Sail Away with Me Page 8

  Julian whistled. “That was a risk.”

  “Yes, and not one that other islanders were prepared to take. The Yakimura land and house were the only Japanese-Canadian property that was preserved for the proper owners. So my family took in the other family that returned to the island, and they all became farmers. They did well enough that the other family could buy their own plot of land. And my family had enough to finance opening Dreamspinner in the mid nineteen-eighties.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  Her family’s saga finished, Iris spread soft brie on a rice cracker and added a couple of slices of green pepper. “My family has always been industrious. Now, enough of my stories. Tell me one of yours. Anything you choose. Or if you prefer to relax in peace and quiet, I’m happy with that, too.” Just being with Julian made her happy.

  Nibbling her snack, savoring how the creamy richness of the mild cheese combined with the slightly salty, sesame tang of the cracker and the crisp sweetness of the pepper, she wondered whether Julian would choose silence or conversation.

  * * *

  Julian watched Iris’s calm, lovely face as she gazed out at the ocean and ate a cheese-topped cracker. A woman who was content with silence. How often did that happen? Not only that, but when she spoke, she had worthwhile things to say. She didn’t babble on about superficial stuff. She wasn’t like the groupies, excited by his celebrity rather than interested in him as a person.

  That story about her ancestors was amazing. He knew very well what humiliation felt like. The counselor who’d led the support group he’d attended for several months in his late teens had said that victims of abuse shouldn’t feel humiliation, guilt, or shame, because none of the blame lay on them. For Iris’s ancestors, that was completely true. For Julian, not so much.

  No, he wasn’t going there again. Not now.

  “Thank you for sharing that story, Iris.” She had given him so much. The sailing trip, the picnic lunch, and a tale that gave her both pain and pleasure. What could he offer in return? Knowing she was interested in his career, he asked, “Want to hear about my bandmates?”

  Her head lifted, her brown eyes bright with interest. “Very much. I know there are three of them: Roy, Camille, and Andi.”

  A few wisps of long hair, escapees from her ponytail, fluttered around her smooth-skinned oval face. An impulse made him reach toward her.

  She frowned slightly. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “No. Hold still a moment.” He reached behind her neck and slipped the fabric tie from her hair, freeing a glossy black waterfall. “Okay?”

  “It gets in the way when I sail,” she said mildly.

  “You can tie it back when we get underway.” Again he asked, “Okay?”

  A slight smile curved her untinted lips. “If that’s what you want.”

  I want to kiss you. To weave his fingers through those silky tresses, cup the back of her head, tilt her face toward his, and press his lips to her delicate ones. To forget about the darkness in his soul and concentrate on the pure light that was Iris. To lose himself in her. To bring heat to her cheeks and arousal to her slender body. To break through her shyness and aura of self-containment and awaken the passion that he guessed—hoped—lurked inside. His body stirred and he suppressed a moan of need.

  If he told her all that, would she say, “If that’s what you want,” and offer herself to him?

  Iris liked to please people. But she was a good woman from a good family, and she deserved so much more than a deeply flawed guy like him.

  The soft breeze fluttered her hair, sunshine casting a gleam over its inky depths. Beauty and mystery, like the woman herself. Should he try writing a song about that?

  Beauty and mystery, shyness and competence, the pursuit of harmony . . . The way her soft brown eyes and subtle changes of expression enchant me. His fingers itched to feel guitar strings.

  Her long lashes drifted down and she devoted an inordinate amount of attention to choosing a piece of salmon sushi. “You were going to tell me about your bandmates?”

  He took a deep breath. “Right.” He reached for a piece of sushi, ate it, and then went on. “Camille, the percussionist, and her husband, Roy, who plays guitar and harmonica, have been with me for ages. I owe Camille a lot. She’s Francophone, from Quebec, and it’s thanks to her that I brushed up the French I semi-learned as a boy. She helped me create French versions of some of my songs, and write a few solely in French. That earned me a wider audience in Canada, France, and other French-speaking countries.”

  Iris nodded, silently encouraging him to go on.

  “Our other original band member, a guitarist, moved to Australia and we filled his spot with Andi.”

  “She plays the violin, doesn’t she? Or is it a fiddle?”

  “A range of stringed instruments. She’s great with Celtic music, and her expertise inspired me to add some Celtic-influenced bits to my songs.”

  “Camille and Roy are older than you, aren’t they? And Andi is younger?”

  “Yeah, Andi’s only twenty-two. Crazy about music and madly talented. She loves being on the road, and picks up odds and ends of work—session work in studios, waitressing, whatever—when we’re in Vancouver. She’s just being young and having fun.”

  “What’s session work?”

  “Filling in with a group that’s recording a song or an ad. It’s a nice supplementary income for a good musician.” When she nodded her understanding, he went on. “Camille and Roy have always been into music. They do session work, too. He also teaches advanced guitar and she, believe it or not, is an accountant.”

  Iris bit her lip, and he guessed what she was thinking.

  “You’re wondering whether we make a living from our music, right?”

  “It would be rude to ask. I assumed you did, since you’re so successful.”

