunt Amelia had yielded spatula duties to Allison after breaking the points off several stars. Now, Aunt Amelia piped white frosting onto snowmen.

Thanksgiving had come and gone. Aunt Macy had outdone herself. A brunch of cinnamon rolls, ham and cheese omelets, and fresh pomegranates flown in from Hawaii. A turkey dinner with all the trimmings, plus four kinds of pie.

In her back pocket, Allison’s phone buzzed. Allison finished transferring the cookies, washed and dried her hands, mopped up the drips on the counter, hung the towel neatly, and checked her phone. A text from Nancy.

Can we talk? Usual place. 30 minutes.

Allison tapped her reply.

See you then.

Under the stark limbs of the now leafless oak, Nancy told Allison she and Zelda were packing it in. Leaving Wren.

Allison absorbed the news, one vaporizing remnant at a time. Her lifeline had been knowing Nancy and Zelda were around to take care of things. Trusting the FBI to sort out a strategic plan. If Nancy and Zelda left Wren, did that mean Allison could stop worrying? That Hack would soon be caught some other way? In some other place? “So you don’t think he’s coming back to Wren?”

“He’s been working on accounts elsewhere. He might have even figured out we tracked him to Wren. Don’t worry, Allison. We’re only a phone call away. Or a text. At the first indication he’s thinking about Wren again, we’ll post an agent nearby.”

“Nearby? Here on Wren?”

“Not necessarily. But close. And the rules still apply. Rule number one is?”

“Don’t talk about this with anyone.”

“Right. Even though we’re leaving Wren, it’s still an open investigation. Rule number two?”

“Whatever Ralph says, act like I believe it.”

“Just like you have been doing. Rule number three?”

“Call or text you if I think I’ve learned something helpful.” Allison sighed. At least an agent would always be available. Close. But would it be close enough?

She headed home by the trail around Virgil’s property—just for variety, because she hadn’t been on that particular trail for a while. It’s not like she was hoping to run into Virgil. She was just taking a different route.

At a viewpoint, she sat on a rock, warm in the sun, cool in the breeze. She pulled out her phone and texted Nancy.

Thanks for everything. Hope you get your guy eventually. Enjoy a nice Christmas with your family.

She tucked her phone away.

So, it all came back to this again. Allison Theodore wasn’t interesting anymore. Once, her situation had been the FBI’s hot project. Now, though … Allison is boring, she really is. Allison is boring, she really is. That song, that ditty, was all she’d been able to come up with for a long, long time. How can you be any good at songwriting without also being a singer? Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you couldn’t be good at it at all. Maybe all you could do was write dumb little ditties.

Virgil said practically the same thing when she ran into him later on the trail. He was wearing the same old binoculars around his neck. Watching the same old bird, probably. Maybe even watching the same old bird snooze. The man was the most easily entertained person she’d ever met.

As they walked, Virgil matched her pace. Her slow pace, because her hip was aching again. That’s when he said it. “Have you been writing any new songs lately?”

The words were innocent enough, but it came out sounding pretty accusatory. She bristled. “I’m always writing songs.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“Allison, is there a particular reason you’re nervous about Hack returning to Wren?”

“Virgil, you really do come up with random questions. Did you know that? Lots and lots of questions. All the time. I never said I’m nervous about Hack coming back. And why are we talking about him, anyway?”

But Virgil wasn’t put off as easily as she’d thought he might be. “Every time someone mentions Hack, or anything remotely related to him, it’s obvious you’re feeling edgy about him coming back.”

“It’s not obvious! Because I’m not feeling edgy, as you say.”

Virgil’s eyebrows went up.

Allison shifted her gait to ease the weight off her bad leg. Would this stupid hip ever heal? She ought to fly to Mexico. Lay on the beach all day, every day, in the sunshine. Nancy Sterling, FBI agent, was leaving Wren. Why shouldn’t Allison Theodore, sometime-songwriter, leave Wren? “Virgil, can you just not ask a bunch of questions for once?”

Farther down the trail, Virgil put a hand on her arm. “Look over there.”

A flock of quail poked through the fallen leaves, peeping as they searched for food.

Allison smiled. A small part of her, one coiled uncomfortably tight these days, loosened. “Aww. They’re cute.”

When the flock zipped into the brush, Virgil pointed at the sky. A bald eagle was circling. The forest grew quieter.

“You want to know something amazing?” Allison sat on a log.

“I’m always up for knowing something amazing.” Virgil sat next to her.

She gave him a sideways glance. I’m always up for knowing something amazing. Was Virgil teasing her? He seemed serious enough. Like he really wanted to know.

She told him about when she’d been injured on Seal Rock and a bald eagle had landed in the tree above her. “And it’s kind of hard to explain, but it felt like I was under the weight of the eagle. I mean, I know eagles must not weigh much. But it was like the air changed when the eagle was that close. Like the eagle and I had somehow connected.”

Virgil tugged loose a stalk of dry grass, stuck one end in his mouth, and chewed. “Some people believe eagles are sacred. Eagles fly higher than any other birds, so they are thought to come closest to the Creator.”

“Huh.”

“Eagles are sometimes thought to deliver messages from the Creator.”

Allison stretched her legs, one at a time. “It felt comforting. In an unexpected way. And it felt …” It felt like it made me interesting, she almost said, but didn’t.

The eagle moved on. The symphony of birdsong resumed. The quail family came peeping out from the brush.

Allison stood. Stronger now. Ready for … Well, maybe she didn’t need to be ready anymore. Maybe this whole mess with Hack was over.

When the trail opened at the clearing around Allison’s house, Virgil stopped walking and grinned. “Now I’ll tell you something amazing.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.” Allison put her hands on her hips.

“I’m organizing the stockroom.”

“Oh, sure you are. You’re probably putting fresh peaches next to dry rice. And cereal next to first aid kits.”

“You can believe whatever you want. But I have a question.”

“Just one?” When he laughed, she did, too. “Well, Mr. I’m-organizing-the-stockroom-and-it’s-going-to-be-amazing? What’s the question?”

“Can I borrow your label maker?”

He left, holding the label maker like a prize, walking backward up the driveway, grinning at her. Leaving her feeling as if she might actually be interesting—to Virgil, anyway. And she was nearly overwhelmed by the impulse to run to him and spill everything. Hand over all the confusing pieces, all the information she wasn’t supposed to share with anyone. Ask him to take it, all of it, and not give any of it back until the fragments were made whole.

But being interesting today didn’t guarantee she’d still be interesting tomorrow. And it was no fun thinking you’d found someone who would always love you—someone who would always be interested in you just because you were you and no one else—then discover, the next day, you weren’t anything special at all.

So she just waved, again, then went inside.

53

Dreary

On a damp, dreary Friday in early January, Amelia pulled the next outfit from her closet. A flannel plaid skirt, leggings, turtleneck, and warm boots. She dressed, returned the empty hangers to the left end of the rod, then slid all the other hangers to the right. Now tomorrow’s outfit was next in line, ready to go.

She brushed her teeth and applied the teeth-whitening strips Allison stocked just for her. Listened to a holiday album by Josh Groban.

Christmas had come and gone. It had been kind of a bust, if you asked her. Macy swinging between hyperactivity and weariness. Allison startling every time someone so much as clunked a mug to the counter. Shasta buying a ton of Christmas gifts and decorations. Then what did Shasta do? Sell most of it. Brand new stuff! Amelia received e-books and audio books as gifts. Big whoop. More of the accessible stuff for poor Melia.

And the worst part? There’d been no whales on Christmas day. For the first time ever, she hadn’t gotten something on her list of nice things to wish for. She sighed.

One good thing had come out of the holidays, though. She’d made a few dollars! All on her own! What she did was gather sticks from the forest, soak them in water until they were flexible, and shape them into wreaths. Then she added shells, lichen, and pine cones. Now, her wreaths were hanging all over Wren. They were also hanging in Annapolis, Maryland! Tourists bought her last twenty wreaths and shipped them home. Amelia Theodore’s shell wreaths decorated houses on the other side of the country! The world was microscopic small, when you thought about it that way.

Allison had helped Amelia set up her very own bank account and even put money in it, saying she owed Amelia for taking care of the dogs. But anyone would be happy to take care of nice doggies like Lokita and Louise! The money Allison put in the account was a handout. Like breadcrumbs to seagulls.

Amelia pulled the whitening strips off her teeth, rinsed her mouth, and wiped the bathroom counter dry. Back in the bedroom, she headed for the collection of stuffed animals on a bench under one window. Time to rearrange for a new conversation.

She positioned the penguin in the center. He knew lots about surviving winter and could teach the others. Closest to the penguin, she put the lizard and clown fish. Out of all the animals, they’d need the most help knowing how to get through winter. She put the orcas and polar bear at the back because they were old pros about winter.

A wash of raindrops splashed across the window. Here on Wren, it wasn’t snowstorms you had to worry about. It was windstorms. Miles and miles of wind would brew over the ocean for days, then slam into the coast all at once. Add heavy rain, and watch out. Hold on to your hats, folks. That’s what she’d say if she were narrating a video about it.

She turned off the music and lights and headed downstairs.

In the sunroom, she fed Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon. Warm and dry in their spacious cage, the Australian Zebra Finches didn’t mind the dreary weather at all. They hopped from perch to perch, twittering and happy, just like always. Amelia sat and watched.

The dogs wandered into the sunroom together, wearing the lighted sweaters Shasta gave them for Christmas. Each sweater was knit with red and white stripes. Zipped into the seam, a battery pack powered flashing red and white lights. The sweaters were identical—except Louise’s was much larger than Lokita’s, of course. When Amelia stood and headed for the kitchen, the dogs followed her. Blink, blink, blink. Like walking in a parade!

Allison, Macy, and Shasta were in the kitchen eating breakfast. Whole grain toast with fresh avocado, white bread with peanut butter, and an everything bagel with cream cheese, respectively.

Macy rubbed her eyes. “When the batteries die, we’re putting away those sweaters. All that flashing gives me a headache.”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fun. Like having two electric candy canes walking around the house.”

Shasta reached to give Amelia a high five. “Electric candy canes. Good one, sis.”

At the counter, Amelia fixed herself a bowl of fruity loops cereal with milk.

“Melia, you’re dropping crumbs again.” Macy said this without even looking up.

Amelia wiped the crumbs into the nearest sink.

“Rinse them down, Melia.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at her warden sister, ran the water to sort of wash down most of the crumbs, then headed to the table with her cereal bowl. She sat next to Allison and pulled out her phone. “Would it be okay if I make my YouTube channel public now? It’s all ready to go.”

“I don’t know, Aunt Amelia. Maybe we ought to wait a while longer. There’s no rush, right?” Allison sounded worried again. Worry, worry, worry. Was that all anyone did around here anymore?

Amelia chewed a bite of cereal and swallowed. “Virgil says people would probably pay to see my videos. I could start making money.”

Shasta leaned into Allison and fluttered her eyelashes. “Ah, well, if Virgil said it, it must be true.”

The chair scraped loudly as Allison stood. “Let’s wait a while longer, okay? There’s no reason to draw attention to Wren Island.”

When Allison had gone, Amelia surveyed her sisters. “Everyone’s so mopey these days.”

“Says Miss Sunshine.” Macy smothered another slice of bread with peanut butter.

The silver bangles on Shasta’s arms clinked as she twiddled first one set of false eyelashes, then the other. “Wonder what’s bothering Allison. Do you think she found out about the mice?”

Amelia looked up. “We have mice again?”

Shasta pulled out a compact and checked her lipstick in the tiny mirror. “Ever since Old Man Frost showed up, entire extended families have been moving in. Cousins, brothers, kids, grandparents. They’re all living happily under one roof. Ours.”

Macy reached for the peanut butter jar. “What Allison doesn’t know won’t—”

“Oh, Mace. Again with the same old mantra. Give it up already.”

“Give it up! I could name a few things you could give up!”

While her sisters bickered, Amelia collected the empty dishes, rinsed them in the sink, and added them to the dishwasher.

“Melia, you left wet drips all over the floor.”

“Amelia, are you going out? Are people going to see you? You wore that same outfit last week.”

In the mudroom, Amelia pulled on a raincoat and boots, then called into the kitchen. “I’ll be at the commune if anyone needs me.”

“The commune again!”

“What have they got that we don’t have?”

She didn’t slam the door as she left, but she did imagine doing it.

54

Halfway to anywhere

In the aviary at the commune, Amelia cradled a feathery bit of life in one hand. With her other hand, she squeezed an eyedropper just enough to offer a dose of vitamins. The injured sparrow had been found in the forest and brought to the aviary a week ago. Amelia snugged the bird back into its nest under a warm light. At the next cage, where a junco was recovering from having lost a leg, Amelia repeated the process.

Overhead, the canvas roof of the tent flapped. The mesh sides billowed. The wind must be picking up.

“Amelia?” Ed called from the other side of the aviary, where he was cleaning food and water dishes. “Would you go up to the main building and get another jar of dish soap? In the kitchen. In the cabinet under the counter to the left of the freezer.”

Amelia said she’d be happy to. You can always count on Amelia Theodore, folks.

She pulled her hood up against the wind and counted fence posts between the aviary and the main building. The sun set so early this time of year! That was because Wren Island was located so far north. It also meant the days were extra long in the summer! She could make a video about it for her YouTube channel. Not that anyone was going to see the channel anytime soon, with Allison putting the kibosh on the project.

In the kitchen, she found the dish soap just where Ed said it would be, then peeked around. The cabinets weren’t labeled like they were at home, but she could easily find her way around this kitchen on her own. If she ever needed to.

On her way out, she passed the library, where someone was always monitoring the hydrophone. Such a quiet, relaxing job. Working in a library, listening for whales.

Back in the aviary, she removed her coat and handed over the jar.

“Thanks.” Ed smiled.

Amelia helped him finish cleaning, then dried her hands on a towel embroidered with hummingbirds. “How do you get to be a member of the commune?”

Ed accepted the towel she offered and dried his own hands. “There’s a joining fee, then ongoing dues. Everyone brings skills to share. We all commit to established guidelines. New members must be approved by the current members.”

The way Ed smiled at her when he said that last part made it seem like she’d be approved, no problem-o. Macy would blow a gasket, though. With the way things were going, even Allison and Shasta might be annoyed.

“In addition to your interest in helping rehabilitate birds,” Ed continued, “what skills would you be bringing with you? If you wanted to join us, that is.”

Amelia thought. Making shell wreaths? Probably not the whiz-bang kind of expertise they wanted. Walking dogs on the beach? Again, not so remarkable.

“Did you retire from a career?” Ed draped the towel to dry.

Amelia shrugged. “I never had to work. I always lived with someone who wanted to take care of me.”

“You were married? Kids?”

Amelia shook her head.

