Sail Away with Me Read online

  She gave a soft laugh. “I’m a Yakimura. We mind our own business.” Even within the family, they respected each other’s privacy. “Julian, what is it you need?”

  “Oh, God. I need what I can’t have. I want to, oh, I don’t know. To fly away. But not in a plane or helicopter, they’re noisy. Something silent. A glider, maybe. Skydiving, except then I’d be plummeting back to earth.” He gave a soft groan. “Listen to me. I’m not making sense.”

  “Maybe you are.” Though her life was generally happy and pain-free, Iris, too, sometimes yearned to escape normal life, and to feel free. She couldn’t give Julian a glider flight, but maybe she could offer something comparable. “When can you next get a few free hours?”

  “Uh, Saturday, I guess. Annie and Randall are coming over for the day.”

  She knew them, of course. They were longtime friends of Sonia and Forbes as well as being Luke’s in-laws, the parents of his deceased wife, Candace. “That will be nice for Forbes.” Iris usually worked Saturdays, but her family was flexible about adjusting their schedules to accommodate one another. Besides, she’d looked at the forecast and the weekend was supposed to be nice, and her plan did require decent weather. “Saturday it is.”

  “You want to meet at the commune?”

  She would enjoy that, and perhaps he’d play for her, but that wouldn’t give Julian the free-flying escape he craved. “Not this time.”

  “Look, I, uh, I’d rather not hang out in the village.”

  “That’s not what I have in mind.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “No. Let it be a surprise.”

  “Iris, I . . .”

  “Trust me,” she said softly.

  * * *

  Trust her. Julian wasn’t big on trust. And how could he trust Iris to plan an activity when she had no idea that merely setting foot in Blue Moon Harbor last Sunday had almost made him puke? Fucking Jelinek did still rule his life.

  Iris liked to please people. If whatever she had in mind didn’t work for him, she’d likely be amenable to a change of plan.

  She had told him to dress casually and warmly, so he hoped they’d be doing something outdoorsy like going to the beach. Jelinek, the successful Realtor, would be hard at work on a sunny November Saturday, not hanging out at the beach.

  Julian had refused Iris’s offer to pick him up, and hadn’t told Forbes and Sonia he was seeing her. His family didn’t ask. Sonia characterized her son, Luke, as a dog, open and sharing. Julian, she said, was a cat, independent and reticent.

  He’d agreed to meet Iris at the community center parking lot, only a couple of miles from Forbes and Sonia’s house. Shortly after breakfast, he set out on foot, toting his guitar out of habit. He found Iris sitting in the blue Volt that had been parked near the commune. He put his guitar case on the back seat and climbed in beside her.

  The trite phrase “easy on the eyes” might have been invented for this woman. She wore slim-fitting navy jeans and a cream-colored cable-knit sweater, and her long hair was pulled into a low ponytail secured with a twist of patterned blue fabric. The style highlighted her elegant features and meant she wouldn’t be able to hide behind wings of black hair.

  “You brought your guitar,” she commented.

  “It’s kind of attached to my hand. I don’t need to play it.”

  “I hope you do.” Driving from the parking lot, she said, “When do you need to be back?”

  “No particular time. Annie and Randall should be at the house by now. You know them, right?”

  “Yes. They’re both regular customers. Nice people. You’d never guess they were so wealthy, would you?”

  “No. They’re unpretentious.” Annie had created a spectacularly successful video game in the 1980s, and several other popular ones since then. Randall was an excellent photographer, but it was his wife’s work that made them billionaires. “They’ll look after Forbes today, so Sonia can do some chores and take her mom out for a long lunch.” His stepmom’s mother was in her eighties, living in her own home, resisting either moving to a seniors’ facility or moving in with her daughter and son-in-law.

  “That’ll be a nice break for Antonia. She isn’t able to get out very much now, is she?”

  “You really know what’s going on around here, don’t you?”

  “Most of Destiny’s residents come into the store and the coffee shop.”

  He had guessed that, when he’d seen the busy coffee shop on Sunday, which was partly why he’d almost had a panic attack. Then he’d heard that man ordering the boy to obey, and for a moment he’d thought it was Jelinek. Of course, thinking about it later, he knew the bastard would never do that in public. But what was he doing in private?

