Page 25 of Home to Christmas Island
Alistair looks at me for a bit too long. It’s unlike him not to have a comeback locked, loaded, and ready to fire. He seems more guarded today, like he doesn’t want me to see him so unsure of himself.
Oh, I’m having the time of my life, Florence, he grimaces, shaking his head. But I will say, I am definitely alert now.
I can’t help this slow smile that spreads all over my face. Alistair’s eyes sparkle and he chuckles to himself. I realize this is probably the first time I’ve ever smiled at him—really smiled, not some sickly-sweet fake grimace.
Who would have thought Sergeant Play-It-Safe would be game for something like this? I tease.
He rubs the back of his neck. I can tell that this is out of his comfort zone, but it warms something in me to see him at least trying. And I can tell that for once, finally, he’s the one who feels put on the spot instead of me.
Well, I figured you were coming to this of course, little thrill-seeker and all, he says, scanning my face like he’s reading something else there. I notice he doesn’t call me reckless this time. But before I can ask him whether this was all about competing with me, he asks a shade quietly, How are you feeling today?
Why does this guy have to be so direct about everything? I feel the defensiveness rise in an instant. I try to shake it out of my shoulders, which I attempt to pass off as a shiver. Jesus, Florence, he says, his eyes flashing down to my shoulders with concern. He moves closer to rub his hands over my upper arms. You must still be freezing.
My brain must not be fully thawed out yet, because I involuntarily lean into his touch. He scans my face again with that worried look, and today it doesn’t irritate me. But I am very aware that he is touching me while there are people around us. I don’t want to feel judged, and while I definitely don’t want to encourage my cousin, it doesn’t feel right to step away from him either.
Yeah, I’m still a little cold, but I’m okay, thanks. I try to add some finality to the end of my sentence, and I hope he takes this for what it is: all he’s going to get out of me about yesterday.
He’s still rubbing my arms when he motions his head towards the lake and says, You really enjoy this kind of thing, don’t you? He clearly got the message and is changing the subject—and I’m grateful for it.
I think about his question and feel that lightness again, like I’m settling into my body. Yeah, I say laughing. I really do. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I’ve always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie.
I was half-tempted to drag you and Alba straight out of the water, he says. It’s my job to evaluate high-risk situations. I find it difficult to switch off, even if I see people having fun, He laughs a little at this, as if it’s silly that he would worry about something like a polar bear swim.
Why didn’t you?
Well, that’s your choice isn’t it? I wouldn’t personally want to be in that lake a second longer than necessary, but that’s your choice. It’s not my place to take that from you.
I don’t know what to say to this. It occurs to me I’ve spent so long letting someone else decide for me, that it’s a bit of a reality check to hear someone say that I should be allowed to make my own decisions.
He studies me again for a brief moment, and there’s so much written on his face that I can’t decipher. I realize I want to know, though, and that thought is terrifying.
Alistair shrugs in a way that almost feels self-deprecating before saying, I can’t help it, I feel better when everyone feels safe. I like making people feel safe too, it’s part of why I got into policing. But my definition of safety isn’t the only one. If you’re enjoying yourself, well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?
He gives my shoulders a final pat and pulls his hands away. I try not to notice the absence of his touch as much as I do.
Thanks, I say, a little quieter than my usual volume and he takes a step back. His hands were definitely helping to keep me warm, not that I’d ever admit that to him.
You three better head home and bundle up, he says, motioning towards Alba and Rose. And I’ve got to go home and try to sleep a little before my night shift. Hopefully the cold will knock me out. After a second he adds, a shade more quietly, Thanks for the push today, Red Sizzler.
I can’t bring myself to look at Alba until Alistair has walked all the way back to his car. When I do, Alba raises a single eyebrow at me. She says nothing, but her eyes ask me a simple, wordless question: What the hell is going on here?
Chapter 11
THE NEXT NIGHT, ALBA AND I are nestled together under a blanket on the side of the road. We’ve driven a little over an hour to the village of Baddeck for the annual Parade of Lights. Uncle Albie took us a few times as kids, and Alba suggested we go this year. It’s normally held in late November or early December, but luckily for me, an early winter storm before I arrived delayed it until the thirteenth.
How come your dad didn’t want to join us? I ask her, as she pulls a thermos of hot chocolate out of her bag. I sigh as she hands it to me, the metal warming my hands even through my gloves. We got here early, so we have prime seating for the parade.
He’s having a tired week, she says, pulling her hat down farther over her ears and adding, He’s getting older Flora, I’ve noticed him slowing down a lot this year. But I’m honestly glad he said no, it shows me he’s setting boundaries for himself.
I never thought I’d hear you say that about Uncle Albie. I chuckle. He’s not really one for taking it easy.
I know, but like I said, I’m glad to see it. He needs to know when it’s time to take a rest.
It occurs to me that I don’t really want to miss out on any more time with my uncle, but I don’t want to get lost swimming in my own guilt tonight.
We aren’t far from the harbour, and I notice all the sailboats in the marina are decked out with bright Christmas lights of every colour. One is strung up completely in blue lights and it reflects beautifully against the water, which is so calm tonight you can almost see through it to the very bottom.
On the boardwalk, there’s a Christmas tree made of lobster traps and buoys, wrapped up in lights and tinsel. It’s the most Nova Scotian image I can think of for this time of year.