Ed considered her. “What about hobbies?”

“I like making nature videos.” She pulled out her phone and ran a couple past Ed.

He nodded. “We’ve been wanting to do something like this on social media. That’s definitely a skill you’d be bringing. But you’d need to be a member of the commune for us to use the videos.”

Amelia shrugged. Again. (Shrugging all day long.) “You can have the videos. You can say someone from the commune made them.”

“We wouldn’t do that. We’d want you to get credit for the videos.”

“Credit?”

“Income. To be used around the commune, or saved for a rainy day, or whatever you want.”

“But I’d have to be a member.”

Ed nodded again.

Amelia put away her phone. Halfway between here and anywhere she wanted to be, that’s where she was. “I guess I’ll head home.”

Ed helped her into her raincoat. “It’ll be dark soon. How about I drive you back in the Polaris?”

It’s not like she was a baby. It’s not like she needed someone to hold her hand all the time. She could get herself back home on her own, for sure. “Thanks, Ed, but I like walking.”

She followed the fence posts until they ended at the edge of the forest. Someday there’d be fencing along the main trails, too, but no one had gotten around to that part yet. It didn’t matter. She’d walked this way dozens of times. Maybe a hundred.

Further down the trail, a gust of wind loosened a shower of pine cones and small branches. Amelia ducked. When the trail split, she headed the way she was supposed to, except it turned out it wasn’t the right way. The forest looked different when every tree was waving hello at the same time! She backtracked to the junction and took the other fork, which had to be the correct trail. Except the further she went, the more certain she became she was taking the long way, not the short way. But she’d end up at the house from one direction or another. She trudged along, keeping her eyes on the trail.

55

Spotlight on a mouse

Macy finished her Mountain Dew—the real deal, not the kind with less sugar and caffeine—and refilled the glass. A late afternoon pick-me-up.

She wandered into the sunroom and peered out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Trees, waving branches. Pine cones, dropping by the basketful. Raindrops, falling lightly, then pounding in a flood, then gone.

Back in the kitchen, she found Allison working at the table, her laptop open and headphones covering her ears. Allison must be writing a new ditty—a new song, she meant.

“Glad I started the slow cooker this morning.” Macy lifted the lid and stirred the simmering soup. “If the power goes out, we’ll have a warm dinner.”

There was no sign Allison had heard.

Macy spotted the mouse when it poked its beady eyeballs around the doorframe connecting the kitchen to the mudroom. She shot a look toward Allison, who was still absorbed in her work, then moved casually toward the broom closet.

Not casually enough, though. Her switch to stealth mode drew Louise’s curiosity. Blink, blink, blink. Louise’s flashing red and white sweater might as well have been a spotlight on the mouse. Macy shot another look toward Allison. Still completely absorbed.

With a broom, Macy swept the kitchen floor—just like she would any old day, except every sweep sent the mouse tumbling closer to liberty. Macy cracked open the service door and, with one final whisk, sent the creature out to damp, but no doubt greener, pastures. She heaved the door closed against the rising wind and turned around.

Louise was watching her. Blink, blink, blink. Allison was still engrossed in her laptop. Macy breathed a sigh of relief. What Allison didn’t know wouldn’t … Goodness. She put a hand over her fluttering heart. Must be from the excitement of liberating another mouse.

Back in the kitchen, she finished her soda and scratched at her scalp, which felt like it had duct tape stuck all over it. She checked the electronic weather station. The air pressure was dropping. The radar showed a bank of rain building in the west, moving east. A blast of wind hit the house, high, near the roof. Macy peered into the sunroom. Were those window panes bending? This storm was making her entire body feel like—

“Aunt Macy?”

She spun around.

Allison had removed her headphones. “Where’s Aunt Amelia?”

“At the commune. Taking care of birds again, probably.” What she’d really like to do was go to bed. Just call it a day and sleep through the rest of this wretched weather. But life wasn’t about liking things, was it? It was about taking care of things. Besides, if she went to bed now, she’d just lie there and feel jittery. At least here in the kitchen, she could take care of—

“Do you think we ought to go get her?” Allison, again.

Macy sank into a chair, scratched her head. “She’ll be fine. There’s still a couple more hours of daylight.”

“With this storm moving in, there won’t be.”

Macy waved, exhausted. “Go get her if you’re worried about her. Or just call and tell her to stay there tonight.”

Allison peered at Macy, then stood and headed for the mudroom. Louise followed her. Blink, blink, blink. “Want to come along, Louise?”

The dog studied the dimness beyond the open door, then backed up.

“Why not just call and check on Melia?” How far away her own voice sounded, even to herself!

Allison pulled on rain boots. “I could use the exercise. See you in a bit.”

When Louise leaned against her, Macy closed her eyes. Still, the pulse, pulse, pulse continued in her head.

56

Tilting

As Allison crossed her driveway, she zipped up her bright yellow raincoat. The marine report indicated eleven-foot swells every eleven seconds, building to thirteen-foot swells after sunset. Across the sky, gray clouds rolled like a bolt of the fabric batting her mother used to sew into quilts. At least the rain had let up. For the moment.

“Allison!” Ralph walked up the driveway. His gigantic rain slicker could have sheltered an entire family.

The last thing she needed right now was to get caught up in a conversation with Ralph, then have to track down Nancy with an update, during a storm, when phone service and internet would be sketchy. All while nighttime, with its stormy darkness, was coming on by the minute. “I need to go get Aunt Amelia. She’s at the commune.”

“This won’t take long. Just want your boathouse key. To lock it up.”

Lock her boathouse? Why would she do that? No one would want to use her cruiser in this weather. And why would Ralph want her boathouse locked? Something didn’t seem right, but it was hard to tell. Another rattling piece of information to figure out what to do with. “That’s okay. I hardly ever bother locking it. I was down there yesterday and checked it’s storm-ready.”

“I’ll lock it up for you. The key, please?”

“Did you just say please?” Allison gaped. When Ralph focused on pushing streams of raindrops off his coat, Allison took a long breath against the rising sense she was being pulled under. Sinking. Was Ralph still in communication with Hack? Did Ralph know something about Hack coming back to Wren? Was Ralph helping Hack return? Rule number one. Don’t talk about this with anyone. There was no way she was asking Ralph about his involvement before she checked in with Nancy. “Thanks, but I’ll take care of it.”

She turned to go, but he stopped her. “Don’t call Nancy.”

Rule number two. Whatever Ralph says, act like you believe it. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Ralph stepped closer. “Nancy Sterling. Hack knows you’ve been talking to the FBI.”

The world seemed to shift.

Tilt.

Go off axis entirely.

Her panic must have shown, because her hand was taken and held, warm, in both of Ralph’s. “Allison, listen. What Hack doesn’t know is that I’m helping the FBI, too. We set it up so he would have absolutely no way of knowing someone’s still waiting for him on Wren. But right now, you and I have got to do this on our own.”

When she spoke, her voice sounded smaller than it ever had. “Do what on our own?”

“Hack’s expecting me to pick him up on the mainland in an hour. Once I’ve got him at my place, I’ll contact Nancy.”

“You’re bringing him to Wren? Tonight? In this weather?” Her voice was getting more shrieky with every question. Rule number three. Contact Nancy if you learn something helpful. “Why can’t we contact Nancy now?”

“Not supposed to until I’ve got Hack at my place. Then all I do is hit a button. All you have to do is pretend you don’t know what’s going on.”

“That won’t be hard to do, because I don’t know what’s going on! You’re supposed to hit a button? Why would Hack even want to come back now, after all this time?”

In a flash of transparency, the expression on Ralph’s face revealed the frightening answer. Hack was coming back to even the score, somehow. Now that the FBI had pulled out, it’d be easier to do.

Ralph recovered his bluster. He threw his hands in the air, sending a shower of drops off his flapping sleeves. “Why does the kid do anything he does? Part of the plan is that he thinks your cruiser will be ready to go. So lock your boathouse or this whole thing goes haywire. Keep everyone inside. Act like nothing unusual is going on. And don’t contact Nancy.”

Rule number two. Whatever Ralph says, act like you believe it. Act like it. Did that mean actually take action as if she believed Ralph? Or did that mean pretend she believed Ralph, then follow rule number three and contact Nancy?

57

Low batteries

“Aunt Macy?”

“Goodness!” Macy twitched alert. Her niece stood in the mudroom, with water dripping off her jacket, and looked as terrible as Macy felt. Pale and jittery. Was the girl getting sick?

Allison motioned to the key rack. “Can you hand me the key to the boathouse? I don’t want to walk in wearing these muddy boots. And can you get me a flashlight?”

Boathouse key. Flashlight. Macy collected them. Her heart was racing again. So why did she feel so sluggish? She should stop drinking so much soda. Get back to drinking green smoothies. This far into the new year, and she’d made no headway on her resolutions. She handed over the key and flashlight.

Allison squinted at her. “Are you feeling all right? You don’t look so good.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Her niece paled even more.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Two electric candy canes nosed around Allison. “Too bad Louise is afraid to go outside in the dark. You could take her with you to light the way.”

Allison studied the blinking sweaters. “Looks like the batteries are finally going to go.”

“Thank goodness.”

Allison peered at her again. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Maybe you should lie down for a while.”

She shooed her niece out the door. “As soon as you and Melia get back, we’ll have dinner.”

“I’m heading down to the boathouse first,” Allison called on her way out.

When Allison had gone, Macy gave the dogs each a cookie, the no crumble kind, then snugged Lokita into her kitchen bed. She sliced fresh bread and put together a green salad to go with the soup. Set a few unlit candles and a book of matches on the table in case the power went out.

It might be that she’d fallen asleep while sitting in the chair at the table. Lokita’s soft snoring was such a peaceful sound! Or maybe she’d just let herself rest. Lots of people rested in the afternoon! Either way, it was darker—much darker—when she opened her eyes. She flipped on lights and moved to the sink. She cleaned the knives she’d used and stored them in the block on the counter.

She ought to make an appointment with her doctor on the mainland. She’d seen her doctor not too long ago because Allison insisted they all keep up with their regular health checks. With no doctor on Wren, the last thing they needed was to have a medical emergency when getting to the mainland was difficult. For instance, during a storm like this.

Macy eyed the blackness beyond the windows.

First thing tomorrow morning, she’d make an appointment with her doctor. Because what would happen if the caretaker needed caretaking? What would happen was, there’d be no problem at all. Because this was one caretaker who would never need caretaking.

Shasta bounced down the stairs wearing a too-tight t-shirt, short skirt, and knee socks. When she slid into the kitchen skateboard style, Louise jumped up and ran in circles. Macy closed her eyes against the bedlam.

At a knocking on the service door, Macy and Shasta headed for the mudroom, let in Virgil and Jax, and hung their dripping jackets on wall hooks. Jax handed Shasta a box filled with board games. “In case the power goes out. The wind’s blowing down huge branches!”

Virgil stowed the extra lanterns they’d brought. “Ralph said you all might like company tonight.”

Shasta pulled Scrabble from the box. “Ralph sent you? Aww. He’s a sweetie. He’s gone to the mainland to get Hack.”

“So I heard.” From the way Virgil darted his eyes around, it was obvious he was hoping Allison would materialize.

Macy checked the wall with the jackets. Empty pegs. Were Allison and Melia still not home? “I wonder if Allison and Melia might be out there.”

“You wonder if they might be out there?” When Virgil’s voice rocketed up, Jax sent Macy a sympathetic expression and backed up, out of the line of fire.

“Now just calm down, Virgil.”

“All things considered, I think I’m demonstrating exceptional calm.”

He seemed more like he was demonstrating a teakettle about to blow its lid off, but Macy pressed on. “Melia was at the commune this afternoon. Allison went to get her. Maybe they decided to stay there overnight.”

It sounded like Virgil might have sworn. Additional evidence emerged when Jax’s eyes popped wide open and Shasta giggled, but Macy let it go. Virgil pulled out his cell phone. “No service. Is your landline working?”

Macy moved to the wall phone and held it to her ear. “No dial tone.”

Virgil threw his jacket back on—faster than Macy would have thought possible, for a man who usually took his time about things. He grabbed a lantern and was gone.

58

Locking the door

Allison aimed her flashlight at the trail. Not much farther, then they’d be home. She held Aunt Amelia’s hand and stepped across the fallen branches. “You’re just going to have to keep picking up your feet high, Aunt Amelia. There are small branches all across the trail. I’ll warn you if I see any more large ones.”

“Are we almost there?” Aunt Amelia sounded tired.

Allison squeezed her hand. “I can see the house through the trees. The power’s still on.”

“Yay.”

When they emerged out of the forest, the massive house stood bright and welcoming. But someone was outside the service entrance. Allison stopped walking so quickly her aunt bumped into her and nearly fell. The someone moved toward the forest. Toward them.

Could Hack be here on Wren already? Why wasn’t Ralph with him?

Would Hack be carrying a lantern?

Before she could switch off her flashlight and become invisible, Virgil’s voice reached them. Aunt Amelia returned a happy greeting. Allison exhaled.

Virgil helped them into the house. Allison locked the door. They shed their dripping coats and boots. The kitchen was warm with the smell of dinner and a cheerfully competitive game of Scrabble between Aunt Shasta and Jax.

Aunt Amelia headed upstairs to change into dry clothes.

Allison walked around the ground floor, checking doors were locked and windows closed tight. Back in the kitchen, she reached for the house phone. No signal. She pulled out her cell phone. No service. They could email Nancy, maybe, once Hack was on Wren.

Why hadn’t she asked Ralph for more details about his so-called plan? In the moment, she’d panicked. Hack knows you’ve been talking to the FBI. She closed her eyes and took a square breath around the corners. One, two, three, four. Someone at the kitchen table slid Scrabble tiles around. Aunt Macy clinked a spoon through the soup in the slow cooker. When Allison opened her eyes, Virgil was watching her from across the room, his forehead creased. Allison pasted on what she hoped would pass for a relaxed smile.

“It’s still your turn, Dad.” Jax elbowed him.

Virgil returned his attention to the Scrabble board and made a move.

“Excuse me, chickee.” Aunt Shasta nudged Allison. “I need to get into this drawer. The doggeroos need new batteries.”

Aunt Macy clattered a serving spoon to the counter. “Can’t we be done with the lighted sweaters, Shasta? All that flashing gives me a headache.”

“If the power goes out,” Jax called from the table, “we can use the dogs as flashlights.”

Aunt Shasta closed the drawer. “Use the dogs as flashlights. Good one, Jax-o.” Soon, the electric candy canes were wandering around again, brighter.

Allison checked her cell phone. Still no service. She started to check the landline too, but dropped the effort when she realized Virgil was still watching her. The others she could get stuff past easy-peasy. Virgil, not so much.