  “Not that successful, and it’s hard to make a living as a musician. I do now, because I’m a songwriter. I get paid when groups cover my songs, or one’s used in a TV show or movie or for a ringtone. Or when people buy sheet music. The others do okay, but need additional income.”

  She nodded. “You’re based in Vancouver but do a lot of touring, don’t you?”

  He grabbed a couple of celery sticks. “Yeah. As well as some local gigs now and then, we usually do a tour in eastern Canada each year, and another in western Canada.” He munched, swallowed. “We’ve toured in the States, Europe, and Australia. Australia in winter, when the weather’s bad for touring here. But touring’s expensive, so we don’t net a whole lot of profit. We’re not like the stars who fill the big stadiums. For us, part of the point of touring is to hook and keep fans who buy or live-stream our songs.”

  “It must be strange, being on the road so much. Are you all friends, as well as being bandmates? Do you hang out together?”

  “We’re friends and respect each other, but we don’t hang out that much. I like exploring, or I work on music. Camille and Roy often hole up in their room. He likes books and video games, and she usually has work to do, accessing her clients’ businesses through WiFi.”

  “And Andi?”

  “She often hangs out with local fans.” Young, attractive, and bisexual, Andi liked to party and hook up. At first Julian had been concerned, but she’d never once shown up for a performance anything less than professional.

  “You’re not . . .” Iris was contemplating the two remaining pieces of sushi, a wing of hair partially obscuring her face. “You and Andi . . . ?”

  “Do we hook up? No, never. That’d be dumb, for me to mess with a band member. But we’re not attracted to each other anyhow.”

  “Why would it be dumb? You mean if it didn’t work out?”

  “Whether it did or didn’t, it could create weird dynamics onstage and off. But for Andi and me, working out—like, long term—wouldn’t be on the table. Neither of us is into serious.”

  Still not looking at him, she nodded. “Why would you be, when you’re young
and successful and your career’s taking off?”

  “Exactly.” Too bad those weren’t his only reasons. He crunched the last celery stick.

  “But,” she said so quietly he could barely hear, “what about later? You said you’re not a romantic, but don’t you envision one day being married? Having children?”

  “No.”

  After a moment, she said, “Oh.”

  Any other woman would have pushed to know why. The fact that Iris didn’t, made him want to give her something more. Some small part of the truth. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “Oh,” she said again.

  “Not the kind who’s built for that level of... connection, intimacy, trust. Not everyone is, Iris.”

  Now her head lifted. “That’s true. But your music makes me think you are.”

  “Don’t confuse the creator with the creation.”

  She blinked, was quiet, and then said, “On this island, I know many artists. Including your father. It seems to me, every good one pours his or her soul into their artistic creations.”

  “I tell other people’s stories.”

  “Through the filter of your own interpretation and emotions. And in doing so you connect intimately with many people who listen to that music. Do you not agree?”

  He realized he was rubbing his left hand over the tattoo on his right arm. Her words made him remember the moment when he decided not to kill himself. He’d been fifteen, living on the street, collecting change playing the guitar on Vancouver sidewalks while he tried to figure out an accessible, reliable way of committing suicide. While he was singing “Ache in My Soul,” an elderly woman stopped to listen and when he finished, she gave him a twenty-dollar bill.

  Big money, but the true gift came from the tears in her eyes, and her words. “Thank you,” she’d said. “My husband of forty years died last month, and I didn’t know how I’d be able to go on. But you made me realize I’m not alone. That others go through bad times, too. Your music and your voice also remind me there is still beauty in the world.”

  As soon as he’d been able to afford it, Julian got the tattoo: a few bars of music from that song. A reminder that he wasn’t alone either, and no matter how broken he was, he had value.

  “Julian?” Iris said softly. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “You didn’t offend me.” His voice came out even huskier than usual. “Just made me think about something that happened long ago.”

  “When you wrote that song?” A graceful hand gestured toward his arm.

  He shook his head, in wonder rather than denial. “You’re good, woman.”

  She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “It comes along with the shyness.”

  “Your shyness has positive and negative aspects. If you had the option, somehow, of not being shy anymore, would you do it?” His own albatross was one he would shed in an instant if such a thing were possible.

  “I wouldn’t be me without it, so no,” she said calmly. “It’s also part of my heritage. My father and aunt are the same, and their father and grandfather were as well. I see no greater intrinsic value to the social whirl Mom enjoys, compared to the things I like doing: reading, sailing, sharing a meal with a close friend. Still, I do sometimes wish I were more outgoing.”

  She rose and went below deck, which he took to mean that she wanted him to drop the subject. He, too, was alert to people’s nonverbal cues, though in his case it came not from shyness but from abuse.

  When she returned with a bowl of red seedless grapes, he broke off a cluster and popped grapes into his mouth one by one as she opened a small plastic storage container. “I hope you like chocolate,” she said, revealing the contents.

  “Nanaimo bars.” He recognized the treat: a chewy bottom layer with chocolate, nuts, and who knew what else; a creamy middle layer; then a topping of melted dark chocolate. “Sonia makes these. I love them.”

