4

The gray haired man knew that he hurt all over even before he opened his eyes. He’d felt the pain for nearly twenty years now, thanks to injuries accumulated over time and the general failing of his muscular system that most called “old age.” His back could no longer support the activities that he had once relied on it for, lifting weights, splitting wood, and running nearly ten miles a day. These days, he was grateful if he would simply have the opportunity to walk to the mailbox without pain, or sit down on the floor and get up again without assistance. 

Patting the bed beside him, the man stiffened, the reality of his situation slowly overtaking his awareness in the morning light. There was no one else there, and there would never be anyone there again. He groaned, an onslaught of grief washing over him. He shuddered and dug his fingers into the pillow behind his head and angrily dabbed at the leakage seeping from his eyes down his cheeks. He clutched blindly for his glasses on the table next to him, and slid them on, as the room came into focus.

There was no point in getting up, was there? The old aches were just too prevalent, and now that his wife had passed, what reason was there to get up and get moving? There was really no point in his life at all, with no friends or family to speak of and no purpose for a man who had no meaning. He longed to fall back to sleep, and forget his new reality. Maybe he could dream about what could have been or what had been? But the sun was pouring through the open window burning away the darkness and he knew that sleep was no longer an option. 

He sighed, sliding his diminutive legs out of the bed that they had once shared. His wife’s side of the bed was still, as if it had never been touched, given the sharp edges he still kept firm and creased from his days back making his cot for the military. She’d once waited for years to see him return, and when they had been reunited, they had never parted ways again. Until death had ripped her out of his arms and left a hole in his heart. 

The man’s wife was the reason he’d settled down on the island, and for most of their marriage, the island had only added to their joy. Meeting her had been the greatest day of his life, and she had encouraged him to seek employment around the island after his military service. Out of love for her, he had agreed, and together they had built a home on Tranquility. They had never been able to have children, but their love for each other had brought them together and held them together for decades. The man worked hard, making enough to carry them through life but over time, his physical faculties had started to fall away. They’d made plans for post-retirement, but then tragedy struck. In the last few months, his wife’s mental faculties had drifted out to sea and had never come back. Three weeks ago, she’d passed away, a shell of the woman who she had once been. 

Looking over at her picture on the nightside table, he remembered how glorious a day it had been when that was taken. Picking up the frame, he thought of that ordinary day, a walk through the forest into town, and spent celebrating one of life’s minor triumphs which was now long forgotten. It had been during an Annual Migration twenty-five years ago, and they’d splurged on a picture by the festival photographer. His wife had leaned in and kissed him on the cheek at the last second, and the photographer had captured the moment of his joy in being kissed by her. It wasn’t an anniversary or big occasion, just the two of them together outside on the island. 

His wife’s long brown hair had fallen away from her face, as the photographer captured the twinkle in her eye as she kissed him. He could look into the brown pools of her irises for days, and the smallest dimple of her smile had once captured his whole heart. In the picture, they were together and happy, and life itself was better than he could have ever imagined. It was hard to imagine that happiness now, just weeks after her passing, and he knew that nothing could ever make him that happy again. 

Fifty-some years after meeting her, she was gone and all he had left were his memories. Most of the time they filled him with happiness, causing his wrinkled face to break into a broad smile. But when the memories faded, he was left with an intense emptiness that threatened to drown him under its unrelenting waves. He couldn’t imagine life without her, even the way it had been most recently when he cared for her even though she didn’t really recognize him anymore. They had still been together and that was enough! He longed to feel the way he felt that day when she kissed him, and the vacancy in his heart was threatening to overwhelm him. He gingerly replaced the frame on the table and groaned as his shoulder shuddered and then popped.

Down the hall, the man boiled some water and poured some oatmeal into the bowl. It reminded him of the gruel that they used to serve on the ships, and it was enough to coat the base of his stomach before he got along with his day. Hunger wasn’t a motivation, but the old habits died hard when everything else had crumbled around him. His wife wouldn’t have wanted him to starve to death; she’d always fussed at him about getting caught up in a project and forgetting to eat. If she could see him now, she would pat him on the shoulder and tell him to take better care of himself.

It’s not like anyone really needs me for much, he thought, bitterly, staring out the window at the other houses in his little corner of the island. I’m pretty useless, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to get better anytime soon. 