Aunt Amelia returned from having changed her clothes. “You guys! The house is moving around up there!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Melia. Houses don’t move around. Dinner’s ready, everyone.”

After dinner, Allison walked around the ground floor again, rechecking windows and doors. Hack might be at Ralph’s place by now. Ralph might be pushing his mysterious button at this very moment. The power was still on, so that was good.

Unless having the power on wasn’t good. Hack might be out there, observing them like they were fish in an aquarium. Allison turned off the interior lights in the main entry and adjacent rooms. Now, the big room with the grand piano was dark except for ambient light from the fireplace and diffused light spilling from the end of the hallway. She stepped closer to the fire, peered out one window. Nothing to be seen but darkness.

She didn’t have to turn to know it was Virgil who’d joined her. He gave off a magnetism sometimes. Most of the time, actually.

“Okay. What’s going on.” Not exactly a question, the way he said it. But it sounded like he wanted an answer. Now.

“The storm has me on edge.”

“We’ve seen storms like this before.”

Not likely, Allison wanted to say, but didn’t. The pieces inside her, all the bits of information she was supposed to be keeping sorted, felt like they were going to come exploding out. Then she’d fall into the abyss, lost in the emptiness left behind, too worn to do anything but hope for mercy. All that, and maybe more, was going to happen if Virgil didn’t remove his hand—his steady, anchoring hand—from where it rested on her lower back.

She stepped away. “Thanks for being willing to come get me and Aunt Amelia earlier.”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me!” It was totally aggravating how much effort it took to convince Virgil things were okay when they weren’t! But you could do anything if you put your mind to it. Anything!

Virgil tilted his head to one side. “Are you worried because Ralph’s bringing Hack here?”

“He’s bringing him here? To my house?” Her voice had gotten shrieky again. Twice in one day. One very bleak, dismal day.

The crease in Virgil’s brow deepened. Studying her, he spoke slowly. “Not here to your house. Here to Wren, as I understood it.”

Allison turned, ran one finger along the edge of the fireplace mantel. “You talked to Ralph?”

“He talked to me.”

“What else did he say?”

“He asked if Jax and I would stay at the house tonight. Any idea why he’d want us to?”

She shrugged. Her hand trembled, even as it rested on the mantel, so she dropped it to her side. Oh, how she wanted to tell Virgil everything. Ask him for help! But rule number one. Don’t talk about this with anyone. Did rule number one still apply when all the other rules were changing?

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” Virgil put a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t think I can.”

He turned her toward him. “You don’t think you can?”

“I want to. I really want to, Virgil, but I can’t. I really can’t.” When she looked up at him, her breath caught. “Please don’t push me. If you push me, I’m afraid I’ll end up …” Ruining the whole thing. Not doing what I’m supposed to. Making everything worse. She blinked back tears. She would not cry.

Virgil nodded, slowly. “Do you mind if Jax and I stay in a guest room tonight?”

“That would be a-okay.”

Lokita wandered in. A tiny electric candy cane. Allison sniffed, then straightened. “I need to let Lokita outside. Walk her around the yard.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“It’s usually a one-person job.” She hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt.

Virgil didn’t care. His gentle response nearly rocked her off her feet. “Is it a one-person job tonight?”

The question hung in the air. The house shuddered in a gust of wind, then settled. A muffled burst of laughter came from the kitchen, where someone must have said something funny. Allison looked at him, couldn’t look away, swallowed. “It probably should be. A one-person job. Tonight.”

For a long moment, he held her gaze. The crease of worry changed to crinkles around his eyes and mouth. A tempered smile. Then, another question. “You play checkers?”

“Checkers? Yeah, I play.”

“I’ll set up a board in the kitchen.” He was heading there now.

“Fair warning,” she called. “I always win at checkers.”

“Not surprised.” In his voice, as it floated down the hall, amusement.

She collected the dogs in the mudroom and threw on a raincoat. When she opened the door to the fenced area, out went Lokita. Blink, blink, blink. Louise stood in the doorway.

“If you’re too afraid to go outside in the dark, Louise, move so I can close the door.” Allison shut the big dog inside the house and followed Lokita’s flashing sweater around the fenced area.

When the forest roared in a gust of wind, Allison studied the house. No visual sign of movement. But Aunt Amelia was right. The house did feel like it was moving when the wind blew hard enough. She’d felt it herself, many moons ago. (A lifetime ago!) She stretched her hip, which felt unnaturally tight. Probably from searching all over the forest earlier for Aunt Amelia. She cinched the hood of her coat. Tucked her chilly hands into her pockets. Followed Lokita around.

When Lokita finished her business, Allison sang the blind dog back toward the house. “Little Lokita, come to me.”

Inside, she toweled off Lokita. Sent the little dog ambling toward the kitchen. Shed her dripping coat and hung it on a wall hook. Straightened all the other coats. Checked the service entry door was closed tight. Locked it.

Breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was inside now, safe for the night.

She tapped the lock again, to be sure.

When she returned to the kitchen, Hack was kissing a giddy Aunt Amelia on the cheek.

59

The right moment

“I heard this is where the party’s at tonight.” Hack left Aunt Amelia’s side and came toward Allison with his arms out. Asking for a hug, of all the nerve.

Allison stopped him with well-practiced body language. Not so fast, mister. But with good behavior, maybe later. Over the years, she’d perfected how to communicate that message. It gave her safe physical distance and time to think of an out. It’d been effective many, many times—whenever Tank expected her to fend for herself at a party, bar, club. It worked now, too.

“Oh, ho! So that’s how it is.” Grinning, Hack leaned against a counter, gawked at her, lingered. “You look great, Allison. Really great.”

She smiled for what she hoped was long enough to convince him she felt entirely confident, then glanced around the kitchen. Where was Ralph? Aunt Shasta, Aunt Amelia, and Jax were gathered around a game of Monopoly. Aunt Macy was loading plates into the dishwasher. The dogs were snoozing in their beds. Virgil … She didn’t dare look at Virgil. She needed all her focus to do this right. To keep Hack here at the house, unsuspecting and at ease, until Ralph came. Or until one of them could get a message to Nancy.

She swept her attention back to Hack. She dropped her eyes, raised them, smiled—and aimed straight for his ego. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“I’ve been working out.”

“It shows.”

“Bench-pressing three-twenty-five now.”

“That much? Wow.”

Hack flexed one arm. “Check this out.”

Aunt Shasta hopped up and leaned into him. “Let me feel, Hacky-boy. Ooh. Rock solid.”

While Aunt Shasta batted her eyelashes, Allison checked her cell phone. Still no service. If she got a moment out of Hack’s sight, she could tap a quick SOS email to Nancy and hope it went through. Might be better than trusting Ralph’s button. A button? Was she wrong to trust Ralph? What if he and Hack were working together? Rule number three. Contact Nancy if you learn something helpful. She should have done that earlier, instead of—

“Might as well put that away.” Hack pointed at Allison’s phone. “Not going to be any cell service for a while.”

“Oh, right. Too stormy.” A new worry surfaced. Could Hack be responsible for the service outage? She returned the phone to her pocket. Next to the boathouse key.

“Where’s your dad, Hacky-boy?” Aunt Shasta hung on Hack’s arm and winked at Allison. Truly, Aunt Shasta deserved an award for her acting skills.

“Had some trouble with the rig. Water in the hatch.” Hack laughed. “Maybe water in lots of hatches.”

Allison eyed him.

“I came back for a reason, you know.” When Hack touched her hand, she froze. “How about you and I go somewhere together?”

Allison pulled away her hand and turned, casual, to straighten a stack of napkins on the counter. Moved the napkins closer to the knife block Aunt Macy insisted on keeping out for easy access. “In this weather? I don’t think so.”

“Shasta will go with me.”

“Uh-uh.” Aunt Shasta played with the bangles on one wrist. “I’m waiting for Ralph.”

Allison shrugged. “I guess it will be just you, then. Going somewhere. Might want to wait for the weather to clear.” How much longer until Ralph got here?

Behind Hack, Virgil pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Tank would have stayed where he was. He would have laughed, prompted more teasing, propped up his feet, and drank more beer. If there was one thing she’d learned from living with Tank, it was that when life got difficult, she was on her own.

Not so with Virgil. He was closing the distance. Fearless. And suddenly it was alarmingly clear why Tank had never helped her in these situations. So he wouldn’t get hurt. She should have told Virgil what was going on!

Virgil joined them. “Time to go.” He used his not-a-question-but-I-want-an-answer-now voice.

“Wait.” Allison turned to Virgil. “We can’t let him go. We have to keep him here because—”

Hack’s fist struck fast and hard. Virgil crashed backward into the table and chairs, then landed on the floor. Aunt Shasta screamed. Maybe the other aunts screamed, too.

Jax shot forward, then wavered to a stop when Hack lifted one finger. “Don’t even think about it, Junior. I’ve got a hundred pounds on you and a jab you’ll never forget.”

Aunt Amelia stood, her mouth gaping, and moved to help Virgil. Hack’s foot went out at just the right time. Aunt Amelia tripped and landed near Virgil. “Oof.”

Allison felt it then. Something she’d never known was in her. It hadn’t been there when Tank had lied about his relationships with other women. It hadn’t been there when Tank had pushed her out of the car and left her—in the middle of the night in a strange part of the city—because he didn’t want to give straight answers to her questions. It hadn’t even been there when he’d said she wasn’t interesting anymore, at the very moment she’d been trying to create a family.

Maybe it had never been inside her before now. Or maybe it had always been there, waiting to surface. Waiting for the moment when fearsome agony no longer reached only for her, but also for people she loved.

Rage.

People said it was blinding. For her, it was deafening. It ran around inside her so loudly she could hear nothing else. Except Louise, barking her head off.

“Get out of my house. Get out of my house!”

Hack moved toward the door. “Come with me, songwriter. Or would you rather I take your dumb dog?” He scooped Lokita from her bed. Blink, blink, blink. Then he opened the door and ran outside, carrying Lokita.

Allison took in the surrounding mess. Aunt Amelia and Jax were helping Virgil, who was stirring. Aunt Macy, pale and glistening, was sinking into a chair. Aunt Shasta was hollering about not wanting to lose little Lokita.

Allison moved to the open door. Hack was running through the dune grass toward the beach, Lokita’s flashing sweater acting like a homing beacon. Allison whirled to Aunt Shasta. “Keep everyone inside!”

Then she was running. Running after her dog. Her sweet little blind dog who had never asked for anything but to be loved. To be taken care of.

In the open doorway, Louise continued barking, afraid to go outside in the dark. The big dog’s protests faded as Allison chased Hack through the dunes, down the beach, toward her boat dock.

60

Not a one-person job

Allison ran along the firm, damp sand near the water’s edge. Close enough that saltwater spray, lifted by wind off the crashing waves, coated her face. With every pounding step, her hip throbbed more.

Ahead of her, Hack jogged to the end of the dock and set down Lokita. Blink, blink, blink. The blind dog stood there, took a few confused steps, paused.

“Lokita!” Allison reached the dock and sprinted. With one massive twinge, her hip gave way, and she crashed to the wood planks.

Lokita took a few more tentative, wandering steps. Toward the edge of the dock and the churning water below.

Allison tried to stand, fell back when her hip and leg burned in fiery pain. Sitting, she took a deep breath. “Lokita,” she sang. “Now we’re on the dock. We are on … the … dock. So be careful where you walk. Careful where … you … walk.”

Lokita took a few steps toward Allison. Then, disoriented, the dog stopped to listen to Hack pounding on the door of the boathouse.

“Lokita. Careful where you walk.”

The dog took one slow step after another while Allison sang her close. “Come to me. Here you are, right with me.” Allison pulled the little dog into her lap.

The pounding on the boathouse door stopped and Hack came toward her. Allison tried again, failed again, to stand. A blur of red and white lights galloped past.

Shaking off a snarling Louise, Hack lost his balance and fell. “Call off your freak dog!”

Allison pictured Louise gnawing through a giant chew toy in ten seconds flat. Pictured the dog locking her powerful jaw on Hack’s arm or leg. It would hurt. A lot. “Louise. Louise! Come here.”

Hack’s yowling turned into whimpering. The padding of doggie footsteps came close. Blink, blink, blink. Louise sat with her back to Allison, watching the figure at the end of the dock.

Allison took a breath. What to do now? Where was everyone when she needed them? On a normal day, she hardly got a moment of privacy. But wouldn’t you know, the moment she needed help, no one was around? Then again, she did tell Aunt Shasta to keep everyone inside. Hope Virgil wasn’t hurt badly. Wish she’d warned Virgil sooner. Hope Ralph was okay. Wherever he was.

She peered at the back of Louise’s head. Had Louise finally conquered her fear of being outside in the dark? Or was Louise afraid, and here anyway? Oh, these dogs. Love for them nearly overwhelmed her. She kissed the top of Lokita’s damp, salty head.

Shivering, she shifted on the wet dock. Tested her hip. It was still a no-go, to stand up on her own. The wind carried spray from breaking waves across the dock, coating her with what felt like a million icicles. A wisp of rumbling turned out to be Louise, working up to an audible growl. Hack had stood and was moving toward them.

“Hold it right there.” Ralph appeared, his gigantic rain slicker flapping in the wind. Out of one sleeve, the end of a gun was pointed at Hack.

Relief washed over Allison, then dread. This was just what she’d feared. That Hack wouldn’t get taken in easily. That someone would use a gun. What if Hack had a gun, too?

“Dad,” Hack wheedled. “Did you stop taking your meds?”

“Don’t Dad me.”

“You’re pointing that thing at the wrong person. Come help me bash in this door. You were wrong about her boat being ready to go. You getting too old to do anything right?”

Muttering, Ralph rubbed his bearded chin.

Running footsteps began where the dock met the beach, then stopped when they reached Allison. Virgil placed a warm palm on either side of her face, pushed back her wet hair, and came into focus. “You okay?”

She nodded and tightened her hold on Lokita, who had wiggled into a wag at the sound of Virgil’s voice. Louise stole a glance at Virgil, then returned to surveillance mode.

Virgil removed his coat, draped it around Allison’s shoulders, and steamed over to Hack. With one finger, Virgil flicked Hack on the forehead. “That was for the tap on the jaw. Which didn’t hurt at all, by the way.”

Then, before Allison could believe what was happening, Virgil had slammed a single punch to Hack’s gut and dropped him to the dock. Folded in half, Hack rolled and moaned.

Virgil straightened. “That was for frightening the woman I love. And her dog.”

The woman I love …

Virgil strode back to Ralph and nodded toward the gun. “Always handy to have one of those around.”

“Hardly go anywhere without one.” With his free hand, Ralph dug in a pocket, pulled out a device, and spoke into it. “Ralph to Nancy.”

“Go ahead.” Above a static background, Nancy’s voice was crisp and confident.

