Page 141 of The Otherworld

“Tomorrow?” Jack says, disappointed. “I had plans for us tomorrow.”

“Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure.” Mrs. Stevenson gives Jack a meaningful look. “It’s not often Orca will have a chance to visit her aunt.”

“We can still do something when I get back,” I add, attempting to mend his smile. “We’re going to set out first thing, but I’m sure we won’t be gone long.”

Jack shrugs one shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. No doubt Adam will make sure it lasts all day.” He swerves a glance in his brother’s direction, and I can’t help but notice the undertone of animosity in his voice.

Adam exchanges a long look with Jack, but says nothing in response. I wonder if it has anything to do with the conversation they had on the docks this morning. I discreetly reach under the tablecloth and gently take Adam’s hand in mine. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as my fingers slide into the spaces between his.

Mrs. Stevenson is the only one who seems to notice that I’ve switched my fork to my left hand.

* * *

Tuesday dawns overcast and damp. The sky is a gray, in-between thing—no rain, no sun. I dress in linen trousers and a green cable-knit cardigan, then eat breakfast with Adam and his mother before heading out. Jack is still sleeping when we leave the house, so I take the opportunity to steal a cassette tape from the glove box of his Mustang. On the drive to the harbor, I slide the tape into the player in Adam’s truck.

“What’s that?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a cassette tape Jack says he stole from you. And now I’ve stolen it from him. Because one of the songs reminds me of us.”

Adam raps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Us as in…?”

“You and me.”

A smile quirks at the edge of his mouth. “Oh, my Bryan Adams mixtape,” he says when the music starts playing. “I was wondering where that went.”

I’m still new to technology, so it takes a few minutes of fast-forwarding, rewinding, and flipping the cassette tape to find the song I’m looking for. When I finally land in the right place, I turn up the volume and lean back in the passenger seat—holding Adam’s hand and watching his profile as he drives. He tells me the song is called “Heaven,” and that’s exactly how I feel when I’m with him.

We arrive at the harbor right on time to board the next ferry. I’ve never been on a boat big enough to drive your car right onto it, even though I’ve seen them through Papa’s spyglass—dark shapes slowly skating across the horizon, transporting people and freight to distant islands.

Once Adam parks the truck in the garage area, we venture up to a higher deck, which wraps around the ferry and provides a beautiful but overcast view of the surrounding landscape. The water is calm today, a dark, stormy blue to contrast with the pale cloudy sky. I stand at the railing with Adam as we pass the islands, which look like humped backs of great whales breaching the cold, silky water. Evergreen giants, frozen in time.

“Adam?”

He glances over at me, leaning forward with his elbows on the metal rail. He looks like a rugged adventurer in that brown leather bomber jacket, the ocean wind messing up his hair.

“Have you ever kissed a woman before?” I ask, my voice sounding small. “Before me, I mean.”

Adam seems to find the question amusing. “Well… yeah, of course. I mean, I’ve dated before. But it was nothing to write home about.”

“Have you ever made love to a woman?”

There’s a flash of surprise, then a twitch of a bashful grin, then a frown, and then a flush of pink colors his ears. He looks down at the waves sloshing below us. “Why are you asking me this, Orca?”

“I’m just curious. Jack said you’re the sort who doesn’t fool around with girls. You need to be her friend for a long time before you know if she’s ‘the one.’” I glance down, rubbing my thumb over the worn metal rail. “I think maybe you do believe in soulmates.”

When I glance back up at Adam, his deep blue eyes are fixed on mine. “Maybe I do.”

I embrace him, pressing my face to his chest and breathing in his spicy, manly scent. Any place in the world could feel like home with his arms wrapped around me.

* * *

Friday Harbor. A perfect little coastal town, if ever I saw one. Colorful shops line crooked streets, and every lamppost bears an American flag or a blossoming flower basket—everything splashed in cheerful shades of red, white, and blue.

After disembarking from the ferry, Adam and I track down a map of the island and squint to read the names of squiggly roads, searching for Hemlock Avenue—my aunt Sara’s street. The address she supplied us with yesterday is written on the scrap of paper in my hands. I act as a navigator from the passenger seat while Adam drives down the long, winding streets of San Juan Island.

At last, we turn onto Hemlock Avenue, and my heart is racing by the time we pull into the driveway of house number seven and park.

Adam turns to give me one last questioning look. “You ready?”

---