Page 14 of Home to Christmas Island
Not only did I flat out ignore Alba and her dad about selling the lake house when they insisted that I might change my mind in a few years, but this is also about Justin. About the fight Alba and I had three years ago when she left her job on the cruise ship. Left me on the cruise ship, too.
The year after the pandemic, when we were finally allowed back onboard the ships, felt different somehow. I could feel Alba slipping away from me. Like that brief stint at home in Cape Breton had changed something for her—made her see this wasn’t the life she wanted. I think she was finally homesick, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it, I couldn’t help the resentment that settled into my bones. I couldn’t relate to wanting to go back to Christmas Island. Not when so much pain was waiting for me there.
So, as she seemed to pull herself away, I drew someone else in.
Justin was new with our cruise ship company that year. He had a buzz cut that I kind of hated, but his brooding dark brown eyes and undeniably attractive features made up for it. I thought maybe Alba would find relief in seeing that I could be someone else’s problem. Not her burden alone.
But then came the fight.
She accused me of letting him control my life and making all of my decisions for me. I had become this empty shell and honestly, it was easier not to think so much and let someone else steer the boat for a while. But to Alba, I remained adamant that I cared about him, that she didn’t understand our relationship.
Alba lost it. She begged me to get out of my own way and break up with him, telling me I deserved better and that I should know that, deep down. That we should get the hell out of here and go back to Cape Breton, clear our heads, then figure out a path forward. Together, she kept saying. We can figure it out together Flora, but not here. I can’t stay here anymore.
But it only made me dig my heels in deeper. I didn’t want to admit that I was wrong—wrong about so many things. And I definitely didn’t want to go home. There wasn’t a home waiting for me anymore.
This, I say, and realize I’m breathing heavily, Has nothing to do with that. This is about proving a point.
And what point is that, exactly?
That he is a paranoid, control freak who audibly gasped when I slipped on a little snow. As I finish my sentence, I try again to climb onto the dumpster, but Alba is there before I can get both legs up.
You’re not doing this.
Of course I am.
No, you’re not, she says, raising her voice.
Yes, I am, I say even more loudly. I dart out of her grasp and run to the other side of the dumpster.
I might be faster, but she is definitely stronger than me.
Flora this is so stupid, she yells, pulling me back down onto the ground again. Do you even know what you’re being stubborn about anymore? You’ve lost the plot, babe!
I feel a bit like a feral animal trying to get out of her grip. My sudden urge from earlier to pummel her into a snowbank rears back up. And so I do exactly that: I put her in a headlock and drag her over to the nearby pile of snow.
Get off of me! She shouts, flailing her arms wildly, as I dunk her head into the snow. I am behaving like an actual child, but I don’t care. Her strength wins out and suddenly she’s the one who has me pinned down. She holds me against the snowbank with one arm and rubs my hair into the snow with her other hand, making it into a tangled mess that she knows I hate.
Not my hair! I shriek as I furiously try to move my head away from her.
Admit it, she says through clenched teeth. That Alistair is perfectly nice and you’re just being an asshole.
No, I say, continuing to shake my head to try to get away from her.
Admit that if you climbed onto that roof you’d fall and break your neck!
NO!
It’s at this point I notice a reflection of colour in the snowbank—blue and red, to be exact.
No, I say again, my voice hoarse, as I whip my head to see what I know is coming. Alba turns her head too and spots the police car at the same time I do, as it pulls into the parking lot beside her truck. What are the chances it’s another police officer?
Alba starts laughing like a hyena.
This isn’t funny, I snap, but it’s too late. She howls, rolling around in the snow, tears streaming down her face. I wish her laugh wasn’t so infectious. I really am trying my best not to get caught up in it, but I feel my mouth twitch slightly towards a smile.
What the devil, Alistair says, getting out of his car and walking over to us, is going on here?
He glances between Alba and I, both of us looking disheveled and probably insane. He looks… perfect, my stupid brain supplies automatically. He looks, put together, I silently correct myself. He’s wearing his uniform tonight, the accompanying coat zipped up, his thick gloves probably keeping his hands warm. He doesn’t have a hat on, his hair looking again like he came from the barber mere moments ago. I close my eyes and try really hard not to think about my own hair.