“We’ve got him down at Allison’s dock.” Ralph glanced at Louise. “Head for the flashing red and white lights.”

“I see them. On my way.”

Virgil extended his hands to Allison. “Want help getting up?”

“It’s usually a one-person job.” The line she’d thought would sound cute came out sounding pathetic, thanks to her quivering voice.

She was in Virgil’s arms then. He sat on the dock, adjusted his coat warmer around her, and gathered her close. As if sitting with her, holding her, was something he did every day. As if he expected to continue holding her. Every day. And every day after that.

The woman I love. And her dog.

Allison took a few warm breaths, snuggled Lokita, and pulled the dry flannel lining of Virgil’s coat closer. “You put on a coat first? It seems funny to take time for it, you know, when you’re rushing to save your girl.”

“Save my girl? Is that what I did?”

She couldn’t be sure, but it felt like he’d kissed the top of her head. She relaxed against him. “Are my aunts okay?”

“Jax is with them.” Virgil’s voice resonated through her. “Are you hurt?”

The woman you love is fine, she wanted to say, but couldn’t. Her hip felt anything but fine. She’d wait, though, to say anything about it, until Nancy arrived. Wait right here in Virgil’s arms! Then Ralph could put away his gun. Ralph with a gun! “I hope Ralph has a permit for that thing.”

Virgil dipped his head close to hers, enfolding her in the circle that was him, and whispered. “No permit needed to carry a T-handle wrench.”

First, the revelation of it. That Ralph had come through for her, for all of them, again. Pretending he was holding a gun when he wasn’t! Good old Ralph.

Then, the intimacy of it. That Virgil would share with her a secret against the roaring world. Not another corroding piece she must keep on her own, but a piece he bore the burden of. Would she always remember Virgil whispering to her like this? Would she always remember these were the first words Virgil whispered to her?

Would he stay interested long enough for it to matter?

Ralph shifted and spoke in a low voice. “I see them coming now.”

Allison exhaled. “Um, Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t be alarmed, but the people about to arrive are with the FBI.”

“Okaay.”

“Don’t worry. They’re not after me.”

“Good to know.”

“They want Hack.”

The arms around her flexed, secured her closer, settled again.

Nancy arrived with three other agents. They read Hack his rights, took him into custody, and arranged to talk with Allison, Ralph, and Virgil at the house.

With Virgil’s help, Allison stood. Wobbly. “I hope I haven’t messed up my hip again.”

Ralph slipped Lokita into a pocket and supported Allison on one side. Virgil buttoned Allison into his coat and took her other arm. Louise lighted their way off the dock.

Partway up the beach, Ralph pointed at her house. The light outside the front entrance was flashing on and off at random intervals. “What do you make of that?”

Virgil stopped walking to watch. “Jax. Sending a message.”

“Cool. Like Morse code?” Allison moved forward on her own, testing her balance. Her hip definitely didn’t feel as painful as when she’d injured it in the motorbike accident, but her entire left side was throbbing. And her leg was getting more stiff with every step. After she wrapped up everything with Nancy tonight, she’d go to bed and sleep for a week. Maybe a month. “What’s Jax saying?”

“He wants us back at the house.”

Allison continued walking. On her own! “But Jax knows we’ll come back as soon as we can, right? Why would he send a message—”

“Allison?” Virgil took her arm and steadied her. “Now who’s asking questions? Lean on me and let’s keep moving.”

As they walked, Ralph cleared his throat. “My rig would probably be our best option tonight.”

“Yeah, it probably would.” Virgil kept a steady pace.

Allison settled into the stride. Keeping up with Virgil! The man who had dropped Hack with a single punch. Kah-bam-o. Take that, Hack. Wow, listen to the wind roaring through the trees. “Why would anyone need your rig tonight, Ralph? Why would anyone go anywhere in this weather? Did Jax say someone needs to go somewhere?”

Ralph maneuvered around a driftwood log. “I take it you don’t know Morse code.”

“I don’t know Morse code yet. I can learn.”

Ralph heaved a long, heavy sigh. “God help us all if Allison Theodore learns Morse code.”

Virgil burst out laughing. “More dynamo than the world’s ready for?”

Allison beamed. On the outside and on the inside. Virgil had practically said she was interesting! And he said it out loud for the dogs and Ralph to hear. She beamed. Couldn’t help it. Kept beaming on the outside and on the inside, all the way back to the house.

Right up to the moment she stepped inside and discovered a frantic Aunt Shasta trying to revive a passed-out Aunt Macy.

Part 6

The Unknown

61

A safe place

In the quiet, dimly lit hospital room, Allison pulled out her phone and checked the time again. Twenty minutes to midnight. Eight minutes later than the last time she’d checked. She leaned forward in the wheelchair, keeping her weight on her good hip, and pulled a charger out of her bag. Plugged it in and set it aside.

She watched her aunt’s rhythmic breathing. Lying in a hospital bed made Aunt Macy appear flat, somehow. Allison fended off the image of her mother looking the same way just before she’d died. But Aunt Macy’s diagnosis wasn’t cancer. It was diabetes. Her heart was being monitored as a precaution.

Allison checked her wheels were locked, stood, took a careful two steps toward the bed, and hovered. Color had returned to her aunt’s face. Allison reached to smooth a section of hair, then pulled back. Touch might wake her.

Aunt Amelia, sound asleep in the other bed, her left wrist bandaged against a fracture, had been thoroughly checked out, cared for, and discharged from the hospital. But until they knew more about Aunt Macy’s condition and the results of Allison’s tests, none of them wanted to leave. The private recovery room Nancy arranged for was spacious, and traveling back to Wren with all their injuries was going to be a hurdle itself. So Allison had insisted Aunt Amelia get cozy in the extra bed—the bed she’d talked her way out of using herself by promising to stay put in the wheelchair. She scuffed back and eased into it.

At a stirring in the doorway, Allison looked up, hoping for a doctor. But it was Virgil. He set a steaming cup of tea, weak the way she’d asked for it, on the table next to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Any new updates?”

“Not yet.” Her voice sounded like it belonged to a dried-up, worn-out person.

Virgil reached for the tea, handed it to her, waited while she sipped. Took it back, returned it to the table. He crouched in front of her and held both her hands. “How are you feeling?”

Earlier, when they’d arrived in emergency, Allison had been whisked off for a CT scan. This was the same hospital she’d been brought to after her motorbike accident, so the staff recognized her. Tonight, everyone went out of their way to say they hoped Allison’s pain was coming from a muscle or tendon injury rather than a dislodged pin in her hip. Allison was young and healthy and had overdone it, is all. Everyone sounded exceptionally optimistic. Suspiciously optimistic. Allison swallowed. If she had to go through another surgery, another grueling recovery … “Worried, mostly.”

Virgil moved one hand to her knee and left it there. Warm, warmer. A steady presence, just as he’d been since her world nearly vaporized. She closed her eyes against the image of Lokita wandering, confused. Felt her heart breaking again at the thought of her little blind dog being left to find a safe place on her own. Little Lokita, come to me. It had worked. The song. Her song. Her dumb little ditty had kept Lokita safe. It might have saved her life. Forget winning a Grammy. This was good enough. This was more than good enough. Virgil handed her a tissue, and she wiped the tears. He handed her the tea, and she sipped.

Had she mentioned to Jax to tuck a warm blanket around Lokita at bedtime? They’d flown out of the house in near chaos. While Nancy’s agents stowed Hack in a helicopter and took off during a brief break in the weather, Nancy used her EMT training to revive Aunt Macy. Aunt Amelia and Jax calmed the dogs while Aunt Shasta hollered at Ralph about preparing his boat. Jax stayed behind when the rest of them made the awful trip to the mainland—in high seas, on a hip Allison felt was shredding by the minute.

Ralph dropped them off, then headed right back into the storm, re-crossing the ocean to return to Wren. Until Ralph got there, Jax would be responsible for the dogs, the house, the grocery market, and any storm damage. It was a lot to ask of a fourteen-year-old boy.

Virgil pulled out his phone, tapped into it, and sat in the chair next to Allison. When his phone dinged, he shared Jax’s response. A photo showed the dogs curled up together. Jax said they’d both eaten their dinners. The power was still on. Cell service and internet had been restored. Jax was playing video games while he waited for updates from the rest of them. In the morning, he’d bring the dogs with him to the market. Allison nodded. Virgil put away his phone and reached for her hand.

When Aunt Macy stirred, Allison began to stand, but Virgil patted her knee, stopping her. He hovered over Aunt Macy and returned to Allison’s side. She’s fine. Don’t worry.

An on-call physician, Dr. Sullivan, entered the room with Aunt Shasta twittering at his side. A nurse helped Aunt Macy sit upright, and Aunt Shasta bounced to sit with Aunt Amelia. Dr. Sullivan moved closer to Aunt Macy. “Would you like privacy while we go over your diagnosis?”

Aunt Macy shook her head. “They’re all going to know all about it anyway.”

“Your heart looks fine, but I want you to wear a monitor for a few weeks. If everything remains stable tonight, you can go home tomorrow. I’m prescribing insulin to help control your blood sugar.”

“I’m not going on insulin.”

“You might not need to. You could try changing your diet and exercise routine, while continuing to monitor your blood sugar, and see if it’s enough.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do. I could have told you there’s nothing wrong with my heart. Never has been.”

Wasn’t that the truth? There was nothing at all wrong with Aunt Macy’s big, all-encompassing heart. Allison smiled at her aunt and was rewarded with a confident nod. Aunt Macy very much planned to be back in charge. Soon.

Dr. Sullivan turned his attention to Allison. “I have the results of your CT scan.”

Allison glanced around the room. Brave but overwhelmed Aunt Macy. Wide-eyed but exhausted Aunt Amelia. Jittery Aunt Shasta, who’d benefit from having something productive to do. “Can we talk somewhere else? There’s enough going on in here already.”

“A consultation room’s just down the hall.”

Allison motioned to Aunt Shasta and Virgil to come along, and the nurse re-settled Aunt Macy and Aunt Amelia. As Aunt Shasta pushed the wheelchair down the hallway, Allison glanced up at Virgil. The brighter lights illuminated the deepening bruises across his face. “You said that punch to the face didn’t hurt.”

Eyes forward, Virgil kept a steady pace. “What punch to the face?”

In the consultation room, Aunt Shasta and Virgil settled in chairs. Dr. Sullivan pulled up images of Allison’s scan. “The good news is the hardware’s still in place. But the bone at the injury site isn’t getting enough oxygen. It’s actually a good thing your muscle gave out when it did, because it means we’re discovering this early.”

Allison held her breath. “Am I going to need surgery?”

“With rest and restricted physical activity, the bone should heal on its own. You’ll need to resume physical therapy. I want you on an NSAID, preferably prescription strength. In a few weeks, when the swelling has gone down, we’ll get another CT scan.”

“The pain’s not bad at the moment.”

“You might do okay with over-the-counter NSAIDS—if you stay off that leg and let it heal. You’re going home with crutches. No weight on your left leg for several weeks.”

Allison sighed. It was far, far better than needing another surgery. But crutches? For weeks?

Dr. Sullivan flipped off the screen and collected his notes. “I’ll release you tonight if you’ll come back in a day or two for a recheck. Would you like me to prescribe something to help you sleep tonight?”

She shook her head. “We’ll be staying at a hotel. If I take a sleeper, I’m afraid I might not get up again. Ever.” She mostly ignored the look passing between Dr. Sullivan, Aunt Shasta, and Virgil. The same look people had passed around throughout her recovery from surgery. Take care of the invalid. Don’t let her do anything she shouldn’t.

Dr. Sullivan squinted at Virgil. “How are those bruises feeling now?”

Virgil turned to Allison and winked. “What bruises?”

62

Past bedtime

With her right hand—the one not bandaged in a splint—Amelia positioned her phone for more complimentary selfie lighting and hit record. “Hello everyone! Earlier this evening, we had a little excitement on Wren Island. I apologize for how my hair looks. It’s been quite a night, and now it’s past everyone’s bedtime. But I wanted to show you this super fancy hotel lobby. Look at the chandeliers! Look at all the mirrors! Wren doesn’t have anything like this, unless you count Allison’s house. That courtyard over there looks like it might be home to birds. Maybe I’ll film the courtyard in daylight tomorrow. Oh, look! It’s past midnight, so actually I’ll film it later today! Bye for now!”

Allison had said that once Nancy finalized the situation with Hack, it would be all systems go for Amelia to make her YouTube channel public. But Amelia wouldn’t start making money from it until she got a lot of subscribers. She had a plan, though. Virgil was going to order little cards with QR codes on them so she could hand them out and invite people to watch her channel. He said a QR code was like a bar code. Scanning it with a phone camera would take a person right to the Wren Island channel! The wonderful world of technology.

Amelia tucked away her phone and waited with everyone else to be checked in. The hotel provided complimentary toiletries and pajamas—cotton shorts and t-shirts—to guests whose luggage had been lost. Or guests who arrived without luggage for any other reason. For instance, if the guest had just helped capture one of the FBI’s most wanted, then raced to the emergency room wearing the pajama bottoms printed with pandas and oversized pink hoodie they’d put on a lifetime ago, thinking they were in for the night. Amelia accepted the sundries. “Much appreciated.”

They each got a room key. It was an elevator key, too, because the rooms Allison booked took up an entire floor. They piled into their private elevator, everyone trying not to bump unsteady Allison and her crutches.

When the elevator door opened, they were in their very own personal lobby! With a giant potted fern and everything! Virgil used his key card to slide open the glass doors to their suite. If you were expecting guests, you’d leave the glass doors open so your friends could walk right in off the elevator. If you wanted your guests to knock first, you’d close the doors. Virgil closed them.

Inside, sofas and tables and chairs curved around a gas fireplace. If you stood in front of the enormous television, you had to turn your head right and left to see from one side of the screen to the other. The kitchen was nice, but nothing like Allison’s kitchen on Wren. Allison crutched to the nearest chair and sank into it.

Shasta ran around opening doors and getting the lay of the land. She directed Amelia to a bedroom. “Tell me if you’re taking a bath so I can help. We don’t want your splint getting wet.”

Shasta put Virgil in his own suite, which was accessed from a door near the entry. Virgil got his own gas fireplace! And his own mini kitchen with a sink and fridge!

“We’ll put you in there, Allison.” Shasta waved her arm toward another set of doors. “I’ll sleep in the bedroom next to yours so I’ll hear if you need anything.”

None of them had anything to unpack, so they were back in the kitchen again in a jiffy, looking at each other. Looking at Allison, who hadn’t moved and was definitely fading.

Shasta dug through their pharmacy bags. “Let’s get you another dose of those NSAIDS, Allison. And how about something to help you sleep?”

