Page 101 of That Island Feeling

‘You’re a sicko,’ I say, but I smile at her as we ascend the steep hill towards our cherished ocean-facing bench. Mum leans on my arm, her weight gradually increasing with each step, while I strain to push Dad’s wheelchair up the path.

When we finally reach the bench, I need a rest myself.

ISLAND LIFE

Chapter Forty-seven

ANDIE

I’m walking back to Moorings when the heavens open. The rain comes out of nowhere, and I tuck Jack’s gift under my shirt so that it doesn’t get wet and sprint towards the house. By the time I push open the front door, I’m completely drenched.

I switch on the TV, kick off my soaked sandals and peel off my wet blazer. It’s now less of a sunny yellow and more of a dirty mustard. One of Taylor’s kaftans is draped over the dining chair, so I reach for it and pull it on.

The monotone drone of a newsreader fills the room, informing us of the expected rainfall in the area: a hundred and fifty millimetres in the next twenty-four hours.

Half an hour later, I’m immersed in another rain-filled scene, a universe away – Tom Hanks in his yellow raincoat, checking the letterbox of his Seattle houseboat. I let out a deep breath; Sleepless in Seattle is the perfect balm right now. I turn the volume all the way up to drown out the rest of the noise. It’s better than rehashing what was said in Hazel’s study.

By the time Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks finally meet at the top of the Empire State Building, rain is still pelting against the window, and I’m still on my own. Grace and Lizzie are probably at Keith’s place for one last hurrah with the boys, Taylor is at Clam Cove with Mitch, and I guess Jack is home in his cabin. Alone in his bed.

Do I go there? Ask him to explain why he kept the oyster farm a secret from me? Confess that, yes, this started as a meaningless holiday fling, but it’s become something more. He’s become something more? I imagine a scenario where I creep up to the cabin with a leaf blower, only to be met with laughter at my failed attempt to scare him. I trip over Izzie, he helps patch up my knee, and we end up watching the sunrise together.

But it was evident in every crease of his face, and his disgusted touch as he pushed the Charlie Farleys bag into my hands, that it’s over between us.

We were like one of Hazel’s avocados – picked and given seven days to soften but never having time to reach the desired ripeness.

It’s really late now, and we’re booked on the 9 a.m. river ferry in the morning. I switch off the television, my eyes still damp with tears, and begin collecting stray items for packing.

Grace’s copy of Icebreaker lies facedown on the couch arm. I pick it up and spot a pair of Lizzie’s hoop earrings resting on the coffee table, so scoop them up too. Kneeling, I check under the couch, where my sweeping hand discovers a lost crystal from our moon circle, along with a yellow sock. Although I can’t recall the girls ever wearing anything other than sandals and thongs, I pick it up as well. I balance my finds on the bottom step before moving to the darkened dining room.

I flick the light on and step into the room. The table is empty, but the shelves framing the wall hold a puzzle of belongings. A quick scan confirms that the items all belong to Moorings – photo frames, intricate vases, a ceramic owl, a wooden sailboat, well-worn copies of To Kill a Mockingbird and The Catcher in the Rye, as well as an assortment of smaller knick-knacks whose significance may elude anyone but those who originally gave them a place in Moorings – a die, a thimble, a snow globe, an old pocket watch, a deck of UNO cards. Each item hints at private stories and memories.

Luckily Mum was there to direct when I packed up our family home for sale. Plenty of conversations were started by the selected treasures as I carefully folded the items into newspaper to be stored on the top shelves of my built-in closet. Some had obvious significance, like Dad’s marine biology collection – others I was less certain about. Most of the larger furniture items I sold on Facebook Marketplace, while the rest of the stuff went to Vinnies. It was a massive undertaking – and a highly emotional one.

As long as I have photos and my video clips to anchor my senses, I can fill in the smells, textures and tastes of countless memories – family Christmases, birthdays and beach days.

I stop my browsing and reach for my phone, opening up the Storytime app. As I scroll through the endless stream of videos – Dad on the ocean bench, Mum curled on the couch, Dad in the home, Mum covered in tubes in hospital, still smiling, with Toby perched on the end of her bed – I become so engrossed that I don’t hear someone enter the house.

‘Andie? Are you here?’

I jolt at the unexpected voice and my phone slips from my grip, falling to the floor with a sickening crack. I freeze as a sharp sound echoes through the room.

Next thing I realise, I’m screaming, and Taylor is rushing towards me.

‘Andie! What’s wrong?’

Between my sobs, I can barely form a sentence as I drop down on all fours, my hands scrambling to retrieve my broken phone. ‘Mum. Dad,’ I gasp.

My trembling hands repeatedly press the power button. ‘It won’t work!’ I whimper.

Taylor gathers me into her arms, soothing me with gentle words. ‘Shh, Andie. It’s just a phone. We’ll get you another.’

She rocks me back and forth until I finally calm down. The silence settles heavily around us.

‘Okay, what was that all about?’ she asks eventually.

‘I don’t really know,’ I say, breath hitching as it gradually steadies. My reaction surprised me as much as it did her. ‘I think I panicked because of the videos of Mum and Dad on there. I was terrified I’d lost them – even though I know they’re backed up.’

‘So, they’re definitely backed up?’ Taylor confirms.

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