Page 34 of Home to Christmas Island
Alistair: Don’t sound so excited now! 2:00. Want me to pick you up?
His question gives me pause. It’s not that I don’t trust Alistair, I do. I’m not even worried about being in a car with him on the fifteen-minute drive. It’s more that I don’t know how this is going to play out, and I want to have my own wheels in case I need to get the hell out of there, for whatever reason.
Florence: It’s okay thanks, I’ll meet you there. And I promise I’ll even drive the speed limit! The whole way!
Again, my phone buzzes with his immediate reply. His answer makes me smirk at my phone, unable to stop the snicker that escapes me.
Alistair: Now I’m begging, Fast Florence, for you to let me stay in the festive holiday spirit I’m currently in. Please don’t make me write you another ticket on my day off.
Florence: I’ll try my very best, officer.
THAT AFTERNOON, I PULL OFF the highway and into the driveway of the park, buzzing with nerves. There are a few cars here already, but I don’t spot the police cruiser. Some of the older men from the area, who are all wearing baseball caps instead of winter hats, are standing around the outline of a rectangle that I assume will eventually be transformed into an outdoor rink when the temperature dips below freezing.
I pull down the car’s sun visor and flip open the mirror to check my hair before getting out. I’ve pulled it back into a low braid at the nape of my neck, fitting my pink hat on top. I might have put on a little makeup too, since my outfit was going to be hidden under all my winter gear. Alba had barged into my room, asking me in a suspicious but playful voice, why it was taking me so long to get dressed.
I threw a foundation brush at her head in response.
As I start to get out of the car, a shiny black Jeep pulls off the highway and parks beside me. I’m surprised to see Alistair sitting in the driver’s seat. I’ve only ever seen him drive the police car.
Hey Fast Florence, he says, rolling down the window. Of course you beat me here. Couldn’t stand to go the speed limit, could you?
I ignore the jab but can’t fully fight off the smile. Whose Jeep is this?
Mine, he says, looking at me surprised. You didn’t notice it in the driveway when you came to the house yesterday? I was so anxious being at the lake house that I definitely didn’t notice.
You drive a Jeep? I ask him. I thought you only drove a police car.
He shrugs in an arrogant kind of way that would normally make me see red, but I honestly find it a little charming today. Sorry to tell you but, he shrugs playfully, I didn’t choose the Jeep life; the Jeep life chose me.
I start to laugh when the music blaring through his speakers finally registers. It’s Graceland by Paul Simon.
Is that Paul Simon? I ask him, surprised again. You can tell a lot about a person based on their music tastes. I would have pegged him more for early 2000s alt-rock; bands like Blink-182 and Franz Ferdinand.
You don’t like this song? He asks me, in the same incredulous tone you might use to ask someone if they don’t like golden retriever puppies.
I shake my head, smirking. I never said that.
Christ, you scared me there for a minute, he said, turning off the engine, adding before rolling up the window, I thought our path to friendship had already hit a bend in the road.
I can’t stop Alba’s accusatory voice from the parade bubbling up in my mind, about the ridiculousness of Alistair and I being just friends. I feel determined to prove her wrong.
Alistair grabs something from the back seat of the car and walks towards me. I see he’s holding a few boards of plywood. He stops in front of me, and I have to crane my neck up in order to meet his eyes.
He looks towards my braid and reaches back to tug on it lightly. I bat his hand away and he laughs. Okay, Elsa, he says, making a Frozen reference and I’m a little shocked he even knows that movie. Ready to get to work?
I can’t believe I felt nervous coming here. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s easy to get along with—even when he’s fucking with me.
I give him a mocking salute in return. Aye aye, captain.
We walk down towards what I think is normally a grassy field. But it’s covered now by that big, wooden rectangle I saw when I first drove in—the outline of what will eventually be a skating rink. The wooden perimeter stands about knee-height. Well, to my knees anyway.
Alistair goes to chat with some of the guys, who wave at me from the other side of the not-quite rink. I watch him point to a few different sections, and two of the men start bringing over new pieces of plywood while another grabs what I think is a level.
Okay, Alistair says, walking briskly back towards me. You’re with me, Red Sizzler. We’re going to replace some of these boards.
Alistair explains to me that some of the wood has cracked so we’re swapping those pieces out for new boards. The guy with the level, who I learn is called Eddie, is making sure that the perimeter of the rink itself is aligned, altering each piece of plywood slightly, since the ground itself isn’t even. It’s all a little over my head, but I tell Alistair to command me as he sees fit. He smirks at this.
Soon, he’s using the drill to secure a new board in the rink while I hold it steady. Each piece gets secured with something that involves a drill and what looks like a metal hinge of some kind. I don’t ask questions about that, though.