“I’ll take another NSAID, but I don’t need a sleeper.” Allison drew herself up. “What I’d really love would be a mug of hot water with a squeeze of fresh lemon, if only we had any. Just a mug of hot water will be fine.”

Virgil grabbed a room key and his wallet and bounded back to the elevator. As the door closed, he noticed Amelia watching and winked.

While Shasta trundled Allison off to her bedroom, Amelia poked around the kitchen. If Virgil did find fresh lemons at this time of night, he’d want a clean knife and cutting board. None of the cabinets or drawers were labeled, so it was mostly a guessing game. She found the knives, oddly, in the same drawer as plastic bags. If they spent much time here, Allison wouldn’t be able to resist organizing the kitchen. Amelia moved the measuring spoons to the same drawer as the measuring cups. That one was a no-brainer.

In no time at all, Virgil bounded back in with ten lemons, all the 24-hour mart had in stock. He warmed a mug of water in the microwave, added lemon, and passed it to Shasta, who disappeared into Allison’s bedroom.

Then all of them except Allison were in the kitchen again, looking at each other through bleary eyes and agreeing it was past bedtime. So off they went to their bedrooms, respectively. And respectably, she’d add if she were narrating a video. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

The next morning, Amelia stretched under the covers. The sound of city traffic filtered in. No singing birds like she usually woke up to on Wren. But it was just for one morning. They’d be going home today.

Had anyone asked Jax to look in on Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon? She sent a text, and by the time she’d finished brushing her teeth, Jax had replied with a video of the birds twittering around a cup of fresh seed. Jax was really something. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, for sure.

Amelia pulled on her grimy panda pants and hoodie, which smelled like the hospital and maybe seaweed. She found Shasta and Virgil in the kitchen.

“Allison’s still sleeping. I’ll order room service.” Shasta tossed a menu to Amelia.

Virgil headed for the door. “I’m going to hit the gym first.” As if the gym needed to be conquered.

Their breakfasts arrived. For everyone to share, a big bowl of fruit. For Shasta, a toasted everything bagel with smoked Chinook salmon and herb cream cheese. For Amelia, blueberry pancakes with whipped cream and something she’d never heard of called Rogers golden syrup. While they ate, Shasta read aloud jokes from a book Virgil had picked up at the 24-hour mart. Amelia drizzled more syrup.

Shasta waved a fork toward Amelia’s pancakes. “How about I order a case of Rogers and ship it to Wren? Keep your wrist elevated.”

Amelia propped her elbow on the table and raised her wrist above her heart. With her free hand, she sorted bite-sized pieces on her plate, each with a different proportion of pancake, whipped cream, and Rogers. The possibilities were endless!

Virgil returned from the gym, showered, and joined them. Chicken apple sausage, scrambled eggs, and pancakes with grade A maple syrup for him. He’d tried Rogers once before, and didn’t care for it. Between the jokes Shasta read aloud, Virgil contributed a few of his own dad jokes. Poor Virgil. The bruises on his face were part red, part purple. Like he’d been cast in a scary movie.

Allison was still sleeping when Shasta got the call Macy was being released from the hospital. Shasta and Virgil left to bring Macy back to the hotel. Amelia watched The Dick Van Dyke Show from a chair far enough back she didn’t have to swing her head to see the entire screen.

When Shasta and Virgil returned with Macy, Amelia clicked off the television. “How do you feel, Macy?”

“Fit as a fiddle. For goodness’ sake, Melia. Why are you watching television in the middle of the day?”

Amelia shrugged. “There isn’t much else to do. It’s just a city outside. No beach or forest.”

“There’s always something to do. Look how things are falling apart around here!” Macy began rinsing breakfast dishes.

“We ordered room service. We get to send the dirty dishes back on the cart.”

“Send the dirty dishes back on the cart! I don’t think so.” Macy clattered utensils to the sink.

“Don’t break anything, Mace.” Shasta dumped out the contents of a shopping bag. “Look what I got. New clothes for all of us so we don’t have to keep wearing our grimies. And look at this.” Shasta pulled a length of gorgeous red silk from a shopping bag.

Amelia reached to touch it. “Wow. What is it?”

“A bathrobe for Allison.” Shasta unrolled it to reveal the hand-painted peacock across most of the back.

Macy sighed. “If that isn’t the most impractical choice ever, Shasta.”

That evening, Allison was still sleeping. Going on twenty-four hours! They resigned themselves to another night in the hotel.

The next morning, Amelia woke early. Traffic noise, even on a Sunday! All on her own, she ordered two scrambled eggs. Plus plain pancakes topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Extra Rogers. By the time she finished eating, Shasta was calling the concierge with questions about the menu and Macy was ordering plain oatmeal and two scrambled eggs. Before eating, Macy checked her blood sugar.

Amelia watched carefully. “All good?”

“All good.” Macy smiled. “What about you? Is your wrist bothering you at all?”

“Not if I keep it elevated.” She propped her elbow on the table and raised her wrist.

Virgil returned from hitting the gym again just as Nancy buzzed and asked if she could come up. Virgil sent the elevator down for her.

“Nice place.” Nancy took it in. “I was hoping to ask Allison a few more questions.”

“She’s still sleeping.” Amelia glanced to confirm Macy was distracted, then stowed her dirty breakfast dishes on the lowest shelf of the room service cart.

“She’s been sleeping for thirty-two hours now.” Shasta sliced into a lobster benedict.

Nancy squinted. “Are you concerned?”

Shasta shrugged. “Her doctor said rest was the best thing for her. And it’s not like she took anything. Just over-the-counter pills for inflammation.”

“Maybe you ought to call her doctor.” Nancy perched on the armrest of a sofa.

They waited while Shasta talked with a nurse. “She took two ibuprofen and two acetaminophen. A little water with lemon. Just a minute, let me check.” Shasta headed into Allison’s bedroom. Then she was back, talking into the phone. “She does look comfy. Real comfy. I mean, I don’t know what she usually looks like when she’s sleeping, but she’s breathing easy, all tucked in, and seems happy as a clam.”

They waited.

“Okay, thanks.” Shasta clicked off the call. “We’re supposed to let her sleep. Let her wake up on her own, quietly. We’re supposed to call if she’s not up by noon tomorrow.”

“Noon tomorrow!” Macy clunked her mug to the table. “Shasta, are you sure that’s what they said? Next time, I think I’d better talk to the nurse myself.”

Nancy stood and headed for the door. “Call me when she’s up. No hurry.”

They hunkered down to binge on The Dick Van Dyke Show. Virgil left to hit the gym again—for the second time in one day! When he was gone, Shasta turned to Amelia and Macy. “He’s doing that to impress Allison, you know. Bulking up. Even more.” And they all nodded, happy.

The next morning, Allison had been sleeping for over fifty hours. Maybe a record of some kind! Amelia was preparing to order lobster benedict for breakfast. She hadn’t seen it on the menu before! Didn’t know it was an option until Shasta ordered it!

And who knows? Maybe lobster benedict would have become her new favorite food. Maybe Monday’s breakfast would have been the best of her life—if Virgil hadn’t nearly sent the entire hotel up in flames.

63

Getting ideas

That morning, Virgil returned from hitting the gym again, looking real perky—until he realized Allison still wasn’t up. By the time he’d showered, he’d come up with an idea.

“Dr. Sullivan said it was best for Allison to wake up quietly on her own, right? It’s almost noon. What if we nudge her along a bit?” Virgil rummaged through the kitchen and held up a bag of coffee beans. “I doubt anyone can sleep through the smell of strong coffee and frying bacon.”

“Oh! Could we have croissants with grape jelly, too?” Amelia bumped lobster benedict to a lower position on her list of nice things to wish for. Virgil took off for the 24-hour mart. Macy and Shasta emerged from their rooms and Amelia filled them in on the plan.

Virgil returned with fresh croissants, grape jelly, and maple-cured bacon. He started the coffee first. But when he went to fry the bacon, the stove burners wouldn’t turn on. No power to the oven, either. He checked everything was plugged in. Checked this, checked that. Nothing.

He poked at the microwave. “It’d make the bacon soggy, right? Or too chewy.” He stood in the kitchen and drummed his fingers on the countertop.

Amelia propped her chin on her good hand and sighed. “It would have been so nice for Allison to wake up to the smell of frying bacon and coffee.”

Virgil eyed the toaster. He tapped out loose crumbs. Positioned the appliance on the counter. Studied it. “I think I remember a buddy in college talking about cooking bacon in a toaster.”

Amelia sat up.

“Drop the strips in like slices of bread. Crank up the dial to the highest setting, probably.” He popped bacon into each slot and pushed down the lever.

It might have turned out okay, maybe, except all four of them got distracted when Shasta turned up the television volume for an infomercial about a sticky substance useful for anything from tacking up posters to making your boat watertight. Nobody watching the toaster! Next thing you know, there were flames in the kitchen and the fire alarm was going off.

The alarm wasn’t little beeps like the smoke detectors at Allison’s house. This alarm sounded like a fire engine’s horn, blaring over and over. Plus, a bright white light above every door flashed on and off. Amelia covered her ears.

Virgil put the fire out just as there was a pounding on the glass door to their private lobby. Macy slid open the doors to reveal the concierge.

“Everyone out!”

Virgil pointed to the toaster. “It’s my fault. Sorry.”

The concierge peered at the charred appliance. “Never had one of those do that before.”

“He put bacon in it.” Shasta breezed past on her way to Allison’s bedroom.

“You put bacon in a toaster?” The concierge started to scoff, then registered Virgil’s bruised face and stepped back. “Sorry, pal, but hotel regulations say everyone’s got to evacuate. Use the stairs. No elevator.”

Virgil tried to reason with the concierge. Macy and Shasta emerged with Allison, who was still wearing the hotel’s shorts and t-shirt, and was so sleepy and confused she could hardly balance on her crutches.

Virgil took one look at Allison and erupted at the concierge. “She shouldn’t have to take the stairs!”

“Requesting additional help on the VIP floor.” The concierge spoke into a walkie-talkie, then clipped it to his waistband. He motioned to the stairwell door. “Sir? If you and your party would please come with me?”

Down the stairs they went, in a roundabout mess, all of them helping each other except Virgil, who helped Allison.

Outside, they blinked in the sunshine with other hotel guests and employees. Allison tied the fancy peacock bathrobe around herself and sank into a folding chair someone offered. “What time is it?”

“11:12 a.m.” A firefighter handed her a blanket.

“Fun way to spend a Saturday morning.” Allison yawned.

The fireman stilled, studying her. “Today’s Monday.”

“Really? Wow.”

Narrowing his eyes, the fireman turned his attention to Virgil, who’d cornered the hotel manager. Every time Virgil punctuated a point, his bruised face flashed.

Then the fireman scrutinized Amelia’s splinted wrist, which reminded her she was supposed to be keeping it raised above her heart. She did so, smiling. As if she was saying hello, except she didn’t wave.

Finally, the fireman crouched in front of Allison. “Miss? Have you been threatened recently?”

Allison sighed and rolled her eyes. “Have I ever. But it’s all right now, thanks to you guys. Law enforcement. First responders and all. Thank you.”

“Okay, listen. This is important. Will you be pressing charges?”

“You bet I will. I hope the others will, too. Aunt Amelia, keep your wrist elevated.”

The fireman stood then, all purposeful, and motioned to the chief. So it really was good timing that Nancy arrived when she did.

After that, Allison became a kind of sensation. Not only was she recently a victim of one of the FBI’s most wanted, she’d also helped capture the suspect. Add to that the rumor Allison had slugged, hard enough to produce all that bruising, the dude with long black hair who’d nearly sent the hotel up in flames. She was staying in the hotel’s VIP suite—she’d booked the entire floor—and was wearing what might be the fanciest bathrobe in the city. It was too much for anyone to ignore.

And since Amelia was standing right next to Allison, it was almost as if all those firefighters were admiring her, too. If she’d known how fun it would be, she would have added it to her list of nice things to wish for. Maybe she should start a new list. Nice things that happened unexpectedly.

Once the chief was certain Virgil’s misuse of the toaster was the only reason for the alarm, everyone was given the all clear.

Allison yawned, stood with Virgil’s help, then poked him. “All systems go, finally. No thanks to you.”

They used the elevator back to their suite. They got recheck appointments for Allison and Macy. They ate a late lunch at a restaurant because Allison said Virgil should steer clear of kitchens for a while. It was burgers all around, except for Virgil, who drank a berry smoothie because his jaw couldn’t handle a burger yet. They loaded onto Ralph’s boat and headed back to Wren, with everyone in a good mood. A jovial mood is how she would describe it if she were narrating a video.

Like when Allison teased Virgil. “You’re not going to be allowed near my toaster anytime soon.”

And Virgil smiled, all casual. “Forget the toaster. Things are hot enough on Wren already. Oh, by the way, when will you be wearing that peacock robe again?”

Allison whacked Virgil on the arm. Undaunted, Virgil leaned close and whispered in her ear.

“Keep it G-rated, kids.” Shasta grinned. “Your little aunties are watching.”

And everyone smiled at Amelia because she was the only little auntie they were keeping life, certainly romance, G-rated for.

When they reached the house, the others went inside, but Amelia stopped at the concrete lions. She patted one head, then the other. A matched pair, taking on the world together, never to be separated.

Inside, she checked on Miss Kitty and Marshal Matt Dillon. Two birds happily twittering together.

She patted the dogs. One, two, both at once. Until they wandered off together.

Then she went upstairs, alone.

Climbed into bed, alone.

And when the tears came, she decided today it was perfectly okay to cry for no particular reason at all.

64

Graduating

On a warm morning in spring, Allison opened windows throughout the upper level of her house. A symphony of songbirds filtered in, along with the scent of pine, fir, and cedar. A thin layer of marine air, hovering above the water around her boathouse, was already dispersing in the rising sun’s warmth. It would be another gorgeous day.

She maneuvered down the curving stairwell to the main entry. She was getting around the house pretty well now. Accessory free, as Aunt Amelia would say. When outdoors, she was supposed to use a cane—but that would change today. Her most recent CT scan showed continued improvement in her hip. And Jacob Yoon, the physical therapist she’d hired to temporarily live and work on Wren, said Allison was ready to graduate. Starting today, no more cane! Just a walking stick whenever she wanted.

Jacob had worked near miracles with Allison’s and Aunt Amelia’s recoveries. He knew when to push and when to back off. He was interested in nutrition and was often in the kitchen cooking with Aunt Macy. Young and energetic, he enjoyed helping with chores at the farmhouse bed-and-breakfast.

Also happening today, Aunt Amelia’s wrist splint was coming off once and for all. They ought to celebrate with a party tonight—but a subdued event, where no one could overdo it and risk getting re-injured. Ha ha.

In the sunroom, Allison checked on the dogs and birds, but Aunt Amelia had already taken care of them. Near the birdcage, Allison found a stack of business cards with QR codes. She scanned the code, but got an error message saying the site couldn’t be reached.

