Sail Away with Me Read online

  Julian became aware of Iris wincing and flexing her hand inside his, and realized he’d clamped his fingers and hurt her. He loosened his grip and said “Sorry” under his breath. Then, to Luke, he said, “It was a long time ago and we were kids.”

  “I wasn’t fair to Forbes either,” Luke said. “I loved my father and no one was going to take his place in my heart. So I shut Forbes out.”

  “I shut Sonia out because she came between me and my dad.”

  “Jesus.” Luke shook his head, his dark auburn hair catching the light, matching the cherry hardwood on the floor. “What a messed-up pair we were. Thank God we finally grew up.”

  “You’re both wonderful men,” Iris said quietly but with certainty.

  Julian tensed. She didn’t know the rottenness at his core.

  She shot him a questioning glance and then addressed the group. “I wonder if we could switch the topic of conversation? I’d love an update on the wedding plans. It must be such a challenge, getting married between Christmas and New Year’s.”

  She’d done that for him. Changed the subject without having a clue why the previous one had upset him. Iris was the most sensitive, considerate person he’d ever met. He sure was going to miss her in the New Year, when Forbes was better and Julian got back to his normal life.

  Chapter Nine

  When Iris and the other guests said thank you and good night to Miranda and Luke and sprinted to their vehicles in the rain, it was just past nine thirty. Julian helped her up into the van, then hurried to the other side and climbed in, shaking raindrops from his hair.

  “My aunt will be home from work,” she told him. Aunt Lily would be unwinding after a long day, enjoying her alone time.

  “Meaning you want me to meet her, or you’re not going to ask me in?”

  Iris didn’t want to inflict company on her aunt, nor to force Julian into polite conversation with her. His and Luke’s talk seemed to have brought them closer, yet she sensed it had been stressful for Julian.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet her. Or my parents,” she said as he backed out of Luke’s driveway. “I’m proud that you’re my friend. But we’ve spent the evening with others and now I’d prefer to be alone with you.” She hurried to add, “Unless of course you’re tired and want to go home, in which case you can drop me off and—”

  “Iris, stop. No, I’m not tired. I’m a night person like most musicians. And yes, I’d like some time for just us.”

  “Good,” she murmured happily. A CD was playing, the volume so low she could barely hear over the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers. Recognizing the old Beatles song, “Here Comes the Sun,” she nudged the dial up. Gesturing toward the player, she said, “Perhaps in metaphorical terms, but not in meteorological ones, I fear.”

  “I’d say that being with you makes the sun come out for me, but the lyricist in me cringes at the cheesiness.”

  “God forbid you ever say anything cheesy,” she teased.

  “Forbes and Sonia are home, but we could go to the studio he built. It’s half of the original garage. Though if they notice the van, Sonia might come over to check on me.”

  “Did you tell them what you were doing tonight?”

  “You’re wondering if they know I’m seeing you.”

  “I am.” She’d been in Sonia’s science classes in high school and had seen her regularly since then, in Dreamspinner. Forbes, she ran into every now and then, mostly when he was in shopping for gifts.

  “Seems it’s a small island. Yeah, they know. They didn’t say much, just that you’re a nice person. Subtext, as with Luke, to treat you properly.”

  Which he would. She was sure of it.

  “Thanks again for the mystery novel,” he said. “And getting the personalized autograph for Forbes.”

  “I was happy to.” Outside the van’s windows, Tsehum Drive was quiet on this rainy Friday night, the darkness brightened by the occasional blurred color of Christmas lights strung around eaves, windows, and trees in yards. A residential street, the homes ranged from old ones that were barely more than shacks, through to even fancier ones than Luke’s. “We don’t have to go anywhere in particular,” she said. “We could just drive. The island’s peaceful at night.”

  “Okay.” After a moment, he said, “You enjoyed tonight? It wasn’t too hard on you?”

