Page 7 of Big Witch Energy

“Guys, I told you there would be little problems like this when we moved into a house built in 1924,” Ben called back. “Just live with it tonight and we’ll fix it tomorrow when I can get it straightened out.”

“Fine!” they yelled back in a unified tone that shouldn’t have been possible, given the bickering.

Shivering into the coat he wasn’t quite used to needing again, Ben shook his head. He should have known better than to think that the long drive and the excitement of an extremely bumpy boat ride over the newly thawed lake would tire them out enough to keep them from arguing as they moved into his parents’ home, Gray Fern Cottage—a name that had always confused Ben. It wasn’t as if there were many ferns in the yard. Most of those grew on the state-protected land on the other side of the island. But the Hoults had always been a proud, competitive bunch. He supposed the earlier Hoults thought that if their nearest neighbors, the Shaddows, had a house with a fancy-sounding name, they should, too. He figured the “cottage” bit was sort of self-deprecating, considering that the Hoult’s shroud-gray house—while respectably spacious by most standards—was dwarfed by the enormity of Shaddow House.

“Dad, do I really have to share a bathroom with Josh?” Mina yelled from upstairs. “This is cruel and unusual!”

Sighing, Ben opened his favored shopping app and searched for power strips. And scotch. And then he remembered that shipping to Starfall Point was complicated by the fact that the island was only accessible by boat. There was no such thing as two-day shipping when you lived on Starfall. He would have to go to the hardware store the next day and hope for the best.

Even if Mina did deem sleeping on bedding used by the rental guests to also be grooooooss, Ben supposed it helped that they didn’t really have to unpack or set up the house that night. The permanent move to Starfall wasn’t going as he’d hoped, but somehow, exactly as he’d expected. His kids didn’t know this place, the quirks of the island, the people, the house. The island was its own ecosystem with its own calendar and economy. And his kids were completely unprepared to negotiate any of it.

That was Ben’s own fault. He’d let his ex-wife talk him into avoiding the island altogether after the kids were born. Isabelle hated sleeping in his parents’ guest room when there was a perfectly good five-star hotel right there on the island. She hated the way locals treated Ben just like everybody else, good old Ben that they’d known since forever, and not “Dr. Benjamin Hoult.” They didn’t get the best tables in the island’s restaurants. She couldn’t throw his name around at the island’s clubs because the island didn’t have any. The best he could get for her on Starfall was a discount on fudge from as many shops as she wanted. Which she did not, because she was usually doing some low-carb thing. His now-late parents had retired to Florida and began renting the house out using a local property management company about ten years before, when Isabelle declared that they would just pay to fly the elder Hoults to visit them in Arizona.

“It’s not like we can’t afford it,” she would huff, and Ben would just go along with it because it was easier than arguing. “Easier than arguing” had defined the last few years of his marriage, and Ben wasn’t particularly proud of it.

So, if the kids were a little cranky settling into the house this first night, he was going to allow them all the squabbling room they needed. Even if it required scotch.

He was so caught up in his online search for liquid comfort—was the Starfall Party Store still open after all these years?—he almost didn’t register the sound of boots crunching through the snow to his right.

Three women, bundled up against the cold, were carrying what looked like glass party trays up the sidewalk to Shaddow House. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he definitely recognized the voice of the shorter woman in the Great Lakes Loons baseball cap. Then he heard the taller redhead say something about ghost locks. Maybe she was talking about a video game? Josh was always playing something called “Ghost Airlock IV” or “Blood Meerkat: The Revenge” or some such thing.

Caroline Wilton had never played so much as Super Mario Brothers in all the years he’d known and loved her. Then again, he hadn’t spoken to her in almost twenty of those years, so what the hell did he know?

He had to handle this carefully. Caroline was known for her temper, and even though they’d parted in an expected, amicable way, that didn’t mean she knew he was coming back to the island or she wanted to see him. Hell, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her right now, when he was tired as hell, smelled like a three-day road trip, and his teenagers could yell embarrassing nonsense from upstairs at any moment.

And yet, for some reason, his asshole brain chose this moment to break loose from his careful hold, and he blurted out, “Caroline?”

Dammit, Brain. You got me through residency, but you fail me now?

His brain had no excuses, only silence.

She was still stunning, Ben mused, all flyaway dark curls and moon-pale skin. He hadn’t expected anything else really, even as he’d checked Starfall locals’ social media many times over the years to catch a glimpse of her. She didn’t seem to have any public accounts of her own, but he’d secretly hoped to see her in other people’s photos. Now, he was glad he’d spared himself the torture. His eyes roamed over her figure, which had always been lush and curvy; her eyes, like smoked whiskey; her mouth with its distinct cupid’s bow. Her mouth was something he’d always admired about her. Caroline Wilton had confidence.

“Ben!” she yelped, turning toward him, her eyes wide. She did not look happy to see him. In fact, she looked scared, as her eyes darted to a blond woman he didn’t recognize and…was that Alice Seastairs? How were they out here, together, late at night, moving glassware and talking about video games? Why would Caroline be scared of him? And why did the air suddenly smell overwhelmingly like rancid blueberries? What was going on?

And Ben’s stupid brain, for some reason, communicated to his left hand that it was a good idea to lift up and wave awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” Caroline asked, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly when Alice—Alice, who was Caroline’s polar opposite back in high school and wasn’t remotely connected to her social orbit—jostled the glass she was carrying and stroked Caroline’s arm.

“I’m, uh, moving back,” he said. “Dr. Toller interviewed me for the open spot at the clinic about a month ago.”

“Since when?” Caroline said, frowning. “How did I not hear about that?”

“It’s probably not something Dr. Toller wanted to get around before everything was settled,” Ben said. “Didn’t want to get everybody’s hopes up about getting a second doctor.”

“Yeah, but the Rose is the hub of most information on the island,” Caroline mused. “Am I missing out on the important news bulletins?”

“We have had other things going on,” the blond lady murmured. Caroline grumbled under her breath.

Ben blinked at her. Why were he and Caroline talking about the intricacies of small-town life when they were seeing each other for the first time in twenty years? Why was she so unreadable? And why was she spending time with Alice Seastairs, who had never had time for anybody when they were kids?

“So, you’re still working at the Rose?” Ben asked.

“What else do you think I would be doing?” Her eyes narrowed. There was a bitter edge to her voice, and he supposed he deserved it. He knew her circumstances. She’d always insisted she couldn’t leave the island. And what else was she supposed to do on the island besides work at her family’s bar?

“If you’re OK, we’ll just take this up to the house,” the blond woman said quietly. “Don’t want the, uh, squirrels to get antsy.”

Ben frowned. That was a weird thing to say. The island’s squirrels were tucked away in their little nests at this time of year. He didn’t remember meeting this woman in his years on the island, and she was giving off strong “recent transplant” vibes. Maybe she wasn’t aware of the winter sleeping habits of tiny Northern tree-bound mammals?

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