Page 48 of This Kind of Forever
“I think so,” I reply, stepping around the counter to enter the shop space. “I’m new, so I’m still learning where everything is. But I’m pretty sure Carole keeps them over there.”
I show her the rack of postcards that feature both illustrations and photos of the lighthouse and the wildlife you can find in the area. Carole has curated a broad selection of local artists and photographers, including some Anishinaabe friends of hers from Manitoulin Island, a neighbouring island on Lake Huron. I’m sure she’ll convince Delilah to add her photography to the mix before long.
I point to a postcard with the lighthouse on it. “This one is my favourite.”
The customer smiles as she takes one off the rack. Then she gestures to me. “That’s a beautiful ring.”
My eyes snap to hers, then down to my left hand.Crap. I was so tired, I forgot to take the fake engagement ring off last night. After we got back to the house, I slipped it back on so it wouldn’t accidentally get put through the wash in the pocket of my pants. It should probably worry me how natural it feels to wear, even knowing what it represents.
“Oh, um, thank you,” I mumble.
She laughs. “I sometimes forget, too,” she says, mistaking my alarm for surprise. “My husband and I got married two monthsago, but I still find myself calling him my fiancé. When did you get engaged?”
Double crap. Either I keep lying or I backtrack and make both of us feel awkward. At this point, the only way is through.
“Uh, last week. The ring is…very new,” I say, then chuckle nervously. “You’re right, I’m still getting used to it.”
Thankfully, I’m saved from the conversation and a steadily growing pile of more lies when the door opens again. This time, a man steps inside, and he makes a beeline for the woman.
“There you are,” he says. “I thought you were going to the post office?”
“Sorry, baby,” she says with a sheepish smile. “I saw this place and thought I’d try my luck here. Look.” She holds up a few postcards. “I think Sam would like this one, and this isperfectfor Opal and Thiago. I also found these for Jamie and Mia, and Nate and Paige. Do you think we should send one to Margaret?”
He chuckles. “Hadley, all she’d do is wonder why the hell you wasted a stamp on her.”
Hadley grins. “That’s true, she would. We should send it anyway.” She turns back to me. “We’ll buy these.”
I take her back to the counter and ring up the handful of postcards. As she pays, I slide them into a protective envelope.
“Thank you,” I say, handing over the receipt. “I hope you have a good rest of your trip.”
“Thanks! This island is so cute. The downtown reminds me a little of home. If you and your fiancé ever find yourselves in BC, we’d love to have you in Sugar Peak,” she says. “I manage a ski resort there, and Brooks owns the bar in town.”
As soon as Hadley and Brooks leave, I let my head sink into my hands. I highly doubt I’ll ever end up on a trip across the country with Gabe. As it is, it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t hate me by the time this engagement charade is through.
As I stew, the metal of my ring brushes against my cheek, and I pick my head up. It slips easily from my finger, and I shove it into my purse. Maybe if I can’t see it, I’ll be able to forget the guilt. Until I have to put it on again.
When the door opens for a third time a few minutes later, I find myself dreading having to interact with more strangers. Or worse, locals. All this lying is making my stomach churn, and it feels like I’m living a double life. To Kevin and his family, I’m happily engaged. To the people of Kip Island, I’m the woman who couldn’t hack it out in the big, bad world and had to come running home.
Briefly, I thought maybe everything in my life was going to click into place. I’d come back here and find my footing. Now I know that was just an illusion. Because everything is messier than before, and I have no idea how to make itunmessy.
Thankfully, I’m able to release a small sigh of relief when I find Carole standing in front of me.
“Hi, Buttercup,” she says. “You doing alright? You look a little sad.”
I take a deep breath, then paste on a smile. “I’m okay, just tired. How are you? I didn’t think I’d see you today.”
“I’m just peachy! But listen, I have a small proposition for you.”
This makes me somewhat wary. Carole’spropositioncould be anything. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I have some friends who are looking to commission a painting. Their mom is heading to a nursing home, and they want to gift her something to give her comfort. A painting of her childhood home.” Her head cocks as she assesses me. “Do you think you’d be up for it?”
I blink. “Me?”
Carole laughs. “Don’t sound so shocked, Hallie.” She taps her temple. “I remember exactly how talented you are.”
I’ve never aspired to turn my art into a career. It has always been something that is simply for me. A way for me to express myself—something my mother couldn’t touch or taint. That hasn’t changed, but for the right circumstances, I don’t mind creating for someone else.
