Page 59 of The Oscar Escape
He set the framed photo on the side table next to the lobster, then shifted his body off the bed. “Why don’t you get under the quilt.” He glanced at the stone hearth and spied a basket stocked with wood. “I’ll start a fire.”
He pulled on his boxer briefs, found a pack of matches near the old stove, then went to work.
“This island is such a remote place,” Aria remarked.
He looked over his shoulder and found her under the covers with another framed photo in her hands.
“Did you know it was once an artists’ community? That’s what it says on the little plaque in this image of a trio of women standing next to easels in front of the Sweet Escape Inn,” she continued.
He lit the bit of kindling he’d found in the bottom of the basket and set it beneath the logs. “No, I didn’t know that. I figured it had always been a small fishing and lobstering community.”
As much as this place meant to him, he hadn’t learned much about its roots.
“I wonder why your mom brought you to Havenmatch Island all the way from Colorado. Did she know Del and Etta before you guys visited?”
He gazed at the flickering orange flame. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
“You never asked the Aldens?”
“No,” he replied, now finding it odd he’d never wondered the same thing. But he hadn’t been keen on digging up his past when he’d last visited. He’d taken comfort in the pair not knowing much about him.
“Oscar?”
He could sense the hint of urgency in her tone. “Yeah?”
“Is this where you came after you left school and disappeared?”
He’d wondered if she’d put it together. He kept his gaze trained on the fire. The kindling had done its work, and he watched as the flame engulfed the logs. He rose to his feet and faced her. “Yes, this is where I came.”
“Why this island?”
He climbed into bed, and she curled in next to him. Resting her head against his chest, she traced his collarbone lazily with the tip of her finger.
He held her close. “I needed to escape from my life. I had to get away, but I wasn’t sure where to go. I got in my truck and started driving. I wanted to go somewhere that wouldn’t remind me of . . .”
“Of me,” Aria supplied. Her tone was neutral, without even a hint of a biting edge to her words.
She understood. But she didn’t know everything.
“There was something else,” he continued, his voice a scrape of a sound.
Without a word, she threaded her fingers with his, giving him space to continue.
He caressed her palm with the tip of his thumb and gathered his thoughts. “It was like this place was calling to me. I drove for two days straight, only stopping to get gas and grab a couple of hours of sleep on the side of the road. The next thing I knew, I was in Maine and parked in the lot next to the ferry stop. It was October. The place was desolate, a lot like it is now. I left my truck on the mainland and caught the ferry. Etta wasn’t captaining the boat that day. It was someone else—a man. I don’t recall much about him. When I got here, I walked up the path to the inn. I probably looked like a zombie. I signed in as Oscar Abrams Elliott. Del and Etta had asked me if I’d visited the island before. They said they recognized my name. I didn’t think much of it. I figured innkeepers said that to every guest, and Elliott is a common enough name. But perhaps they did remember me. I guess it doesn’t matter. I was here for six weeks. There were no other guests. That’s how I got to know them. They were kind to me. They didn’t ask questions. When I did come out of my room, they’d invited me along to keep them company while they did mundane tasks, like working on the ferry’s engine or raking leaves. Del took me out on his boat to check his lobster cages. They talked. I listened. I went there to put distance between myself and my life. They gave it to me.”
She flinched in his arms at the mention of distance. He couldn’t blame her. “And something strange happened.”
“Tell me,” she whispered against his chest.
He took a beat and listened for the rain, but it must have let up. All he could hear was the wind sneaking through cracks in the old cabin. He exhaled a slow breath. “I felt close to my mom. We’d only spent a week here when I was a kid. It doesn’t make sense, but I realized this island is special. It offers a peacefulness I don’t think I could have found anywhere else. I started taking pictures again. When I left, I got to my truck and called Inez to see if she could hook me up with some jobs that would keep me on the move.”
Aria pulled back. She studied his face but remained silent.
He looked away. “I’m not telling you this to hurt you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I know, and I get it. We spent our childhoods together. Holidays, school, vacations. It was always our four families. It was always you and me. Seb and Pheebs.” She released his hand and twisted the edge of the quilt. “I also know what it’s like to crave an escape. I’m not complaining. I’m beyond lucky to have lived such a good life. But being the daughter and niece of musical mavericks comes with a price.”
It killed him to hear her talk like that. “You’re the most talented musician I know. You can play any instrument. You write complex music compositions. You’ve been doing it since you were a kid. I’ve watched you jump from the piano to the guitar to the violin to the cello. We found that tarnished flute in the attic of your aunt’s old house, and you mastered it in a day. Not to mention, that piece on your website is like nothing I’ve ever heard. You have nothing to prove.”
