Page 5 of The Dangers of Daydreaming

As I pulled out of the parking lot, maneuvering the fifteen-seater sprinter van onto the main road that took me to the airport, Nirvana started playing on the radio. I reached to turn it up, but my phone kicked into the speaker at that moment, cutting off the song and instead playing my ringtone.

“Hey, Gram,” I said, picking up the phone. She was probably going to berate me for skipping breakfast. But I liked to grab donuts for the tour group on pick-up days, and figured I’d take some sleeping-in and a donut over walking across the farm to the inn to have one of Gram’s famous pancake breakfasts.

I know, it sounded stupid to me, too.

“Hey, hun.”

I sat a little straighter, glancing down at the phone with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Pops fell this morning.I—”

My hands gripped the steering wheel. “Is he okay?”

“The paramedics think he broke his hip.” Her voice was shaky. I looked at the clock—could I get back in time to help?

“Are you in an ambulance?”

“I’m following behind, I—”

“You should have told me.” I didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the concern for my grandpa made the words come out harsh and clipped. “I could have driven you.” Gram shouldn’t be driving in this state; she was probably out of her mind with worry.

“I know, Finn, but it all happened so fast. Mr. Steel was there having coffee when James fell, and he called the ambulance for me. You have the group and—oh, here’s the hospital. I need to find parking; I’ll call you when I know more. Or, why don’t you call me? I know you’re getting the group and—”

She sounded harried. Talking too fast and leaving half the syllables off her words. I cut in, trying to be the voice of calm I knew she’d need, even if I didn’t feel halfway to calm myself. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got the group settled in. Don’t worry about me, just focus on you and Pops.”

“Okay. Okay, Finn, I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

And without even waiting for me to reciprocate the love, she hung up.

I stared at the taillights of the car in front of me. Pops wasn’t that old. In his seventies. He was driving a skid steer yesterday. But broke a hip today?

No. They didn’t know if he had broken his hip yet. No use worrying about something that hadn’t even been confirmed.

I rubbed my lips together. Despite how logical my brain was being, the worry stayed there, making itself at home in my gut, and I clenched the steering wheel tighter, not allowing myself to think about what this could mean for Pops and for the coming weeks. I didn’t like planning ahead like that. It was pointless and usually set me up for disappointment. What I needed to do was get back to thinking about thegroup starting today. Something I had some control over. An extended family, which was a little rare. Usually, we got school groups or a compilation of adults who’d all booked through some travel agency. But this was two grandparents from the States who’d decided that what their family reunion needed was two weeks of touring Prince Edward Island. There was a bet going on at the farm—whether it was the grandma or somebody else who was obsessed withAnne of Green Gables. Someone always was. Prince Edward Island had a lot to recommend, but the vast majority of tourists were pulled in by all the Anne-related sites they could visit.

I shoved thoughts of Pops to the back of my mind. I’d focus on them when I could actually do something about it.

I held the sign that neatly read “Hastings Reunion” as I waited by baggage claim. There was another tour leader in the crowd that I recognized, and I nodded at him. His mouth lifted in return. Prince Edward Island was not a huge place. I’d moved from Utah when I was fourteen, and PEI was a fraction of the size of that state, comparable to two or three counties, but our tourism was rampant, especially beginning in June. Still, there weren’t many tour companies in the area. Tours to go on, yes. But companies that would take you to several during the course of your stay, no. So, I knew basically everyone who worked in the industry. There was a healthy amount of competition between us all, too. I’d eye Steven’s group when they came in, just as I’m sure he’d be eyeing mine. A little figurative trophy would go to whoever had the larger group.

It was a toss-up who might win today. My group wasn’t massive—just seven adults and two children—but it wasn’t July yet, so smaller groups were pretty common.

Several people came down the escalator in front of me. My eyes scanned the travelers, though I didn’t know what anyone looked like in my group. Red hair caught my attention, and while I couldn’t see much of her features as her head was on a swivel, taking in the room, something about her seemed familiar. That was common around here, too, though I would have thought I’d remember hair like that.

An elderly woman, close in age to my grandparents, blocked the redhead from my sight. Her deep-set eyes locked onto my sign, and within seconds, she was bustling towards me, pulling a tall man behind her.

I smiled, relaxing into a more welcoming stance as she beamed up at me. Her face had so many lines that her eyes nearly disappeared into their folds with that smile.

“I believe you are looking for us, sweetheart.”

She could only be around four and a half feet. “Mrs. Hastings, I presume?”

“Oh, call me Gemma.”

“And I’m Finn.” I tucked the sign under my arm, reaching out my hand to shake hers. “I wish they’d warned me you were this charming—I would have worn my fancier socks.”

She laughed at that and gestured to the man who’d just stepped up beside her. As tall as she was short, but just as willowy and with as many wrinkles. “This is Hank. And…” she looked around, “the rest of them are around here somewhere.” She pursed her lips, but even that appeared more amused than annoyed.

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