Washing out the bowl in the sink and sitting it in the drainer to dry, the man shaved, barely recognizing the man he saw in the mirror. Lines ran horizontally across his forehead as he scrunched up his face to make certain not to miss any spots. His hair had grown a bit wild over the last few months, as his focus had been solely on caring for his wife and helping her be comfortable. Looking up from the shaving cream accumulating in the sink, he found himself staring at the face in the mirror. Who was this old frail man? What had become of the vitality of his youth, the energy that had drawn his wife to him? Was this what dying felt like?

In the stillness of the house he’d shared with his wife, he dressed in front of the mirror, mechanically donning the clothes that had become his retirement uniform. The crisply ironed pants, the starched shirt, it all looked right even if he didn’t feel it on the inside. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about how he felt on the inside, as if actually uttering it out loud would make his dark internal thoughts manifest in front of him for the world to see his sadness. He was too proud to ask for help, and too depressed to try and figure out the best way forward. 

He slipped on his dress shoes, and straightened up again. He must move forward, step by step. He couldn’t give in to the sadness, if not for himself it would be for the memory of his wife, his better half. Shutting the cottage door behind him, he took a deep breath and stepped down from the porch.

Maybe he’d find a way to be useful today after all. The chances seemed slim. 

5

One of the older ladies on the ferry decided that the ride was too long and the number of people on the ferry was too small to make the trip without forcing everyone to introduce themselves. She started the introductions, announcing that she was Alma Mae, retired school teacher from Maine who had decided she didn’t want to live so far north and was checking out all of the places she could think of to live farther south with more climate weather. She was traveling with her grown daughter, Anna Mae, who was herself reasonably close to joining her mother in retirement.

Two women who had left the island for just an overnight trip told everyone about their purchases, as they had been intent on doing some shopping ahead of the upcoming Christmas season. Another family with the last name Mathis was returning from visiting some relatives on the Cape, and were returning with one of their older relatives for a visit. Of course, everyone had heard the situation involving the family with the toddler and the stroller. If it wasn’t for the father’s steel grip, the little one would’ve already been doing the backstroke off the side of the ferry.

The slightly severe woman named Gillian told everyone she was a reporter, but when Anna Mae asked her which television station she was on, she replied snappily that print wasn’t dead and named a newspaper no one had heard of. When it got around to the latecomer, he muttered that his name was Leo and mumbled some more details that no one caught, before he went back to closing his eyes and letting his breath match the rise and fall of the ferry. He was clearly struggling to acclimate to the rising and falling of the ferry as it pushed through the waves. The diesel fumes certainly didn’t help to calm his stomach. 

Next to the reporter, Johnny from Pennsylvania was on the way to visit a friend who grew up on the island. Johnny was wearing the typical preppie polo and pressed khaki shorts, making a small concession to the breeze on the ferry by pulling an L.L. Bean puffy vest out of his designer luggage. He had offered to give up his seat several times to the different older people who boarded after he did, but they had politely demurred, always commenting to their counterparts about what a sweet young man he was. His All America good looks were definitely drawing notice from everyone on the boat, but his “aw shucks” attitude was what really held their attention.

The captain refused to jump into the conversation but after another group of visitors and several native islanders had shared their reason for being on the ferry, the first mate Noah gamely ventured in. He had been a student once who had gotten into a significant amount of trouble, and been sent to live with his grandmother on the island one summer. While there, he had experienced a sort of spiritual renaissance and given up the vices that were giving him such trouble. He’d also fallen in love with the water, and determined to spend the rest of his life on the water. He worked every day for the ferry captain and even lived on a houseboat!

Conversation for the next thirty minutes revolved around the houseboat and exactly what it was like. Noah was peppered with questions nonstop. What was it like? Could you get seasick while sleeping? Did he own a dog or cat and did they get seasick? Would people have to ask to come aboard or did they knock? Did he have to pay for a car too? What was it like to not have to mow the grass? Who were his neighbors? Could he ‘park’ his boat anywhere? Could he fish from his kitchen or from his bed? Where did his electricity come from? If he could do it all over again, wouldn’t he rather own a house?