  As Iris drove through the center of Blue Moon Harbor village and past Island Realty, Julian’s nerves quivered and his stomach churned. This is our secret, Julian. How many times had Jelinek said that? And here Julian was, a grown man, still obeying him. Even if other boys—

  No, he couldn’t let himself think about that. He suppressed a groan. When would he be able to leave this fucking island? Go back to the safe world where, most of the time, he could shove the guilt and shame back into the rotten little core of his cowardly heart.

  “Julian?”

  “What?” His voice came out as an annoyed croak.

  “I’m sorry. Did you have an idea for a song?”

  “No. God, no. Sorry, did you ask me something?” If he could’ve found a non-hurtful way of making the request, he’d have asked her to let him out. She deserved far better than his company—and he didn’t deserve a friend like Iris.

  “I just asked how Antonia is doing.”

  “Physically frail, but mentally all there, Sonia says. Antonia’s not rich, but she can afford a housekeeper and a gardener. The grocery store and pharmacy deliver free of charge to people who can’t get out.”

  “As does Dreamspinner. I haven’t seen Antonia in the store for a couple of months. I must get in touch and make sure she knows we’ll deliver books.” She glanced toward him and then back at the road. “I actually enjoy doing it. A few of the shut-ins are gruff hermit-types, but most are so glad to have company. They ask me in for tea and cookies, and they’re interesting to talk to.”

  Focusing on them, letting them share their stories, would help overcome her shyness, he figured.

  Iris turned onto Blue Moon Harbor Drive, which ran along the west shore of the harbor. Some nicely designed low-rise condos and townhouses bordered the road.

  “There’s been some development in the fifteen years since I first came here,” he noted.

  “Yes, our population has expanded and needs have evolved. But development is carefully controlled, in large part thanks to the Islands Trust.”

  “Islands Trust?”

  She shot him a quick smile. “You are so not an islander, Julian Blake.”

  “Very true. Enlighten me.”

  “Each of the British Columbia Gulf Islands elects two trustees to the Islands Trust. The Trust was created in the nineteen seventies to preserve our unique ecosystems. It has jurisdiction over zoning and community planning, so basically it regulates development. And of course Destiny is very ‘green’ and opposed to major development.”

  “Right.” That must frost Jelinek’s butt, given that he made his living off real estate sales. “Good for the Islands Trust.”

  Past the condos and townhouses, the land sloped gently down to the left, the waterfront side. Narrow roads, most of them gated, wound off through large, wooded lots, offering glimpses of expensive waterfront homes. On the right side of the road, the homes and yards were regular middle-class ones. A few more minutes, and the road ran closer to the ocean. A park nestled along a beach, beside a marina. Iris pulled into the marina parking lot.

  “We’re going boating?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She turned to him, her brow furrowing. “You don’t get seasick, do you?”

  “Don’t think so.” He had a strong s
tomach, except when it came to Jelinek. And he really had to stop thinking of the man, or he’d ruin the day for Iris.

  “How can you live on the West Coast and not know if you get seasick?”

  “The only times I’ve been on the water, it was on the ferries. They’re pretty stable.” Seeing the concern and doubt in her lovely brown eyes, he said, “I’ve never had problems with motion sickness, so I should be okay.”

  “Maybe we should do something else.”

  He’d be happy to go to the old commune, but Iris had planned this outing. “No, this sounds great.” He opened the car door and stepped out.

  When he’d lived on Destiny as a kid, he’d rarely sought the ocean. He’d felt exposed somehow, standing on a beach or dock by the open water. The secluded commune, a forgotten place of rough grass, gnarled trees, and the ghosts of flower children and sixties music, had appealed to him more. But he wasn’t that boy, and the slight breeze with its salty tang felt good on his face. “Fresh ocean air. That’ll blow away the cobwebs.” He winced internally at using such a cliché. He would never put those words in a song, but it could take hours to craft a single line of lyrics, whereas normal speech was off the cuff.

