The Invisible Husband of Frick Island by Colleen Oakley (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📗

smelled only salt and the mild decaying scent of the marsh. At least he thought it was the marsh.

And then another thought elbowed its way in: Why hadn’t he been recording? That would have been amazing for the podcast. He could have kicked himself for missing it.

“Anders?”

“Right. Sorry. Um . . . I was just saying . . .” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. You know, for the research.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Is that all?”

“Well . . . yes,” he said, still out of sorts. She gave a curt nod and moved to shut the door, and that was when he saw it again. That look in her eyes. The one that let him know she didn’t really forgive him. Or think highly of him in any way. The look that cut him to the bone and made him feel—well, he didn’t know what it made him feel. But it wasn’t good.

“No, actually, that’s not all,” he said, putting his hand out, even though the screen door was between them and he couldn’t do anything to stop her from shutting the other one. She stopped anyway and looked up at him. “Look, you were right. I don’t know anything about this island. I came in with preconceived judgments about . . . well, everything. But I am different,” he said, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. “At least, I think I am. I hope I am. I really do want to help.”

And that was when it occurred to him that what he was saying was true. Maybe the focus of the story had changed since he first came to the island—and maybe he wasn’t being completely forthright about that—but that didn’t mean his motives were any less altruistic. How many people in America, around the world, struggled with grief, the death of a loved one? Sure, Piper’s response was unique, but it was relatable just the same. In fact, Anders thought suddenly, everything happening on this island was relatable. Climate change, mental health issues, maybe even drug trafficking (he still wasn’t sure about that part)—Frick Island was a microcosm for so many issues people faced all across the country.

Once the light bulb had clicked on, Anders could barely stem the exhilaration coursing through his veins. He could create a phenomenal podcast that was a metaphor for all of America’s darkest struggles, forcing them into the light—who knew how many people it might drive to get the help they needed? Maybe it would even help Piper herself.

And everyone thought Superman was the hero.

“Is that all?”

“Well, yes,” Anders said, but then immediately cursed himself. He’d obviously need to spend more time with her in order to get more material for this life-changing podcast. “Wait, no . . . I mean, I would love more help, you know, for the podcast.”

“More help?” A hint of irritation crossed Piper’s face, letting Anders know she thought she had done quite enough. “Like what?”

His mind raced. “I don’t know. Could I interview you, maybe?” She was already shaking her head, but he kept talking anyway. “The climate change research is great, for background, but I really need to get someone that lives here on the record. Especially someone that”—he gestured at Piper—“understands what’s at stake.”

“No.”

“No? But—” He’d really messed up. Yesterday she was giving him research and willing to be recorded. Today she wouldn’t even open the screen door between them.

But Anders refused to give up, wracking his brain for another reason to be near her. “OK, well, can you tell me a little about the island? I’d like to understand it better, you know, what life is like here. Not tourist stuff, but . . . the real Frick Island.”

Piper’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You want the real Frick Island experience?”

Anders nodded.

The side of her mouth slowly curled up into a half grin. “Well, that I can do.”

“You can?” He realized he had half expected her to slam the door in his face, for good. And that he probably deserved it.

“Yep. No problem. Meet me at the docks tomorrow morning, ten thirty.”

Anders’s shoulders relaxed, pleased that he’d been able to at least partly salvage the relationship with his subject. And it was quite ingenious on his part, if he was giving credit where credit was due—asking Piper to be his tour guide of the island, of sorts. She might not trust him to record their interactions again just yet, but at least he’d get to spend time with her. He grinned. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter 12

The sun burned bright and hot Monday morning as Piper walked to the docks for the second time that day. She had gotten up early to walk Tom to his boat and now she was meeting Anders, as promised. Even though it was Labor Day, tourism had been so slow that summer, Mr. Garrison hadn’t blinked when she asked for the day off from working at the market. Though she wasn’t sure why exactly she’d asked for the day off or why she had agreed to meet Anders.

Or why she’d opened her big mouth that morning a few weeks ago in the dining room at the bed-and-breakfast and told him she’d help him with his article—except there was something about him, an earnestness in his face. Or maybe that was just his freckles and unfortunate cowlick that gave him a look of vulnerability. And if there was one thing she understood, it was feeling vulnerable.

Or maybe it was just that she had a soft spot for Come Heres, considering she was once one herself. Though everyone treated her as nothing less than family now, she still remembered how it felt to be a knobby-kneed eleven-year-old, new to Frick Island. How people would smile, but not with their whole face. They would say “welcome” in a way that let you know you weren’t. Not really. That you had to earn your place, though how, Piper had no idea. There wasn’t an instruction manual. So Piper spent hours by herself, scouring the