I feel like a true “citidiot.” My time away has erased all sense of cottage consciousness. “Right, sorry.” The apology sloppily tumbles out. “I’m headed to Avril Island. Do you know it?”

His round, sun-damaged face contorts in surprise. “Do I know it?” He huffs. “You some reporter or something? Come to dig up that old mystery? You’ll need permission, you know, to get on that island.”

I shake my head and hold up a hand. “No, no. I’m June Fin—I mean Bennett. June Bennett. My family owns Avril Island.” A quivering starts under my skin—dehydration, fatigue, hunger, fear that I’ll have to convince him of my right to the place. I’ve believed it gone for so long that it no longer really feels like mine.

He pulls his hat off and gives me an apologetic smile. He has his own mop of hair, not yet white, but one day it will be. “Aw, so sorry, miss. It’s been so long since a Bennett’s been up this way.”

“Oh no, please, it’s not a problem,” I gush. Relief that he believes me without proof, without asking for a driver’s license or the deed, inspires actual affection for the man. “I understand the confusion. It has certainly been a long time. My family moved across the country, and we just never got back here to enjoy it again.” I work quickly to make the whole situation seem light and innocent, just as my mother would have wanted me to.

Don’t let the public know your business. They’ll use it against you, she always used to say. I was never sure why we weren’t also considered the public but was afraid to ask. I think what she really meant was don’t let the poor people see that we have problems too, that money doesn’t mean we don’t get dirt under our fingernails just like them.

He holds out a hand for me to shake. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bennett. I’m Jim.”

I haven’t been Ms. Bennett for years, but it makes sense up here, so I’ll go with it. “It’s good to meet you too.” I shake his hand. “Was the original owner, the other Jim, your father?”

He slides his cap back on. “Sure was. Jim Senior. I’m Jim Junior, but I dropped the Junior when my dad died five years ago. Since there wouldn’t be no confusion anymore. And I’m in my fifties, for goodness’ sake.” He laughs at the thought, placing a hand on his round stomach.