  He extracted his guitar from the back seat, and reached for a turquoise and gray backpack. “This goes, too?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Iris grasped the handles of a purple tote bag with Dreamspinner on it.

  Side by side, they walked to the locked gate in the metal fencing separating the parking lot from the marina. While she unlocked the gate, he gazed at the fingers of wooden docking, with several dozen boats tied to them. The craft ranged from small dinghies, power boats, and sailboats through to huge white yachts with black-tinted windows. In the bay, a dozen or more other boats were secured to buoys.

  As he followed her down a skid-stripped ramp, he was glad he’d worn rubber-soled running shoes. Walking along a gently swaying dock, they exchanged “good mornings” with two older guys who were loading fishing gear into a dinghy.

  The tension was easing from Julian’s body. “The commercial fishers all use the dock below the village?” he asked. When he’d flown in and out of the harbor on Blue Moon Air, he’d seen two or three of those craft decked out with sturdy rigging, huge nets, and colorful buoys, but there were none at this marina.

  “Yes. That’s the commercial marina for fishing boats, seaplanes, whale-watching, and charters, as well as for visiting boaters who want to moor for a night or two. This marina is for island residents and off-islanders who have holiday places here. You pay by the month: pricier on the floats, cheaper at the mooring buoys.”

  “You have a boat?” That didn’t fit the picture of Iris he’d begun to form in his mind, of an introverted book-lover.

  “The family does. The ocean’s in our blood.”

  This woman definitely intrigued him. He followed her along one of the wooden docks and recognized the Yakimuras’ boat by the name. Windspinner was painted in gold on the ivory hull of a sailboat, thirty or more feet long, he guessed. Golden-brown wood gleamed with varnish, brass shone in the sun, and ivory canvas covered the sails. Snugged behind the boat was a dinghy, its woodwork in as perfect condition.

  “That’s one beautiful boat. It looks like it’s vintage.” Much more appealing than the three-decker white monstrosity tied up ahead of it, or the faded blue sailboat behind it. In fact, Windspinner had to be one of the prettiest boats in the marina.

  “We say classic. And yes, she is, isn’t she? My grandparents bought her.”

  “And named her?”

  “Yes. When Dad and Aunt Iris opened the bookstore, they chose Dreamspinner to echo the boat’s name.” She stepped aboard with agile grace.

  Julian handed the pack and his guitar case over to her, then clambered aboard, the boat rocking slightly in response. The narrow strips of wood that covered the boat’s deck were unvarnished, probably so the surface wouldn’t be slippery when it got wet. He raised his face to the sky, again scenting the breeze. A crisp, sunny day, a beautiful woman, and a sleek sailboat. “This was a great idea,” he told Iris.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy it. Sit and relax while I get organized.”

  The cockpit had padded bench seats and he settled on one as Iris took the bag, pack, and his guitar below deck. She returned with two hooded windbreakers and handed him one. “You may need this once we get out on the water. It’s my dad’s. He’s shorter than you and not so broad through the shoulders, so I hope it fits.”

  As she uncovered the mainsail, her movements had a graceful efficiency that was the opposite of bustle. She took two harnessy contraptions from a storage compartment and handed him one. “This is a PFD, a personal flotation device. Here’s how you put it on.” She demonstrated, reminding him of a flight attendant.

  He mimicked her, draping the padded band around his neck like a scarf, the ends hanging loose in front until he secured the waist belt. When she told him how the device inflated, he said, mostly kidding but not entirely, “Tell me you’re not planning to dunk me.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “I have no intention of doing that. But the wind and waves are unpredictable, and it’s best to be safe.”

  With the same easy dexterity, she started the engine and then hopped back to the dock, where she untied the boat and, holding on to the rigging along its side, walked it forward and pointed the front away from the dock. Before he could worry about being alone on an unsecured boat, she’d jumped back on board. She steered the Windspinner away from the dock and, with the engine putt-putting, they motored out of the marina and into the waters of Blue Moon Harbor.

  “Would you take the wheel for a minute?” Iris asked. “Keep the bow—the front—pointing toward the neck of the harbor while I let out the line on the dinghy.”