She opened her YouTube app and searched. Nothing about Wren Island. Hadn’t Aunt Amelia made the channel public yet?

In the kitchen, she found Aunt Macy and Jacob working out a new recipe for vegetable lasagna.

Jacob reached for a baking pan. “For dessert, we’ll make brownies. Flourless, with avocado in them.”

“Goodness.” Aunt Macy chopped yellow bell peppers. “I don’t suppose we could make the brownies buzzy? Add frosting and instant coffee?”

Jacob sent Aunt Macy a look that indicated she ought to know better, and Allison laughed. Aunt Macy might have met her match.

When Aunt Amelia walked in, Allison pulled her aside. “I found your cards and scanned the QR code, but nothing came up.”

“I haven’t made the channel public yet.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to. You kept saying we’d do it after this, that, or the other happened. So I finally stopped asking.” Aunt Amelia shrugged. “It’s okay. The videos aren’t very whiz-bang, anyway.”

The expression on her sweet, uncomplaining aunt’s face was one of peaceful acceptance. Aunt Amelia was a real trouper. Allison hugged her. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted. Can I help you get it going?”

Aunt Amelia brightened. “You’d do that? You’d write songs for the videos? Like adding a real soundtrack?”

“That’s not exactly what I was—”

“That would be so great, Allison! Real music with the videos!”

How could she possibly say no to Aunt Amelia? It’s not like anyone else wanted songs written by Allison Theodore. She ought to do this. Have fun with her songs. Her ditties. “You know what? You’re right. It would be great. We’ll work on it together.”

At lunch, they celebrated Aunt Amelia’s splint coming off by adding whipped cream and a cherry to her brownie. Then Jacob ceremoniously tossed Allison’s crutches out the service door, which started Louise barking.

“Quiet, Louise.” Allison shushed the dog. “Reminds me of that awful night.”

Jacob passed around the brownies. “I’m still not clear about what all happened.”

“What happened was, a madman visited our house.” Aunt Macy reached for the largest brownie, then passed the platter.

“Hack the whack job.” Shasta chewed. “Huh. Avocado in brownies. Interesting.”

Allison took a square breath, all around the corners, and rolled her shoulders against the tension that returned every time she revisited the events of that night. “We didn’t realize Hack would retaliate the way he did. When he took off with Lokita as a hostage, I had to follow him.”

“Right after that, Mace passed out.” Aunt Shasta chewed another bite.

“Right before that, I was tripped by one of America’s most wanted.” Aunt Amelia sounded pleased with herself.

“That madman punched Virgil, too. Laid him out flat as a pancake.”

“Oh, gee, Aunt Macy. Virgil did okay.”

“He sure took off after you. Once he came to.” Aunt Macy passed the whipped cream without helping herself to any.

“Virgil didn’t go until he’d made sure you were okay, Mace.” Aunt Shasta dumped spoonfuls of whipped cream on her own brownie. “When Ralph showed up—”

“Wasn’t Ralph already around?” Jacob sipped from his mug.

Aunt Shasta waved both arms, sending her bracelets clinking. “He stayed with the boat, supposedly making emergency repairs. But actually, he was signaling Nancy. He told Hack to wait for him at his house. He thought he’d convinced Hack they were in it together and he’d help Hack get back at Allison. But Hack came straight here. Ralph went to his house, realized Hack wasn’t there, and came running over here.”

Allison rolled her shoulders again. People she loved, sheltering right here in her own house, had been threatened. Injured. The dogs, too. They’d all been scared, confused, frantic. She took another square breath. One, two, three, four.

“Virgil hollered at Ralph to go after Allison.” Aunt Amelia reached for another brownie. “But Louise was already on her way because Macy had bossed her into it. Louise, put on your big girl panties and go after that madman right now.”

They all laughed. Allison joined in, rolling off more tension.

Aunt Amelia pointed at the dogs. “So all Ralph had to do was follow the flashing lights.”

“All he had to do!” Aunt Shasta’s bracelets clinked. “Don’t forget he’s the one who stood there with a wrench, pretending it was a gun. And don’t forget I’m the reason the dogs were flashing.”

“The dogs were flashing?” Jacob looked at them, confused. Still keeping a wary eye on the discarded crutches, Louise wagged her tail.

Aunt Amelia nodded. “Both the dogs were wearing sweaters with flashing red and white lights. Like electric candy canes! So it was easy for Ralph to see where they’d gone. And I made sure Virgil put on a coat before he left, because it was stormy.”

“Is that why Virgil arrived wearing a coat?” Allison laughed again. It felt so good to be able to laugh, even if only about parts of it.

Aunt Macy wagged a finger in the air. “I assured Virgil I was fit as a fiddle—that was before I knew I was going to pass out, of course. He kept saying he didn’t like the way I looked! Who wouldn’t be pale and sweating when they were about to pass out? But at the moment, you were the one who needed help. You were the one out there with a madman.”

Aunt Amelia propped her chin on one hand and sighed. “Here it comes. I never get tired of hearing this next part.”

Aunt Macy drew herself up, nodding. “So that’s exactly what I said. Virgil, I don’t care if you don’t like the way I look. If you stay here for one more second, I’ll never speak to you again. Our Allison is out there with a madman. That’s when Virgil roared out of here. Wren Island is home to our very own Superman. No cape required.”

“No tights required, either. To the great disappointment of us lookie-loos.” Aunt Shasta giggled. Aunt Macy rolled her eyes.

Jacob smiled at Allison. “Your man Virgil seems like quite a guy.”

Allison beamed. Your man Virgil. “Well, that awful night is in the past now. Hack is in prison. We’re healing from our injuries. We’re all systems go.”

Jacob finished the last bite of his brownie. “Try on shipshape and Bristol fashion for size.”

Allison blinked.

Jacob shrugged. “Wouldn’t you want to use a nautical term? Living here on an island? Instead of an aeronautical term.”

“Shipshape and Bristol fashion?” Aunt Macy set down her fork.

“Sure, people have been saying it for two hundred years. From when Bristol Harbor’s tides fluctuated wildly. If cargo wasn’t stored properly, it would spill into the harbor. And they didn’t have label makers back then.” Jacob grinned at Allison, reached for his mug, and shrugged again. “Or you could use all systems go. Airplane pilots use that term.”

“Wait a minute.” Allison set down her mug. “Are you saying all systems go is a phrase airplane pilots use?”

Aunt Amelia shook her head. “We’re not crazy about airplane pilots around here. At least, we’re not crazy about pilots who fly private planes. And we’re especially not crazy about pilots who fly private floatplanes.”

“We used to be crazy about airplane pilots.” Aunt Shasta sighed. “But not anymore.”

Jacob sipped from his mug. “So use shipshape and Bristol fashion instead. And by the way, you guys have mice. Everywhere. I’m surprised spic-and-span Allison here isn’t more disturbed about it.”

65

The real soundtrack

Upstairs in her den, Allison sat at her desk and bumped the mouse—the computer mouse, not a real mouse. Poor Aunt Macy had nearly blown a gasket when Jacob announced they had mice. She’d shooed everyone out of the kitchen and assured them she and Jacob would take care of it immediately.

Ick. A mouse in the house.

A mouse in the house? Not so fast. A mouse in the house will not last.

When the electronic piano keyboard beeped, Allison opened an app and clicked through videos. Aunt Amelia had turned daily life on Wren into something special. Finding a shell on the beach. Watching the tide recede. Teaching Louise a new trick. Listening to Allison, Virgil, Jax, or Shasta explain something. Watching Aunt Macy pull a hot dinner from the oven. Throughout the videos, Aunt Amelia’s lilting narration was the real soundtrack. Anything Allison added would just be mood music.

She watched a video of Virgil throwing a frisbee for Louise. Watched it again. Wrote an accompaniment that came out sounding exactly how she felt. About Virgil caring for the dogs. A reflection, somehow, of Louise running like the wind. The mighty ocean as a constant backdrop. She finished the song and saved the file.

It had become clear, really quickly, she wasn’t going to get any more songwriting done at Virgil’s cabin. Midway through the day, Virgil would wander in under the guise of needing something for the market. Then they’d walk to a viewpoint. Sit under the Arbutus tree. Talk about everything or nothing at all. Make scrambled eggs, sandwiches, or … Anyway, hours later, he’d return to the market empty-handed, and she wouldn’t have gotten any further on songwriting. Or at least she wouldn’t have put any notes on the page.

Virgil still kept her desk and piano keyboard in the cabin, though. Jax named the dragonfly on the lamp Sapphire Blaze.

She clicked through more videos, wrote more accompaniments, saved the files. Wow, Aunt Amelia had recorded a lot of videos.

Maybe the old Allison Theodore needed to win a Grammy. Maybe the old Allison needed to write a movie soundtrack for an entire orchestra. But the old Allison lived alone. In an empty house on a remote island. The old Allison peeked through a window before opening the door to anyone—even a neighbor! The old Allison was kind of peculiar, in some ways.

Life felt so much more meaningful now. Cluttered with people and stuff, yes, but it was all a matter of perspective. It was all a matter of deciding what was important. Living alone and trying to make it big time? Or living simply with people you loved? Living in fear of rejection? Or trusting people you loved? Trusting you were in this together, forever, because you loved each other so much you’d never want to leave.

Louise wandered in. With muddy paws. The old Allison would have rushed the dog to the bathtub. With one hand, she brushed off what she could. Then she vacuumed the carpet. Once dirt like that got ground in, it was really hard to lift.

When she’d finished, she sat and played with the dog’s ears. “Where’s the rule, Louise? Where’s the rule that says you shouldn’t trust anyone just because someone once left you?”

Virgil loved her. He’d said it and he’d proved it in all the little ways. And Virgil wasn’t the type to walk away. Virgil would never leave someone he loved. Virgil was as steady as they came.

66

Her heart's delight

Later, when the setting sun was casting shadows across her smooth, ready-to-be-paved driveway, Allison headed to the market. Louise ran ahead, found a patch of fresh dirt where a fence post had been removed, and dug to her heart’s delight. While coordinating the road improvements, Ralph had made certain Allison’s driveway was the first to be flattened, dumped with gravel, and smoothed. Paving wouldn’t start for another few weeks. Since Ralph was ferrying much of the heavy equipment to and from Wren, he wanted to prepare all the roads first, then do all the paving at once. Reinstalling the fence posts would be the final step. Wren Island under construction.

Her role was easy. She just paid the bills and weighed in with an opinion here and there. And enjoyed strolling on a smooth driveway, without crutches, a cane, or even a walking stick. On her way to eat a raspberry muffin, baked by a guy who, among other talents, probably made the best muffins in the world. A guy who also happened to be her boyfriend. Her boyfriend!

Inside the market, she found Jax wearing a ball cap printed with Wren Island across the front. “Cool hat.”

“Dad ordered them. For tourists.”

“Are there any more like yours?”

Jax grinned and jerked his head toward the stockroom.

She stopped first to crouch down and pet Lokita, who had ambled out of her cozy bed behind the cash register. Lokita spent most afternoons at the market now. She’d become the store’s unofficial mascot. Allison patted her head. “Hi baby. Are you having fun? Are you being a most excellent supervisor?” She kissed the little dog and nudged her back toward the bed, just enough to get Lokita going in the right direction, so Lokita could experience the satisfaction of having found her bed all on her own.

Standing, Allison found Jax watching her. He sort of smiled, then turned away, busy behind the counter. Her breath caught. She recognized that expression on his face. She probably looked the same way when she was missing her mother.

When Louise bounded in and jumped up on Jax, making him laugh, Allison headed for the stockroom.

Neat, labeled shelves lined the walls. Supplies were grouped in tidy, logical ways. Dry goods and non-perishables together. Emergency supplies, first aid kits, and bottled water together. Allison gaped. “It just keeps getting better and better.”

Virgil gave up trying to stuff his hair—all that wonderful hair—under a ball cap. “I’m not going to be able to wear this. Want it?”

“You’re giving me a Wren Island hat?”

“And anything else you want.” He pulled her into his arms and set the hat on her head. “Fits perfect. Must have been designed with you in mind.”

She settled in his embrace. “Um, Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we ought to talk about stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Our past relationships. We never talk about our exes. Or what went wrong. Or what we learned.”

“Okay. What did your ex do wrong? So I won’t make the same mistake.”

“That’s easy. He was never around when I needed him.”

“I can be around. I can be around a lot.” Virgil wrapped her closer.

“I never knew if he’d stand up for me. Step in when it was obvious I needed help.”

“You are pretty independent. Capable. Resourceful. Totally with it.”

“But sometimes I need help.”

Virgil chuckled. “Sometimes you do.”

She patted his broad shoulder. “So you’ll be around? To go after any creeps? Drop them like we all know you can? Kah-bam-o?”

Virgil nodded, tempering a smile. “On the remote chance a creep bothers you before I intercept him, yes, I’ll go after him.”

She took a breath. She needed to say this part, too. “And … the other thing that went wrong was … he wanted out because … I wasn’t interesting enough.”

“I think you’re interesting. I think you’re very interesting.”

“Seriously, Virgil. I really want to know if you think you might, at all, at any time, change your mind. I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really don’t want to get into this if it’s not going to be forever.”

“Allison.” He lifted her hand, kissed it, folded it into his own. “Forever is all I’m offering.”

When he wrapped her up again, she held on. “So what went wrong with your ex?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. Releasing her, he sat her next to him on a box. “Drugs. It started with prescriptions her friends passed around. She added alcohol. Then it was cocaine and any combo someone claimed was better. By the time Jax was two, I’d put her in rehab six times. She was in jail, out of jail, back in again. We separated and I got full custody of Jax. When Jax was four, we moved here. Wren is almost all Jax remembers, except for a few flashbacks. They’re mostly good memories, for him.”

“I’m sorry. It sounds awful.” Allison leaned against his shoulder. “Where’d she end up going?”

“After we divorced, I lost track of her. Sometimes I wish I knew where she was. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t.”

“How could she give up her baby? Walk away from Jax … and you.”

“I suppose you could say she walked away. When she took her first hit, her first step down that path. But in the end, it was us who needed to walk away if Jax was going to grow up in a home that wasn’t in complete turmoil.”

Allison fingered a loose string on the bottom hem of her shirt. “So … you and your wife decided, together in a joint decision, separating was best for Jax.”

“It’s what we needed to do. She knew it when she was sober. Maybe she eventually understood it more. I hope she did.”

Allison pressed her shirt hem flat, flatter. “So … when she left …”

“In rare moments, she’d say she wanted to keep trying. But after so many times of trying, and seeing the same pattern … She’d be gone for days, weeks, with … anyone. She’d come back and promise to live differently, then not be able to. I decided the only hope for Jax was to live apart from her. I wanted her to change. I wanted her to be the person I’d married. I waited, hoping … and day after day, she just couldn’t change.”

