Page 32 of Harbor Lights

She would need to think about the logistics of shopping now she had no excuse. She went to the bag of protein powder on the worktop, scooped some into a bottle and added water. She shook it as she walked back to her desk, glad she’d had some fresh air earlier in the day. She sucked on her meal and returned her attention to the screen. Solid food was overrated.

After what felt like only a few minutes, her eyes started to sting. She checked the time and was surprised again how much time had passed. She sent her findings to Bernie and closed her laptop. She suddenly remembered the message that had pinged earlier and pulled her phone toward her. Con’s name was on the screen.

Hey there. Wondered if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight x

That was three hours ago. Shiv wished she’d read it earlier. Con had been waiting for a reply.

Real sorry. Only just saw this. Guessing it’s a little late now and I was planning to do some repairs.

The reply came back almost immediately.

No bother. I had scrambled eggs. Omelets are overrated.

A smiley face emoji ended the message.

You make good scrambled eggs. I’ll see you tomorrow to start work, okay?

Perfect. Can’t wait. I’ll make lunch x

Shiv wondered a little at Con’s enthusiasm. Then again, as a doctor, she was someone who dedicated her life to fixing people. Maybe Shiv came across as a little broken. Was she? Her jail time had shaken her to her core. Freedom had been everything to her. Losing it had driven her out of her mind. Even thinking about it now, a sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Would she ever be able to eat in public again without imagining the sights and sounds of the prison chow hall?

She stood and shook herself out of her thoughts. Lights or no lights, suddenly an evening alone in the little cabin felt claustrophobic. Maybe she should get the last ferry to the mainland and ask Con if she could stay the night to get an early start on the kitchen. Was that weird? Probably.

No, she’d wander down to the small bar she’d passed in the village. She hadn’t visited yet, and the walk would be an excuse to stretch her legs. She’d no doubt meet more cousins, but somehow that didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Out in the clear and crisp evening, she alternated watching her step on the rough path with staring up at the blanket of stars above. They’d been like this when she’d lived in the desert. The constellations were different here, though. The Big Dipper was so much higher than it would be back home.

But where was home, really? She hadn’t lived with her mom since she was sixteen, and her itinerant lifestyle had taken her across the country. Her people, other activists and rejects from society, hadn’t had any more of a home than she had. She didn’t miss any one individual—more the sense of being with similarly driven people. Her RV had been a fortress, but not a true home.

Yet, this strange place, with its tight knit community and friendly neighbors, had tucked itself into a place in her heart.

Was that a dangerous thing, or something to welcome? A temporary refuge for her battered soul. By the time she pushed open the door to the bar, she still hadn’t decided.

“Shiv!”

She was barely in the door and looked around, spying Christy sitting at a table with a group. She had come out to avoid solitude, so she gritted her teeth and approached. “Hey, Christy, wanna drink?”

“I’ll get these.” He stood. “We’re in a round. This is my dad, Anthony Walsh. Most people call him Anto.”

He indicated an older man who bore a close resemblance to her granddad. His brother, she realized. He nodded curtly.

“My big brother, Tony, cousin Eamonn, and his wife Lisa.”

Shiv waved vaguely at two red-haired men and a blond woman, then went to sit.

“Help me get the drinks, will you?” Christy squeezed her arm, and she followed gladly.

“Lime and soda for me, please,” she said when he pushed into a gap at the busy bar.

“Will you not have a pint with us?” Christy made enough space at the bar for her to join him.

“No, thanks. I don’t often drink alcohol.”

Christy raised an eyebrow. “Seán, come and meet our cousin.”

Was everyone related? The tall barman swapped places with his colleague and held out a hand. “Siobhán, is it? I’m married to Christy’s twin, Aoife, so cousin by marriage.” He laughed at her blank look. “Are you keeping up?”

She shook her head, but grinned. “I’m trying.”

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