  Yes, Julian would treat her properly. She glanced at him, glad to see that his gaze was fixed on the road. The lighting wasn’t good, and nocturnal creatures, not to mention human beings, might be wandering around. She guessed Julian, whose father had been struck by an impaired driver, was well aware of that.

  “I did enjoy it,” she said, “and it was good for me. I’ve almost never done that, spent a social evening with a group of friends. I do belong to a book club, with island writers, retired English teachers, and so on, but our discussions focus on the books. They aren’t personal.”

  “You seemed a little stressed when we first got to Luke’s place, but you handled it.”

  “The anxiety manifests physically. My heart races, I have trouble catching my breath, that kind of thing. I try not to let it control me.”

  He swallowed audibly, suggesting that he identified. Perhaps he was thinking of his interviews with the media. “But isn’t it hard for you to control it?”

  “It is if I try too hard. Which sounds backward, but it’s true. When I focus internally, on my stress reaction and my desire to control it, I get more upset.”

  “What’s the better approach? To focus on other people, like you do when you think about customers and their needs?”

  “Partly. But also to breathe deeply and acknowledge the stress, experience it, accept it.”

  “You lost me. Isn’t the point to avoid experiencing a panic attack?”

  “When I simply breathe and accept it, then I’m calm enough that my brain and common sense can kick in and I understand that the anxiety is unwarranted. Then its strength diminishes. It’s kind of a Zen thing.”

  “Hmm. When you recommended that book for me, I thought maybe you were, uh, Taoist. Is that the term? Now I’m wondering if you’re Buddhist.”

  “I’m neither but maybe both.” She gave a soft laugh. “That sounds like something from Pooh’s ‘Cottleston Pie’ song, doesn’t it?”

  “The song about how a bird can fly but a fly can’t bird.”

  “Right. Which, the Tao book points out, is about inner nature. My inner nature is to not practice a formal religion but to have my own kind of—I don’t know what to call it—constantly developing spirituality, maybe?”

  “I’ve never been sure what spirituality means.”

  “I think of it as an awareness of ourselves as one small part of the universe, and a way of trying to understand our part. Of trying to be a good person, a person who does no harm and who contributes something worthwhile.” She did a fair job of the first part, and she did help people at the bookstore, but anxiety kept her from participating in activities like volunteer work.

  “If that’s spirituality, then I wish more people had it,” he said grimly.

  Oh no, that wasn’t the mood she wanted, for this brief time together. “Are we just wandering wherever the road takes us,” she asked, “which perhaps would be the Taoist way, or do you have a route in mind?”

  “I have a destination in mind. Not as scenic as an ocean view, but it’s secluded, the mood’s mellow, and I know you like it.”

  “The old commune? I’ve never thought of going there at night.” But now, imagining that peaceful spot, with raindrops pattering on worn-out grass, she was intrigued. “Good idea.”

  They drove past Quail Ridge Community Hall, its outside lights blazing, the parking lot almost full. Even through the closed windows of the van, she heard a pulsating rhythm. Live music, as was often the case on weekends. Local groups played, from the chamber music quartet to country-and-western bands to Julian’s father’s group. Off-island bands came too, mostly from the other Gulf I
slands, Vancouver Island, and the Lower Mainland.

  “You’re amazing onstage,” she said. “I’ve listened to your music for years, seen some videos online, but it’s nothing like in person. There’s a whole different energy. That’s why you love doing it, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a high.”

  Curious, but not wanting to pry, she said, “Speaking of highs . . . I hear that for some musicians, drugs are part of the lifestyle.”

  “Not for me, nor my band. Well, Andi tokes up from time to time, and Roy occasionally, but no hard drugs. We respect the music too much.”

  “How do you mean? Don’t some artistic people say drugs make them more creative?”

  “And maybe that’s true, sometimes. But it’s playing with fire. Drugs, especially the ones on the street these days, are too damned dangerous. Even if you don’t end up killing yourself, you can mess up your health, your brain, your creativity. Not to mention, drugs distort your perceptions, take away your control . . .”

