Living here had always felt like staying in an abusive relationship. From being bullied during her early years to the constant surveillance and harassment by the old ladies and their minions since she'd first blossomed into adulthood, she'd only been making excuses for herself to stay.

She'd needed to take care of her ailing father from her late-teens. But he passed away from prostate cancer nearly fifteen years ago now, leaving her with absolutely zero emotional ties to the island. By then she'd argued that she couldn't leave the store. In recent years it wasn't doing the business it once had, almost as if tourists had been cautioned to stay away.

The only thing preventing her from leaving now was spite.

Because more than anything she didn't want the old witch and her cronies thinking they beaten her. That they'd worn her down.

Except now they truly had. The brick lobbed through her window had been the last straw, but the campaign to run her out of town started months before that, when the landlord decided, after fifteen years of minimal increases, to jack up the rent by a thousand dollars a month.

It was far more than Nadine could afford with the few customers she got and she was certain the old bitch Midwives were behind the decision. Left with no other option but to close the store, she only hoped she could liquidate the remaining assets at auction in a few weeks' time. Even though she wanted to walk away from this godforsaken place and never return, it would have cost too much to ship everything in the bookstore to Providence along with her personal belongings.

After closing up shop for the final time, she biked to the ferry with a large camping pack stuffed full with pairs of everything, some toiletries and a few things to eat on the bus from the ferry dock in Point Judith.

It was dark on the backroads but there wasn't ever much traffic to worry about this close to the last ferry. Most tourists took the main road. Besides, her bike was decked-out with flashing reflectors and an LED spotlight. She'd added strips of reflective tape to her backpack when she biked down into the Adirondacks two springs ago.

She rode the dark, winding road, the white spotlight shining her way through the black swath of trees, Queens of the Stone Age's "Feel Good Hit of the Summer" blasting on her headphones.

And of course—offuckingcourse!—Smartypants Marty comes back just as I'm on my way off the island for good, like the old cunt was just rubbing it in my face.

I bet she begged him to come, just to fucking see me off. Well I rubbed it all over his face, you bitch. And he begged me to come.

"You old bitch," she muttered aloud.

Not far from the ferry dock now. She slowed as she approached the intersection of Kildare and Galway, where a car idled with its brights on, only its shiny grill visible beyond the trees.