6

Leo wasn’t really sleeping. His thoughts were churning over and over again, kicking himself metaphorically for almost missing the ferry. Besides, he was miserably uncomfortable breathing in the fumes from the diesel engine and the non-stop motion of the ferry that was now beyond any land coverage, still miles away from Tranquility. The rising and falling motion was now joined by some side-to-side rocking, and Leo felt a bit like a goldfish whose bowl was being shaken violently. That bit of dash and leaping from the dock had summoned muscles he hadn’t used in quite some time, and it was rather embarrassing how close he’d come to missing the ferry and banging off of it into the water below. At least he’d made it on with his bag, and theoretically enough time to get where he was supposed to be on Tranquility. He couldn’t wait to be on terra firma again, both feet on the ground.

He listened to the thrum of the motor and the chatter of the people around him. This wasn’t Leo’s first ferry ride, and he figured it wouldn’t be his last. As far as ferries went, it was pretty run of the mill, but what could you expect when you were off to an island few people had ever heard of? Leo wasn’t knocking the ride, although he hoped someday that the first mate would take over for the captain. The captain could certainly use some lessons in community relations; it didn’t seem that personal skills were high on the list of ferry captain priorities.

Of all of the people on the ferry, the well-dressed woman named Gillian was the one who looked the least happy to be heading out to Tranquility. She seemed to be all business, and he realized that calmly riding on the ferry did not seem to suit her. In fact, he figured she was the one most likely to get sick on the journey out to the island if he didn’t beat her to it. He couldn’t imagine living somewhere that you had to take a boat to get to, but this was his assignment, and he was going to see it through. 

Leo quietly reflected on the different bits of information that he had learned about the other passengers, noting the differences between visitors and island folk. The island folk were all relaxed, and few of them seemed to even acknowledge the scenery around them. On the other side of the boat, Johnny stared at the island, his eyes wide-open and excited. It wasn’t much more than a postage stamp on the horizon, but Leo knew they’d be there soon enough. He didn’t look to be having any trouble with the turbulence that the ferry was experiencing, and he kept checking his watch to see what time it was. Leo decided he checked approximately every five minutes so that his actions became a bit of a metronome for the ride out to the island. 

Next to Leo, Aggie, an older woman dabbed at her eyes, and momentarily lost hold of her large purse. It slid off of her knees and crashed into Leo. She replaced her glasses on her nose and turned to Leo, apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered, bending toward her purse. But Leo had already snatched it up, eyes open after hearing the purse thud to the deck of the ferry. He bent down, a bit woozy, and handed it back to her. 

“That’s no problem, ma’am!” he exclaimed. “I’ll probably drop something before the ride is over.” He grinned at her, and patted her leg, hoping to ease whatever angst was troubling her. “I’m Leo.”

“Oh, I remember your name! It’s like ‘lion,’” she replied. “I’m Agatha, but everyone calls me Aggie.”

“I’m sorry to be such a mess. I’ve been with my daughter’s family for the last few months, since my Tommy died. I knew they needed their space, but all I can think about is how much I miss Tommy and all of the times that we had together.”

Leo nodded, recognizing the pain in Aggie’s eyes. “I think that’s natural,” he said, slowly. “And you certainly don’t need to apologize for missing someone you love.”

The older couple had met in high school, and before long, Tommy had asked Aggie’s parents for permission to marry their daughter. Aggie told Leo about how Tommy had served in various countries around the world as a member of the U.S. Navy. She had waited anxiously for his return each time he waited on tour, raising their two children, a son and a daughter. When he finally retired, they had traveled the world together, exploring the areas they had always wanted to see and soaking up every moment as they tried to make up for lost time. Aggie looked away wistfully, and the moisture on her face was a blend of sea spray and her own tears. 

“I miss him so much,” Aggie whispered, turning back to Leo.”

“I think that’s only natural,” Leo said. “It wouldn’t be the same if you just didn’t notice that he was gone! I’m sure somehow he misses you, too.” 

Aggie’s eyes glimmered, and she patted Leo’s hand. “You’re a sweet boy, Leo,” she said. “Thanks for listening to an old lady’s story.” She sat back and smiled wistfully, remembering. When Leo looked back, she had fallen asleep, gently twitching, the smile still spread across her wrinkled face.. 

Section 3 (Chapters 7-9) coming March 8!