  His voice trailed off and she sensed he was reflecting, that there was more he might say, so she kept quiet. The CD was playing Joni Mitchell’s “The Circle Game.” Julian had said Forbes had made mixtape CDs, and Julian’s favorites were from the sixties and seventies.

  After a few moments, he said slowly, “I think often people take drugs or drink too much because they want to shut down their brains, to escape from pain, fear, whatever bad shit’s in there. But when they sober up, the shit’s still there. So, more drugs and drink, and in the end they kill themselves and maybe that’s what they really wanted all along.”

  She guessed he wasn’t speaking hypothetically. He had some bad stuff in his own head.

  He shrugged, a slow, weighty shrug as if he were lifting a physical burden and then releasing it. When he spoke again, his tone was lighter. “Anyhow, my muse doesn’t like marijuana, nor too much booze, so that’s that.”

  “You have to honor your muse.” Thank God he did, or Julian and his gift might have been lost to the world.

  “If I look after her, she looks after me.”

  “Why is your muse a she?”

  “I dunno. She just is.” Watching his profile, she saw his lips curve. “Because women are the smart ones?” he said. “The perceptive, sensitive ones?”

  “I think you’re plenty smart, perceptive, and sensitive. As a musician and as a person.”

  He put his foot on the brake, steered the van to the shoulder of the road, and stopped. Leaving the engine running, he turned to her. “Iris, you’re a bright spot in my life. In a life that right now could sure use one.”

  It was dark out here in the country with no streetlights or holiday decorations, so she could barely see his face much less make out the expression in his eyes. But she did hear the sincerity in his voice and it touched her heart.

  She rested her hand lightly on his jacket-clad sleeve and, choosing her words carefully, said, “I’m sorry your life is rough right now. I know you’re worried about Forbes, and I think you also have troubles that run deeper than that. I’ll honor your privacy and not push, but please know that if you ever want to talk about those troubles, I would be happy to listen. I may not be able to help, but sometimes just talking, knowing you’re understood, can help.”

  He put his hand on top of hers. “Thanks for that. You’re a good friend. But I’m okay, honest. Like everyone, I tote some baggage and every now and then it drags at my ankles. But I’d rather not think, much less talk, about it.”

  Dragging at his ankles sounded like chains binding him, but he’d made it clear he wanted to keep his secrets. “You could be a Yakimura. We’re reserved with regard to what we share.”

  He got the van back on the road. “Have you told them you’re seeing me?”

  “Mom saw us when we drove through the village on the way back from the marina.”

  “Are they hassling you? I’m not most parents’ idea of good company for their daughter.”

  “Hassling isn’t the Yakimura way. They’re more into lectures about what’s appropriate behavior and what isn’t.”

  He snorted. “I doubt you’ve given them much cause for those lectures.”

  She smiled ruefully. “No. They made themselves clear when they raised me, and what they said made sense. Also, as I’m rather sad to say, life hasn’t presented me with many opportunities to rebel. I’m not the person who gets invited on wild adventures.”

  “Do you crave wild adventures, Iris?”

  “To be honest, no, not so much. There’s a part of me that wishes I was more adventuresome. When I was a girl, I loved the Anne of Green Gables books. She was a spunky child and a part of me longed to be like her, but she was always getting in trouble, while I hate to disappoint people. Anyhow, I realized it’s pointless for a tortoise to wish to be a hare rather than enjoying the benefits of being a tortoise. A ridiculous waste of time and of longing.”

  “Respect your inner nature, right?” He glanced over. “If it counts for anything, I like you just the way you are.”

  Touched, she said, “It counts for a lot, Julian. Thank you.”

  “You neatly avoided my question. How do your parents feel about our friendship?”

  “They have some concerns, but it’s their nature to worry about me. They and Aunt Lily would like to meet you, but that’s up to you. You have enough to deal with.”

