Page 33 of After Life
I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the booth as I waited for my sugar and caffeine fix, the exchange between Julian and Sandra playing ad nauseum in my thoughts. Is that how it’ll be whenever he meets someone from his milieu? I’ll be the joke, odd little man who talks to invisible friends.
“This island is cruel to the dead.”
Opening my eyes, I sighed. “Virginia.”
She was still washed-out pale, even more so now that she was away from her perpetual path along the beach, but anger or something like it sparked in her eyes. For a moment, I thought I could see their true color, a deep brown like coffee or damp earth. “This island is cruel to the dead, and it will count you among our number if you persist in your foolishness.”
“Are you warning me off?” I murmured, curious. “It sounds like you’re warning me off. About what?”
“So many of us are waiting for our turn to cross,” she rasped. “But we’re caught here. Because it was unnatural, what happened to us. We weren’t ready. It wasn’t time. We were stolen.” The overhead lights flickered and the chime over the door wailed a sound like a dying robot cat. “I can’t stay.” She sighed, fading a bit more. “But you’re strong, Oscar Fellowes. They talk about you; they whisper your name. We all do. And this island will be as cruel to you as it was to us.”
Fucking dramatic ghosts. Christ.
“Here ya go.” Delia dropped the plate with the singular cinnamon roll in front of me then sloshed a cup of dark, burnt-smelling coffee beside it. “You know I think you’re full of shit.”
“We’ve barely met,” I said pleasantly. “Usually, it takes people at least three visits before they come to that conclusion. Well done, you.”
She glanced back at Ray-Don, who was watching us curiously. “You’re not going to stir shit up on this island, Oscar Fellowes. We got enough mess to deal with as it is, outsiders coming in and thinking they know us and can tell us what to do. Fuck. Off.”
“What the actual fuck?” I muttered, staring after her as she stormed back to the kitchen. “We’re not here to do anything other than have a vacation!”
“Ignore her,” Ray-Don urged. “She’s having a bad day.” He saluted me with his glass of water. “Enjoy your treat there, Oscar, then get back before it’s too late, hear?”
“This entire town is a shit-show,” I muttered, taking a long sip of my coffee and grimacing at the bitter taste. “Fucking hell.”
Ray-Don lingered at the counter, eating his burger with a deliberate slowness that made me think he was waiting to see what I would do, where I was going. So, I nibbled my roll, sipped the terrible coffee, and just to be contrary ordered a second cup. Delia brought it with a bit less ire the second time, setting it in front of me and muttering an apology about a stressful day. She was back in the kitchen before I could reply.
The second cup was no better than the first. I barely made it halfway before the acid reflux kicked in hard. Perfect. Shitty mood, shitty coffee, shitty esophagus. Wonderful day all around.
And I was a shitty boyfriend there, wasn’t I?
Acting jealous of Sandra wanting to talk to him... Where had that come from?
No, that was a ridiculous question. I knew exactly where it’d come from. It was because I felt so easily dismissed by Julian at that moment—and a few others. But... But had it been dismissal? Or just my stunning sense of inadequacy that came with not knowing how to navigate the so-called normal world. The world where people didn’t regularly talk to the dead and did things like have conversations about common, non-dead interests.
I knew the answer, and I didn’t like it.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus, to will myself to get back up and head to Honey Walk before the storm that was brewing offshore came along. The thought of returning just then was anathema—I didn’t want to face Julian yet and running into Sandra would either end in bloodshed (imaginary, purely in my fantasies) or... well, frankly, me sulking in the bedroom. I might be bold as brass with spirits but with the living? I hated confrontation. Ezra tended to take the lead when it came to that facet of our lives.
The damn door chimed again and the two teens—Kelly and Marilla, tumbled in on a burst of wind and dampness.
Ray-Don hefted himself from the stool and, cutting a hard glance my way, stalked over to Kelly. “Get the boat tied down? What about the lockers?”
Marilla sighed. “Mom says we gotta get back. We just wanted to drop off your keys.”
“I still got you till five,” Ray-Don scolded. “Your mama knows that. Now go get the shit tied down or you ain’t getting paid when I sell the lot.”
Kelly hesitated, glancing at me as if he wanted to come talk. I was relieved when he groaned and acquiesced, stomping out with Marilla. Ray-Don nodded to me, adjusting his cap as he headed for the door. “Remember what I said,” he called to me as he opened the door to the windy street. “Not a long time left.”
Delia’s stares made me distinctly uncomfortable, so I paid my tab and left a generous please don’t poison me next time I order food tip and headed out onto the pavement. A few intrepid tourists from the other end of the island, judging by their sporty get ups and a few t-shirts emblazoned with Tibbins Quay Gold and Sport Fishing Excursions, milled around Pirate Pete’s, looking at the specials posted in the window: Hurricane Sale! Get it now before it all blows away!
The storm was impending, but people seemed to be at the excited, thrill-seeking stage just then. Afraid of what would come but feeling bold enough to exercise a little hubris, apparently.
Though I had little room to talk. I was out for a stroll as the storm inched closer, risking life and limb because I had hurt my own feelings over my boyfriend having a different area of interest than me. Maybe ‘risking life and limb’ was an exaggeration—I kept checking for updates on my phone and so far, all forecasts were for Nelson to only glance the area and keep moving, not settle in for some movie-level destruction, but still... I glanced at the weather app I had open again and frowned. Does that little swirly symbol look closer or am I just freaking out? Or both?
Maybe it was the mulling about history and Julian’s (former?) line of work that led me to the museum, but I only know I found myself on the front steps before I realized where I was going. A cheery faux-gaslamp glowed near the door and a small sign read Open... for now.
A crackle of lightning gave me all the impetus I needed to duck inside and hope I wouldn’t be immediately kicked out. “Hello?” I called softly. “You have a visitor.”