  He took one, bit off a corner, munched, and let out a moan of pleasure. “Man, that’s even better than Sonia’s.”

  Iris gave a cat-smile. “It’s a Destiny bar. Mom’s invention. Pecans rather than walnuts, and Irish Cream flavoring in the filling.”

  “My compliments to your mother.”

  Iris, slicing the other bar in half, didn’t respond. Julian wondered if she’d told her family she was seeing him and, if so, what they thought. But again, her body language suggested that she’d rather he not ask. When she handed him half of the second bar, he didn’t protest, just consumed the treat happily as she nibbled the rest.

  “You brought your guitar,” she said. “Do you feel like playing it? Or, if you prefer, we could row ashore and go for a walk.”

  “Actually, I could use your feedback. I did some more work on the lark song.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  As she tidied up the lunch scraps, he fetched his guitar and tuned it. Then, sitting in the sunshine with only Iris, a bunch of seagulls, and a man and black dog on the beach as an audience, he played Forbes’s song.

  Watching Iris’s face, intent and responsive, Julian thought that being stuck on Destiny Island just might be tolerable—as long as he could spend more time with this special woman.

  Chapter Six

  Late that afternoon, Iris was slicing vegetables for beef sukiyaki, her aunt’s favorite dinner, a thank-you for covering Iris’s normal Saturday shift at the store. From the living room came the strains of the Beatles song, “P.S. I Love You.” It was from a 1963 LP album playing on Grandmother Rose’s carefully maintained turntable. Rose had loved music and her records dated from the 1940s through until vinyl became more or less defunct. Playing her grandmother’s music made Iris feel close to her.

  Rose had heard some of Julian’s songs. She’d enjoyed them and said he had an old soul. She’d be excited to know that her granddaughter was becoming friends with him.

  Iris’s phone rang. Seeing the caller display, she lifted it from the charger on the counter. “Hi, Miranda.”

  “You and Julian Blake? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Had Julian mentioned their outing to his family? Iris hadn’t told a soul. She was a private person, and she didn’t want anyone blowing it out of proportion. As Miranda seemed to be doing.

  “Glory McKenna was driving home from work at Arbutus Lodge and she saw the two of you in the parking lot at the marina.”

  “Glory knows Julian?”

  “We all went to school together, remember? Plus she’s a big fan. So, what’s up, Iris?” Her tone was affectionate and teasing. “I thought you were this sweet, shy girl who couldn’t imagine hanging out with a rock star like Julian.”

  “He doesn’t play rock music.”

  “Picture me rolling my eyes. I know it’s not rock. It’s a figure of speech. Don’t avoid the question.”

  She sank onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. “Yes, I was that girl. But then I met him and he’s amazingly easy to be with.”

  “Wow. What happened to my girlfriend who can’t even look a man in the eyes?”

  “It’s not what you think. I’m only seeing him as a friend.” She brushed her fingertips across her right cheek, as she’d already done a dozen times. Before Julian had climbed out of her car in the community center parking lot, he’d planted a soft kiss on her cheek. She knew he’d meant it as an innocent, friendly gesture, and that he never could have guessed how his touch tingled through her.

  “How come? You’re attracted to him. Don’t deny it, I was right beside you at his last performance. You think he’s hot.”

  “Of course he’s hot. Way too hot for someone like me.” He was also sensitive and seemed like a fine man.

  “Stop with the crazy talk. You’re gorgeous and smart and really nice. What more could any guy want?”

  “You’re a generous friend. And yes, I have some good qualities. One day the right man will come along and view those qualities as special.” As had happened for Miranda, with Julian’s s
tepbrother Luke. Iris was thrilled for them, finding a second chance at love. If a part of her was envy green, she would keep that part tucked deep inside her ungenerous heart. “But Julian isn’t—”

  “You’re friends with Kellan Hawke, and he’s a celebrity, too.”

  “A successful novelist isn’t in the same category of celebrity as a rock star. And Kellan and I aren’t exactly friends. We’re in a book club together and the store sells his books, that’s all.” She wasn’t sure Kellan had any actual friends, but she refused to gossip about the island’s mystery man.

  “It sounds like you and Julian get along pretty well, so why not go for something more than friendship?”

  Because he was so . . . much, and she was so not. “We’re not a good match.”

  After a long moment, Miranda said, “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t really thinking. I mean, not that you aren’t amazingly special, and any man would be lucky to have you, but you and Julian really are very different people.”

  Iris knew that, so why did Miranda’s confirmation depress her?

  Her friend went on. “You never want to leave Destiny, and Julian avoids the place like the plague. Luke doesn’t understand why he hates it, but he says it’s obvious that having to be here makes Julian twitchy. And besides the geography thing, you’re looking for a happily ever after, and I doubt that Julian’s ever had, or wants to have, a committed relationship.”

  “Yes, all of that. But we do have an odd connection. I’m almost . . . comfortable with Julian.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Maybe we knew each other in past lives?”

  “Sure, that must be it. Hey, does he play and sing for you?”

  “He plays songs he’s working on, and I listen and give feedback, for whatever it’s worth.”