  He rested his hands on the wheel and felt the power and responsiveness of the sailboat as it sliced through the water. Intriguing, but disconcerting. He didn’t have his sea legs yet.

  As she took back the wheel, a tiny blue-and-white seaplane skimmed out from the commercial marina. Julian recognized the logo. “Blue Moon Air,” he said. “The Cessna.” Aaron Gabriel’s local business had two planes: that four-seater and a larger de Havilland Beaver. Julian knew this from chatting with Aaron when he’d flown to and from the island.

  “Did you hear that Aaron’s expanding the business?” Iris asked as the Cessna freed itself from the ocean’s surface and rose in the air. “Thanks to his and Miranda’s inheritance.”

  “Oh yeah? Good for him. I’d heard about the inheritance, but not about Aaron’s plans.” Miranda and her brother had inherited a chunk of change when their estranged grandparents—their only relatives—died this past summer.

  “He’s buying another plane.” Iris had turned her attention back to the ocean, which was a good thing as the harbor was busy on this beautiful autumn morning. A couple of largish boats motored toward the commercial marina, a few small power boats zipped around, and a quartet of kayakers paddled closer to shore. “He can hire a third pilot and expand his business.”

  “That’s great. I don’t know him well, but he seems like a good guy.”

  “He is. He and Miranda had a tough childhood. It’s so nice that they’ve made happy lives for themselves.”

  “Yeah.” For the most part, Julian was content with his life—as long as he didn’t let himself think about Jelinek. There were happy times when he was caught up in the world of creation, or he was performing with the band and saw his songs resonate with the audience. But his own guilt put the concept of a “happy life” out of reach.

  “The three of you were the ones who stood out,” Iris said. “Rebels, I thought at the time. Going your own way, never seeming to care what anyone thought of you. A part of me envied that, though the very idea made me cringe, too.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “I know your song, ‘Mocking.’ About feeling like an outcast and putting on a magic cloak to protect yourself. You and Aaron, acting like bad boys. Miranda, the defiant Goth.
All of you were unhappy about being forced to live on Destiny. The island-kids knew each other and you didn’t fit. So you had your magic cloaks.”

  He hadn’t realized that about Aaron and Miranda. Hadn’t looked beyond his own pain to consider anyone else’s. “I suppose we did.” Iris had guessed part of his own story but, thank God, she’d never suspect the rest. “But you haven’t got it quite right. I wasn’t trying to be a ‘bad boy.’ My magic cloak came from losing myself in my music.”

  “Ah. Yes, I see that.” After a moment, she went on. “No one would have imagined, back then, that Aaron would own his own business, right here in Blue Moon Harbor. That Miranda, a high school dropout, would be getting her certificate in early childhood education, marrying Luke, and planning a life here on Destiny. And that you, another dropout, would become one of Canada’s best musicians.”

  Her characterization was flattering, but hardly accurate. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Two JUNOs,” she said firmly. “Plus making the short list for the Polaris Music Prize.”

  He tried for a diffident shrug, but had to admit to himself that the JUNOs meant a lot to him, as did having the Polaris jurors choose the Julian Blake Band’s Moving album as one of the ten most artistically meritorious of last year.

  Iris flashed a smile. “Ready to fly?”

  “Lift the sail, you mean?” He was a bit nervous, but it was the good, excited kind of nervous, like before he performed. “Let’s do it.”

  She let him help, and it was his strong hands that pulled on the rope she called a halyard. The mainsail rose foot by foot. She showed him how to use a winch to raise it all the way to the top of the mast, and then how to cleat the halyard securely. The big ivory sail caught the wind and belled out tautly. She turned off the engine and he marveled at the unfamiliar, exhilarating sensations. The hull sliced through the wrinkled, greenish-indigo ocean with a whooshing sound.

  “Sit on the high side,” Iris said, “the one opposite the sail. You’ll have a better view.”

  He obeyed and she came to sit beside him, resting a hand on the steering wheel. “Well?” she said, and he knew that this time the flush on her cheeks wasn’t from shyness or embarrassment, but from pleasure and the nip of the salty breeze.