The day is already hot, and just sitting there in the sun, I’ve broken a sweat. I wish I had my bathing suit on so I could dive in and cool off. Then it dawns on me that this is my island and I can do whatever I want. Who cares if some stupid kid is trespassing and catches sight of me? Maybe it will scare them off. I stand up and peel off my stale clothes from last night.

The breeze brushes against my liberated skin, and I wonder if anything feels better than this. Moving to the edge of the dock, I plant my feet and make a graceful dive into the cool, clear water. All the bits of myself that are usually covered by a bathing suit celebrate the sensation. It feels like swimming through silk as I pump my arms and legs through the deep water.

How have I not done this yet? I think to myself as I rise to the surface. And why not with Ezra? The thought brings on a fluttering of butterflies. I hang out in the water for a little while, then pull myself up onto the dock. I didn’t bring a towel, so I hurry up the path and into the cottage.

Running across the living room to get to the linen closet, I reflexively cringe, expecting the scolding that always came if we walked through the cottage without drying off first. The silence reminds me once again that I’m alone and I’m in charge. When my girls come, I won’t say a word if they decide to traipse though the place soaking wet. It doesn’t hurt anything; the footprints dry right into the age-old wooden floor. Not having the same rules that my parents did is a liberating feeling.

Being back here is changing me. I can feel it. I’m slowly shedding the doubts and insecurities that grow like warts on your insides as you get older, rising from a breeding ground of multiple failures, controlling husbands, character assessments made by your parents that you never seem to fully escape, and other countless shards of life that get buried in your subconscious.

Avril Island has given me back some part of myself—the twelve-year-old girl I was when I left here so long ago. She didn’t know enough about the world yet to be afraid, she didn’t know enough about people yet to shut them out, and she didn’t know that failure was even a possibility. That girl’s been here waiting all this time for me to show up and reclaim her.

MAY

There are police here. Two of them—a man and a woman. They’re standing over by the record player with June. The male police officer is holding the cord in his hand and examining it closely.