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

curled on Piper’s pillow, its briny-gray eyes staring stonily at him. He rolled away from its judgmental gaze and looked from the open door of the bathroom to the open door of the bedroom. “Piper?”

The air remained silent.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the sheets pooling at his waist, and tried again: “Piper.”

Nothing. He slipped from the bed and pulled his boxers on, and then, to ward himself against the chill in the air, pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped himself in it. It took roughly ten seconds of walking the length of the carriage house to determine with certainty that Piper wasn’t in it.

He was alone. Well, him and the cat.

He glanced at the pewter crab wall clock: 8:32 a.m. He sat at the kitchen table, wondering where Piper had gone. Maybe to work? He glanced at the wall of bugs and tried to suppress a smile at the memory of the night before, to no avail.

It had certainly not been the plan. But Anders was starting to see the appeal of spontaneity.

He knew he still needed to tell her about the podcast, but something had occurred to him as he watched Piper sleep peacefully before he, too, succumbed to exhaustion—Piper had been working so hard to come up with a strategy to increase tourism, thereby increasing the town’s funds to invest in the infrastructure. Well, according to Pearl, his podcast was doing just that—drumming up interest in Frick Island—and didn’t she say the bed-and-breakfast was already booked for the first two weeks of tourist season next year? Maybe even more than that by now.

He had the hope that not only would Piper not be angry at the (very slight, really) mischaracterization of his subject matter—she would be thrilled! He popped up from his chair and walked back to the bedroom, picking up each article of his strewn clothing on the way. He would find her and tell her, and then—if he was lucky—they would tumble back to her carriage house in mutual giddiness and celebrate their amazing turn of fortune properly. Preferably more than once.

—

The bell on the door of the Blue Point General Store chimed as Anders stepped inside. Piper stood behind the counter pushing a mop around, and the second he spotted her, his smile grew so large, it threatened to take over his face. Any other observer might have seen the sweat at her brow, the few haphazardly loose coils of hair grazing her neck, her blemished white apron, the worn but sturdy canvas shoes, and let their gaze move right along, but Anders stood struck by her splendor. In his eyes, she was nothing short of perfect.

With a small bounce in his step, he walked toward her, and Piper looked up from her mopping.

“Hi,” he said, beaming at her.

“Hi,” she replied, but didn’t return his smile, causing his to dim exponentially.

“You OK?”

“Mm-hm.”

He paused, trying to comprehend the sudden change in last-night Piper and this-morning Piper. “Where’d you go this morning?”

“Work,” she said, her face remaining expressionless.

Anders mentally hit his head with his palm, realizing the obviousness of his question, though it wasn’t really what he’d been asking. He wanted to know why she’d left without waking him or saying goodbye. “I know, I meant—”

“After I walked Tom to the docks, of course.”

Anders went cold, his smile now a distant memory. “What?”

Movement caught Anders’s eye and he glanced at the back door to the office, where Mr. Garrison was entering. “Piper, can you run inventory on the spices after you—” He saw Anders. “Oh, hi there. I see you found our girl.”

Our girl.

Anders didn’t know anything for sure in that moment, except that Piper was certainly not “his girl.” He had a feeling she wasn’t Mr. Garrison’s girl either. She wasn’t anyone’s girl—except maybe Tom’s. And he realized how very foolish he was to think that one night would change that. Anders looked from Mr. Garrison to Piper. “Yeah,” he said. “I did. Sorry to bother you at work, Piper.” Face aflame, he turned and walked out as quickly as he could. Halfway down the street, he heard his name and turned. “Wait!” Piper was rushing toward him and his heart swelled a bit. Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions; surely Piper was going to tell everyone the truth about Tom— she just hadn’t had the chance.

She caught up to him and he stood silent, waiting for her to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He exhaled. Thank God. This was an . . . unusual situation. He just needed to be patient and sensitive. “It’s OK. I didn’t expect you to, you know—for everything to change immediately.” He had, actually, but he could be flexible. “I’m glad you came out here, though. There’s something I need to talk—”

“It was a mistake,” she said, cutting him off. Her face was steely, hard.

The breath left Anders’s lungs in a puff. “What?”

“Last night.” She shook her head, and he noticed water rimming her eyes. “I love Tom. I shouldn’t have—”

Anders shook his head. “I know. Of course you do. But, Piper . . . you don’t have anything to feel guilty for.” He paused and lowered his voice, to make it softer, gentler. “Tom’s not here.”

“How do you know?” she shot back. Then she closed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. A tear dripped from her lashes, falling to the ground. “Maybe he is.”

Anders stood still for a beat, and then reached his arms out to encircle her, pull her to him. He could be here for her. Help her through this. He’d do whatever she needed; wait as long as it took.

“Don’t,” she said, shrugging him off.

“Piper, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here. Let me help you.”

When she looked at him, her brown eyes turned black with sudden anger. “I don’t want you here! Can’t you get that through your thick skull?” She was near shouting now and Anders took a step back as if to somehow dodge