  Julian peered through the windshield. “Can you see where the track to the commune cuts off? In the dark and the rain, I’m afraid I’ll miss it.”

  She squinted, looking for something familiar. “See that big oak tree? Turn just after that.”

  As he followed her instructions, he said, “If it’s important to you that I meet them, then I will. I don’t know that there’s anything I can do to make them approve of me, though.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do anything other than be yourself. They’ll see the truth about you, as I do.”

  * * *

  God, no, the last thing he wanted was for anyone to see the truth at his core.

  The headlights barely picked out the almost nonexistent track into the commune, and Julian drove the van at a tortoise crawl. To change the subject, he said, “Forbes and I have had a lot of time to talk. He was telling me about being twenty in Haight-Ashbury, and I finally told him I’d been coming to this place for years. I asked him what he remembered about the commune, and why he didn’t stay long.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That it was great for some people but didn’t suit others. The leader was one of those charismatic types, and most of the kids worshipped him. Forbes said the guy used that to manipulate them. It pissed him off.” Julian pulled to a stop. He turned off the headlights and engine, but left the parking lights on, providing a tiny bit of illumination against the dark, rainy night. “Music on or off?”

  “You can even ask?” John Lennon’s “Imagine” was playing. “That song should never be turned off. Forbes’s mixtape suits the place. The hippies would have played the older songs.”

  “Yes. Forbes says ‘Imagine’ was one of the anthems for him and his friends. A dream that, sadly, has yet to be realized.” Because too few people shared Iris’s brand of spirituality.

  “I know.” She sighed. “What happened to the commune anyway? Did the kids grow up and drift away? Does Forbes know?”

  “The leader left. The hippies wanted to keep the place going, but no other leader emerged. They couldn’t agree on how to run it, so it fell apart. Most of the hippies left, but a few stayed on in Destiny.”

  If it were summer, Julian would have opened the windows and they might have heard tree frogs—or the laughter of ghost hippies—to accompany his dad’s music. But the rain worked, too, a gentle percussive thrum on the roof, a shower-like curtain cocooning them together.

  “That’s kind of sad,” Iris said. “But at least they had that amazing time in their lives, and the lessons they learned from it.”

  The old van had one feature that he particularly
valued tonight: a front bench seat. He slid from behind the steering wheel and put his arm around Iris’s shoulders. As she nestled against him, he said, “I feel like we should apologize to the ghosts for disturbing their slumber.”

  “They won’t mind. They know we come in peace.”

  Her hair felt like satin as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Peace. Yes, that was what he felt, being here with her like this. “You seem attuned to the hippies. But if you’d grown up in the sixties, you wouldn’t have run off and joined a commune, would you?”

  Her wind-chime laugh tinkled. “No. Rebellion isn’t in my nature. Though I can relate to their desire for freedom from societal rules that made no sense to them.”

  He breathed deeply to catch the slight almond scent from her hair, which for some reason made him envision the delicate, blush-pink blossoms on ornamental plum trees in the spring. “You’d like more freedom?”

  “It’s why I come to the commune and I go sailing. My life is, for the most part, quite ordered. While I think structure is important, so is simply lying in the grass and gazing up at the sky, or letting the power of the wind take Windspinner skimming through the waves.” She cuddled closer. “It’s about balance, and generally I find a balance that pleases me.”

  “Hmm. You said you’re twenty-four, Iris?”

  “Almost twenty-five. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem particularly mature. Wise.”

  “Oh, well . . . Thank you.”

  He’d bet her pale cheeks had flushed with that spring-blossom pink.

  “I still have so much to learn,” she said. “But what else is life for, if not to keep learning?”

  “That sounds right to me.” He slid his fingers through her hair, the strands like smooth water flowing around his fingers yet not wetting them. “You haven’t asked how old I am.”

  “You were three years ahead of me in school, so I’d guess twenty-seven. Though you, too, seem more mature than your years.” Humor touched her voice when she went on. “Or at least your music does, so maybe it’s your muse who’s mature.”