Allison took a square breath, all around the corners, against a sinking feeling. “So … when she left you …”

“It was the hardest choice I’ve ever made. Deciding my son would be better off away from his mother. Wondering if I was doing the right thing by leaving. Wondering if things might be different tomorrow. Deciding I must give up on her being able to change.”

Her heart sank. Right down to the pit of her stomach. “Oh, no.”

Virgil pulled back, questioning.

When the world stopped spinning, she found her voice. “What you’re saying is … you left her.”

67

Nautical terms

Amelia dressed in her Monday outfit. A pink linen dress with short sleeves, a navy cardigan, and beach worthy sandals. While brushing her teeth, she did the little twisting motions Jacob said were good for her wrists. Then she was shipshape and Bristol fashion. That’s right, folks. Here on Wren Island, we prefer nautical terms over aeronautical terms.

Downstairs, she pulled on the bucket-style Wren Island hat she wore on Mondays. Navy canvas with pink lettering. Matchy-matchy, as Allison would say.

Now that she and Allison were working together on YouTube videos, her days were super busy. There were always new tasks to do! Choose which song to go with which video. Choose when to fade out the music so her voice could more easily be heard. Choose a font for the subtitles that wouldn’t block the images. And, of course, record more videos.

There was just one problem. Hardly anyone was watching. The Wren Island channel on YouTube was sitting there unnoticed. A national treasure yet undiscovered.

Virgil said she should be patient. And he was one to know about being patient.

Anyway, now that she was working with Allison, the world seemed brighter somehow. More colorful. All Allison had to do was be herself, and the world became more brilliant.

Wonder what it felt like to be that person. The person who made the world brilliant for someone else.

In the sunroom, Amelia fed Kitty and Matt. Here, little birdy, birdy, birdy. If she moved to the commune, would they let her bring Kitty and Matt? Probably. They were all about birds up at the commune. Would they let her bring her stuffed animals? For sure they’d let her. But would they think it was odd, a grown woman keeping stuffed animals?

She could leave them here at Allison’s house and visit. Think how lonely the nights would be!

Another stumbling block about joining the commune was the money. Allison said she’d pay for it, but that didn’t seem right. Not if Amelia was trying to make her own way in the world. Though she honestly didn’t know why she thought she had any chance of making her own way in the world, if she hadn’t done so yet.

She headed outside, Louise tagging along, and decided to take the long way to the commune. And by long way, she didn’t mean the wrong trail in the forest that got you all in a dither and someone needed to come find you. By long way, she meant she’d stroll on the beach first, looking for shells and anything else interesting.

Another stumbling block about joining the commune was Ed. Things with Ed had gotten kind of … odd. Every time he saw her, he asked if she’d decided yet to join the commune. And he did a lot of … hovering. Constantly asking if she needed help. Not did she want help, but did she need help. One little word changed the message! Just because she carried a magnifying glass along didn’t mean she wasn’t capable. Just because a girl carts a few accessories around doesn’t mean she’s helpless. It was too bad, because Ed would have made a nice catch. Someone else would get him, probably.

She stooped to pick up a butter clam shell. Nearby, a little shore crab scuttled mostly under a rock. Amelia pulled out her magnifying glass and studied the crab’s tiny toes before moving on.

Around the time Amelia had turned sixty, Macy had said Amelia had probably lost any remaining opportunities for romance. If it hasn’t happened by now, Melia … It turned out Macy was probably right about that, too.

When the hydrophone gong rang, Amelia pulled out her phone and opened the app. Quick as a wink, Allison, their very own brilliant Allison, was at her side. Amelia handed over her phone because squinting at the screen had brought on an instant headache.

Allison adjusted the volume on the app and they listened.

“Can you see them?” Amelia pulled out her binoculars.

“Just one.” Allison pointed toward the western peninsula and helped Amelia aim.

“So they can go off on their own? Away from their family?”

“They can and do. This one’s awfully close to those crab pots.”

Amelia watched the orca mill around the buoy bobbing on the water’s surface. “Ed says there’s new technology called ropeless fishing gear.”

“How on earth does that work?” Allison laughed.

“It’s not really ropeless, but much shorter ropes. It can be recalled by remote control.”

“Wow.”

“So whales and other marine life don’t get entangled. They can die from being caught in ropes, you know.”

“People can die from it, too.” Allison’s voice sounded sad. Fragile, even.

Amelia lowered the binoculars and looked at her. “Maybe ropeless is the way to go.”

“Maybe it is.” It was clear Allison was thinking, really thinking, about it.

Simple stuff like that was how Allison made the world brighter. When she didn’t need to have the answers and could just wonder about it with you. When she listened carefully. Or asked a thoughtful question, or laughed at the same thing you thought was funny. Amelia handed her the binoculars. “Your turn.”

They watched the orca, listened to it talk and sing. When the orca moved on, Amelia packed her phone and binoculars back into her bag. They strolled along the beach, together, until Allison took the trail to the dunes and Amelia took the trail to the commune.

So, really, here on Wren, she had everything she could ever want. Her sisters. Her niece. Friends. Little animals to take care of. Projects that might help or interest someone, someday.

And lots of people lived their entire lives without ever falling in love. So she was already ahead of the curve. Because she did fall in love, once. And just because it ended the way it did, didn’t mean it hadn’t counted.

It had counted. It had definitely counted.

68

Paying for it

Allison was sitting at the end of her dock, with Lokita snuggled in her lap, when Ralph arrived. She patted the wood planks and motioned for him to join her.

He sat and dangled his legs over the edge. “Nice hat.”

“Thanks.” She fingered the ball cap, the one that fit perfectly and was designed with her in mind. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes.

“Shoot, Allison. What’s happened now? Do I need to go knock sense into Virgil?”

She laughed, then caught his seriousness. “You’d do that?”

“Of course I would.”

A flock of buffleheads floated near. Their neat black and white markings looked as if they’d been painted with tiny brushes. Not a hint of black where white should be, or white where black should be. Tidy, clean lines. Uncrossed. Unconfused.

“Virgil probably already feels like he’s been knocked sideways. A few too many times.” She straightened, sniffed, and put away the tissue. “Looks like the road improvements are moving along.”

“So far, so good. In other news, the fraud charge was dropped.”

Allison exhaled. A fraud conviction would have meant prison time for Ralph.

“And the audit’s complete. In record time. All thanks to Nancy.”

“Three cheers for Nancy.” Allison petted Lokita.

“Now I just need to work on paying back the taxes.”

Allison bumped his shoulder. “I wish you’d let me help you pay that off.”

“I’m thinking about letting you. Because now there’s something I want to do, and I can’t do it in good conscience if I still owe taxes. You know there were other people Hack took advantage of. Other victims.”

She nodded.

“A guy I know told me this off the record.”

“Uh oh. Do I want to hear it?”

“Two of the victims are brothers. Young guys with families and a charter fishing business. They lost their boat, their only source of income, thanks to the punk we know as Hack. They’ve got a friend willing to give them a boat, but it’s not running. Not even seaworthy. They’re willing to do the work, but they can’t afford to buy parts, and they’re going to need help with the bigger repairs.”

Allison stroked Lokita’s warm back. “So you want to offer your help and my money?”

“Can you afford it?”

“Ralph, I can afford to set up your guys with an entire fleet. But you’ve done enough already, you know. You helped capture Hack.”

“I’ll never have done enough.” He rubbed his whiskered chin, studied the water.

Crystal blue today. Sparkling in endless sunshine. She watched the buffleheads float, dive for fish, resurface, dive again. “Don’t tell your fishing guys I’m paying the bills. Tell them you took up a collection here on Wren.”

Ralph nodded. “Thank you for your anonymous donation.”

“My pleasure. But where does that leave us with the road work here on Wren? Do you want me to take over supervision of it?”

“Do you want to take over supervision of it?”

The buffleheads dove again. Did she want to jump in as a supervisor now? Play boss to construction workers who might not be inclined to take orders from a woman? Not to mention, she didn’t know the first thing about paving roads. Except what Ralph had taught her. She could learn, though. You could do anything if you put your mind to it. “I’m willing. But I really don’t want to.”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say. We might have another option. A guy I worked with years ago. If I can get Wallace to come to Wren, I could go help the brothers fix up the boat. Wallace could supervise the remaining road work and manage my freight business. You could stay here and keep doing whatever it is you do. And pay the bills. Including my taxes, if you still want to.”

“I’m definitely paying off your taxes. That decision’s been made for certain, as of this moment. I’m also paying for whatever costs you incur helping the brothers. Who’s going to pay Wallace, though? Me?”

“We might have to pay Wallace in a roundabout way. You give me the money, I’ll give it to Wallace. He won’t want to know he’s being paid by a woman.”

Allison rolled her eyes. Last time Ralph brought someone to Wren … “Are you sure about this?”

“I know what you’re thinking. It won’t be a repeat of the Hack debacle. I promise. Wren Island with Wallace around will be entirely unremarkable.”

“Un-remarkable?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“If unremarkable means no one on a wanted list is after my family. FBI agents aren’t crawling around. A sleazeball isn’t tracking me by satellite. If that’s unremarkable, yes, that’s what I want.”

“Allison, I’m sorry. I know I’ll never be able to make up for it, but I’m trying.”

She linked an arm through his. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve mostly let it go. But every so often I feel … angry. More than angry. Infuriated. I shouldn’t take it out on you. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I brought him here.”

“You didn’t know things would … turn out the way they did.”

“It will be different with Wallace around. I promise.” Ralph stood, pulled out his phone, tapped it, and held it to his ear. He walked off, talking. “Wallace? Ralph Wesson. Yep, been a long time.”

Allison played with Lokita’s ears. Watched the buffleheads float, dive, resurface.

Ralph was grinning when he returned. “He’ll do it.”

Allison blinked. “Just like that? Where’s he coming from?”

“Somewhere in the U.S., probably. I doubt any other country would have him.”

“Oh boy.” Allison collected Lokita and stood. “I guess you can start making plans to go help that family with the charter fishing business. Where did you say they live?”

“Hawaii.”

“Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. The family we’re helping lives in Hawaii?”

69

Not going back

“Come with us, Aunt Macy.”

“I am not going to Hawaii.” Macy clunked a cutting board to the counter and looked her niece square in the eye. “I’m not going. Final decision.”

As if she’d want to go back to Hawaii! As if she’d want to go back to the place where life had started falling apart! No, thank you. She was staying right here on Wren. Where she knew what was what. Knew what she was drinking. How she’d feel in the morning. How to take care of things. She reached for a knife and chopped vegetables for a smoothie.

Shasta breezed past with a bowl of chunky, steaming bread pieces meant for dipping in fondue—which Shasta knew wasn’t on Macy’s list of approved foods. “Mace went to Hawaii on her honeymoon. Probably has bad associations with it.”

“Thank you very much, Shasta, for your insightful, though not requested or required, commentary.” Macy set down the knife and reached for her niece. “Allison, sweetheart. Hawaii is beautiful. You’ll love it. But it’s where I started drinking too much. I have no desire to ever go back.”

Allison squeezed her hand. “We could keep a dry house. Like we do here.”

“Easier said than done in Hawaii.” Macy’s breath caught as memories crashed over her in waves. At the time, they’d been beautiful moments. At the time, she hadn’t known where all those moments were leading her. “Anyway, the rodent guy will be coming back—regularly. Do you want an exterminator prowling around when no one’s home?”

Allison shrugged. “Virgil could take care of it.”

Virgil could take care of it? As if Virgil should drop everything whenever Allison needed the teensiest bit of help. A woman who knew what was what. That’s who they needed in charge around here. Macy dumped vegetables in the blender and let it whirl.

Melia stacked napkins on the table. “Allison and I are going to make videos while we’re in Hawaii. We might even start a new channel. Stuff we saw in Hawaii that’s different from Wren Island.”

Shasta inspected her pink fingernails. “I think I’ll knit while I’m in Hawaii.”

“Knit!” Macy clunked a glass bowl into the sink. Without breaking it, thank goodness. “What on earth will you make? Not scarves or hats. Bikinis?”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. I could sell them.”

“Aunt Shasta.” Allison’s tone held a warning.

“I know, I know. Now that you’ve restricted my credit card privileges, I’m on my own for buying and selling. By the way, chickee, that budget class you signed me up for is turning out to be very interesting. Did you know if I cut my spending in half for just one month, I’ll have enough to pay for an online course? Imagine me, sort of going to college!” Shasta leaned over and smooched Allison on the cheek. “You’re fabu-lo-so, chickee. Yours will be the first bikini I knit.”

Macy brought her green smoothie to the table and sat. Checked her blood sugar. All good. Oh, to be the woman who could drink a vegetable smoothie without a pot of fondue calling her name. To be the woman who didn’t worry every time her near-sighted sister headed for the beach. Didn’t fear her shopaholic sister was inventing new trouble. Didn’t wonder if she should help her niece out of a romantic funk.

What was up with those two, anyway? Allison seemed near tears much of the time. Virgil was proving more steady than ever—yet he’d clearly backed off and was rarely around the house.

What would really be nice would be to get up one morning and feed the dogs. Check on the birds. Make herself a green smoothie. Do a few up and down stretches. And for the rest of the day … do whatever. Or nothing at all. Then, repeat it all over again the next day.

Not for very many days. She’d get bored once she ran out of projects. And people to look after. Then she might be tempted to drink. But for a short while? It could be heavenly. “You all go and enjoy yourselves in Hawaii. There’s plenty to keep me busy here. Wren Island is going to be inundated with riffraff once the roads are finished. Virgil’s hats aren’t helping. As if Wren Island was a tourist destination! Does Virgil know you’re going to Hawaii? He’s not going to be thrilled with the idea of the woman he loves jetting off to a tropical island without him.”

“How could Virgil possibly know?” Allison sounded annoyed. “We’re only just talking about the idea now. We haven’t even decided yet.”

“Seems like we’ve pretty much decided to go.” Melia reached for a piece of bread. “Right here, sitting around our new fondue pot.”

“Tiddlywinks!” Shasta snatched up the bread bowl. “We can’t eat fondue now! We’ll look flabby in our bikinis!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Macy retrieved the bread bowl, clunked it back to the table, and looked at each of them. “Did any of you add wine or beer to this fondue?”

“Of course not!”

Macy stuck a fork in a chunk of bread and passed it to her sister. “Then load me up, Shasta. As you’re so fond of saying, we’ve got to let ourselves live a little.”

70

Choosing

Before Allison could say anything, Virgil held up one hand. “Let me guess. You’re running off to Hawaii.”

