Page 19 of Adrift

Guess I don’t have to wait long to find out if this place is watertight.

It’s even darker in here than it was a minute ago. With the sun setting behind the mountains on the mainland—technically Vancouver Island, but nobody here calls it that—I’m quickly losing the light.

And with it, my chance to see if the bedroom and bathroom are merging with the forest floor, or occupied by raccoons.

“Come on,” I breathe out as I cross the main room to the little hallway. I head to the end first, carefully twisting the old knob and opening the bathroom door.

Phew.

Everything is mint green, and so outdated it’s probably back in style. But there’s nothing obviously wrong—and no furry critters living in the bathtub. God, I’m glad they built things well in the old days.

“Two for two?” I open the bedroom door, holding my breath until I can see in…

It’s a dusty, dry, critter-free bedroom.

“Yes!” I pump my fist.

I see something in the corner. A few wooden crates, covered in a thick layer of dust. I take a step closer, and then I see that all of them are labelledSunrise Cider… in Grandma’s neat, loopy handwriting.

My heart tightens like a bowstring, and I stop in my tracks and swallow hard.

All of us have had a year to adjust to life without Grandma. By now, I’m familiar with the ebb and flow of grief. It’s like the tide, pushed this way and that by an unseen and unpredictable moon. It won’t drown me. I just have to wait for the tide to go out.

Maybe I’ll camp out in the kitchen. Just for this first night.

Tomorrow morning, I can tackle the crates. Get my stuff set up in here, and maybe even get an air mattress.

That’s better than a tent in the orchard, huh?

With one last glance at the wooden crates, I close the door again and lean on the doorframe with a sigh.

It’s the strangest feeling, living in my great-grandparents’ first house and following in their footsteps. I just hope I can do them proud.

One day at at time. I’ve done everything I can for today.

I’m soaked in sweat, dusty and dirty from hauling all that stuff around. I have to get cleaned up… and with no running water yet, I’m saving my jugs of water for dishes and cooking.

Luckily, I live on an island. The beach is on my doorstep, meaning a bath is never far away.

“Flip-flops…” I mumble, digging them out of my backpack. Then I start to peel all my dirty clothes off.

I didn’t bring my swim trunks, but… itisraining and nearly dark now. I bet I’ll have the beach all to myself.

Besides, I’ll have to be quick—the harbour will be freezing. A quick dip sounds like heaven after the day I’ve had, but I don’t want to risk lighting the chimney yet. And getting hypothermia on the first night would be a bad luck omen.

I dig my towel out and leave it on top of my bag, and then I laugh to myself as I tiptoe outside. You can’t really see the road from here with the grasses and bushes so overgrown, but I don’t want to give any sweet old ladies a heart attack.

The coast is clear.

My heart racing, I keep one hand over myself—for modesty and support as I dash through the meadow—and then I pause at the rocks near the top of the beach to make sure there’s nobody.

Perfect.

I stride down to the water line and kick my flip-flops off, gritting my jaw as I step into the cold surf. Out here on the beach, I’m not sheltered by any tree branches, and the rain is steadily soaking my hair.

Holy shit, that’s cold.

I don’t even want to imagine the colour of my nuts in a minute. But I can’t just hang out naked on the shoreline forever. Gotta push through before I second-guess myself.

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