“I’m not running off. I’m just going away for a few weeks.” It came out sounding defensive. Probably because Virgil was right. She was running off—to the safest place she knew. The place where she relied only on herself. A place that held—had always held—great appeal.

Virgil reached for her and she moved into his embrace. His voice resonated through her. “To you, it will be a few weeks. To me, it will feel like a lifetime. What can I do to convince you to stay? Reorganize the checkout lane? Alphabetize the baking supplies? Label the spice shelves?”

She laughed. “If only it were that easy, right?”

At his pained look, she softened. Relaxed against him. Let him hold her as if he’d always be holding her. Every day. And every day after that. Was this how it would feel? If she let herself trust him? She made herself smaller, felt him tighten his hold.

He’d said forever was all he was offering.

Had he said the same thing to his wife? The woman he walked away from?

It wouldn’t be worth it. Waking up tomorrow and finding out she wasn’t special anymore. So, getting away, getting untangled from this, was crucial. She straightened, patted his shoulder, aimed for lighter. “How could you already know about me going to Hawaii? I just now decided.”

“Ralph gave me a heads up.”

“Not much gets past Ralph.”

“Not much gets past me.”

She held her breath. He would say more. He would spell it out because he was Virgil, and when he’d landed on the truth he always, always, put the pieces together in a way that finally, finally, made sense to her. Did he know, even in this moment, how she longed for it all to make sense?

He reached for her hand. “You’re far away, even when you’re with me. You want to do this, but you’re afraid you'll somehow become less … you. Is this how it’s going to be? My heart aching for you. Your heart holding back. I miss you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. He loosened his hold on her. Enough for her to step away if she wanted.

She closed her eyes against the ache. Against the fear of going all in, then finding out she wasn’t interesting anymore. Against the fear of this moment, too, blurring into unimportance once she was no longer loved. “Do you think you’ll still love me tomorrow?”

“I know I’ll still love you tomorrow.”

“How can you know?”

“I’ve loved you for ages. I can’t imagine a world where I didn’t find joy in loving you more and more.” He placed a warm palm on either side of her face and kissed her forehead. “But I’m also choosing to love you. Choosing. To love you. Today, tomorrow, every day. And I’m hoping my love will be strong enough to draw you back. Every time.”

71

See what's beyond

Allison checked her navigational equipment and veered north. Overhead, billowy white clouds puffed across a sapphire sky. Look at that. A bald eagle was flying north, the same direction as her. The sea was calm, even in the strait, so she opened the throttle and let Buttercup skip across the water’s surface. She glanced at the dogs. They were both in their lifejackets. Everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion.

She resumed the conversation. “So I ask you again, Louise, where’s the rule?”

The dog thumped her tail.

“Where’s the rule that says you shouldn’t trust anyone just because someone once left you?”

Wren Island came into sight. Allison angled around the western point, gave the boulders a wide berth, and pulled up to her dock. Once Louise was free of her lifejacket, she hopped to the dock and took off, scattering seagulls.

“See, Lokita? That freewheeling run on the beach is exactly what I’m talking about.” Allison removed Lokita’s tiny lifejacket and snapped on a leash. “Why not let yourself fly into the unknown? Especially if someone wants to go there with you. Taking a chance on love, as they say. Hey, that could be a song. Actually, it is a song. I guess we’re late to the party on that one. But we’ve got our own little songs, don’t we? And they’re good enough, aren’t they? Now we’re on the dock. Careful where … you … walk.”

On the beach, Allison let Lokita choose her own slow route around driftwood, rocks, and clumps of seaweed. Soon Louise was barreling back at full steam, barking, happy.

Up at the house, Virgil was waving. Allison waved back. Louise ran in circles, then raced up the beach, across the dunes, back to Virgil. Laughing, he sent her galloping back to Allison.

She picked up Lokita and climbed through the dunes. At the concrete lions, she set down Lokita and sent her wandering into the house with Louise nudging her from behind. A muffled burst of laughter came from the kitchen. Voices of people she loved.

Virgil was waiting for her, the same as always.

She moved toward him. The air shifted in a soft breeze. The forest stirred. A whisper of swaying branches, the dripping scent of pine.

Virgil reached for her and wrapped her close, the same as always. Whispered, the same as always. “I missed you.”

The forest hushed, waiting.

“I missed you too.”

Coming Soon

Seventy-year-old Wallace Bernard is an expert at disentangling himself from sketchy business ventures, debatable legalities, and oppressive relationships. After moving to a remote island, Wallace enjoys unguarded friendship with a charming neighbor—until he realizes she’s the woman he’s been avoiding for fifty years.

A monumental regret. A wisp of hope for forgiveness. One more second chance on an island known for mercy.

Wren Island with Wallace Around is Book Two in The Wren Island Series by Laura Joy Lloyd. Sign up to receive updates and hear about opportunities to influence the developing story!

https://www.laurajoylloyd.com/

A Note From the Author

Dear Reader,

Once, a reader chatted with me about her changing home situation. She had reached an age where mobility was becoming an issue. Doctor appointments dominated the schedule. The beloved family home was becoming too much to care for, the property too much to keep up with.

This dear reader was facing a difficult question. If I can’t live here anymore, where will I go?

What she really wanted, she explained, was a safe place to land. A comfortable house stocked with everything she’d ever need. Cute critters running around the property. A welcoming place that somehow took care of itself and was always filled with people she loved.

Then this reader said something I hadn’t seen coming.

“Maybe I could live on Wren Island.”

Oh, dear reader, if only we could all live on Wren Island. Together, forever and always.

You won’t find Wren Island on any map, but it does exist. We find it whenever we imagine what could be. Whenever we reach for courage, trust in love, ask about joy, hope for something better.

Interactive serialized fiction blurs the line between reality and fiction. As we go about our daily lives, we wonder what’s happening on Wren Island at that same moment. In real time, our hopes, dreams, fears, and celebrations help shape Wren Island.

Email subscribers get behind-the-scenes peeks and hear about opportunities to influence the next part of the series! Head to the website below and subscribe to receive updates, because Wren Island becomes extra special when you’re there, too.

Here with you,

Laura

https://www.laurajoylloyd.com/

Acknowledgements

Wren Island would not be the extra special place it is without the influence of incredibly wonderful people. Some know they’ve played a role. Others are going about life doing their beautiful thing, never realizing their impact. I’m sure I’ve missed naming someone here. Please know you, too, made a difference.

A very special group of people influenced every part of this story from the very beginning. My wonderful email subscribers! Thank you for opening my Saturday morning notes to you. Thank you for filling out surveys and voting. Thank you for sending me notes with your own creative ideas and dreams for Wren Island. Interactive serialized fiction does not exist without you.

Jill Butler Wilson offered thoughtful edits to help this story shine. Plus, when she saw me hovering at the surface, she encouraged me to go deeper—to the place where the story was really happening.

Julie Little sacrificed time away from her own extraordinary writing to read messy drafts and highlight confusing sections. Then, without fail, she’d send a follow-up message reminding me I’m still very much loved.

Ginger Kauffman poured herself into the project—to the point of suggesting we catch a ferry (à la Ralph’s boat) to Guemes Island (à la Wren Island) and enjoy lunch at the general store (à la Virgil’s market). Plus, Ginger shared her own tender love story, inspiring much of what transpired between Allison and Virgil.

Tessa Burns was my go-to whenever I wasn’t sure if Wren was flying like it should, mostly because I knew she’d say something nice about it. Like listening to the podcast was the highlight of her day. Or having a Wren Island ball cap would be just the ticket, especially if the colors were matchy-matchy with Buttercup.

Ginny Yttrup of Words for Writers encouraged me, always, to up my game. Somehow, she did this while also simultaneously affirming I was already enough. She’s a light to everyone around her.

Cheri Gregory of Sensitive & Strong offered me a safe place to discover who I really want to be. She knew when to listen, yes, but thank goodness she also knew when to interrupt. Plus, Cheri gave me the best rooms in Haven House.

Sarah Marie Sonoda spent most of an evening (past bedtime!) at Haven House sorting through my ramblings about the ocean as a metaphor. The next morning at breakfast, she revisited the conversation—proving I hadn’t been on some kind of loony late-night rabbit trail about it.

Cynthia Ruchti of Books & Such Literary Agency suggested Reclamation Island wasn’t the only place I could write about. She was the first to think Wren Island, located well within sight of Reclamation Island, might fly on its own. And it did.

Lauraine Snelling took an interest in a wacky idea about letting readers influence a story while it’s being written, then gave me a much needed kick in the pants to overcome my fear of talking about it.

Eileen Grafton had the courage to reach out to someone new at writers conference, then gave our friendship plenty of opportunities to grow. And she introduced me to archaeological suspense, a genre I’m sure I would absolutely adore if only every story was written the way Eileen writes them.

Years ago, Aleta Ferrel spent hours with me searching for whole sand dollars. Who knew those afternoons would make their way into this story? Plus, Aleta is the reason we have hats printed with Wren Island.

Erin Johns Gless of Pacific Whale Watch Association answered my questions about our local orcas swimming near crab pots, and introduced me to the remarkable concept of ropeless fishing gear.

Andy Culbertson of Culbertson Marine Construction directed me to a good viewing spot while an LCM-8 (like Ralph’s) was in dry dock, and sketched out Ralph’s ingenious use of a T-handle wrench.

Thank you to the many friends who prayed for and encouraged me regularly! Jeannette Anderson, Marlene Anderson, Shelley Cramm, Bill & Judy Davidson, Kelly Fernlake, Jeremiah Friedli, Sheri Gates, Joan Husby, Bart & Elaine Jeffress, Deanne Johnson, Wendy Miller, Ann Neumann, April Ray, David & Trina Robinson, Raoul & Lynda Robles, Linda Sammaritan, Sylvia Stewart, Amy Lynn Taylor, Essea White, Jenn Whyman. And so many more. Group hug.

My parents, Robert & Connie Russell, encouraged me from the beginning and never stopped.

Thank you to my husband, Roy, for saying I’m a good writer even while you’re reading books by really good writers. And thank you for letting me daydream, uninterrupted, about Wren Island.

Little Moki was always ready with a snuggle, just like Lokita. You are missed, sweet doggie.

Rosie is my gorgeous walking partner. Her paw prints crisscross Wren Island and my heart. Plus, she doesn’t mind when I accidentally call her Louise.

Thank you to my Lord and Savior. For this life. For everything.

Discussion Guide

Questions from Part 1

1. Allison talks out loud to her dogs. Have you ever known someone who did this?

2. “You can do anything if you put your mind to it.” Do you agree?

3. A desire to do something important drives Allison, yet she doesn’t seem to know quite what that looks like for her. Can you identify with her feelings?

4. After she couldn’t see real whales as clearly as she wanted to, Amelia imagined having an extraordinary encounter with orcas. Have you ever been disappointed about an actual life experience, then imagined how it could have gone better?

5. The hydrophone on Wren Island is based on real hydrophones in the Salish Sea. If you were visiting Wren Island and heard the gong ring, what would you do?

6. Allison’s aunts arrive unannounced. If you were in Allison’s situation, how would you respond?

Questions from Part 2

7. When Macy shares about life as a recovering alcoholic, she admits to feeling relieved about being surrounded by “safe” people. She also admits to being “mostly annoyed with herself.” Can you identify with any of these feelings?

8. Shasta pushes Hack as a romantic interest for Allison. Do you think this would be a good match? Why or why not?

9. Overwhelmed Allison misses her independence and the sense of being an individual. She feels like she’s “getting lost in all the clutter.” Have you ever felt this way?

10. Allison fears making the same mistakes she did in previous relationships. Do you think this fear is affecting how she approaches her current relationships? If so, in what ways?

11. When Allison borrows a motorbike from an acquaintance, she justifies it by pointing to how islanders often band together to share resources. If you were in Allison’s situation, do you think you would have felt comfortable borrowing the motorbike? Why or why not?

Questions from Part 3

12. After a harrowing experience, Amelia worries Macy won’t allow her to walk alone on the beach anymore. Do you think that level of concern is warranted?

13. While Allison is missing, Macy regrets making certain comments. She also regrets not being more encouraging to Allison. Have you ever second-guessed your relationship with someone you love, especially when they’re not around?

14. At the commune, Amelia learns about simplifying her wardrobe, reducing the need for plastic packaging, and the risk of entanglement from fishing gear. What are your thoughts about these ideas?

15. Macy uses peaceful imagery to help her fall asleep. Does this surprise you? Why or why not?

16. During a conversation with Virgil, Amelia wonders if he might be worried about Allison. Do you think he is?

17. How do you feel about Allison’s experience at the end of this part?

Questions from Part 4

18. While recovering from her accident, Allison notes her changing relationship with Macy. In what ways do you think their relationship is getting stronger? In what ways might their relationship be getting more complicated?

19. Allison’s relationship with Virgil is changing, too. What do you think it will take for Allison to trust Virgil?

20. Amelia’s recording of the bald eagle taking its first flight was supposed to be kept private, yet Hack could view it. What do you think Hack is up to?

21. What do you think Shasta and Ralph are up to?

22. Amelia’s experience finding whole sand dollars was not what she expected. Were you surprised by the way she responded? Why or why not?

Questions from Part 5

23. Macy isn’t acting like her usual self. What do you think might be going on?

24. Do you think Allison knows about the mice?

25. Amelia’s showing great ingenuity. She’s creating social media videos, crafting seashell wreaths, volunteering at the rehab aviary, and finding her own way around. Yet one wrong turn throws her completely off track. Have you ever experienced anything like this?

26. Allison feels burdened by all the information she needs to keep secret. Do you think it’s reasonable to expect Allison to carry this burden on her own? Do you think she should talk about it with someone? Who?

27. Do you think Allison can trust Ralph? Why or why not?

28. How do you feel about what happened at the end of this part? What are you happy about? What are you worried about?

Questions from Part 6

29. Allison makes assumptions about how Virgil would approach a romantic relationship, then finds out she’s wrong. How do you think she should respond?

30. Amelia wants to live a more independent life. What are some ideas for how she could reach this goal?

31. Ralph’s come up with a convoluted plan to help a family in need while leaving his Wren Island responsibilities to a friend. Do you think Allison should be cautious about getting involved?

32. Macy is dead-set against returning to the place where her alcoholism began. Do you think she’s right to hold her ground? What other options might she consider?

33. How do you feel about the relationship between Allison and Virgil? Do you think it will last?

About the Author

Photo by Suzanne Rothmeyer
Photo by Suzanne Rothmeyer

Laura Joy Lloyd writes contemporary fiction set in the Pacific Northwest islands she calls home. Through a unique style she calls interactive serialized fiction, Laura invites readers to influence many of the stories she writes. Free of harsh language, bedroom scenes, and unnecessary violence, Laura’s stories feature hope-filled relationships.

https://www.laurajoylloyd.com/