And then it hit me like a pallet of bricks.
Unfortunately, I happened to have an unhealthy addiction to online personality quizzes. You know the kind I’m talking about.Who’s Your Celebrity Twin?(Emmy Rossum).How Badass Are You? (7 on a scale from 1 to 10).What’s The Likelihood You’d Survive A Zombie Apocalypse?(83% because I wasn’t willing to double-tap my mom.) They were like sugar. Impossible to resist and fun while you were doing them, but once the high was over, it was over.
On my last plant-watering visit to Bettina’s apartment, I’d stumbled upon the quiz in question. Her wi-fi was much faster than mine, so I liked using her computer to check my email and social media. It was literally impossible not to click onWho Is Your Monster Dream Date. I mean, who wouldn’t want to find out they’re compatible with Beast and get their own library? It was every reader girl’s dream.
When I’d finished the lengthy quiz, and submitted the results, a flashy pop-up filled the screen saying I’d won a four-week, all-expenses-paid singles trip to paradise for me and my cat. Yeah, right. Then I promptly forgot about it.
But Mrs. Baker had called the hotel, and they supposedly confirmed everything.
Now, as I stared out from the ferry deck at the cold, gray water studded with white caps, I didn’t care what Mrs. Baker said about the island. She was a sweet old lady but probably a little Alzheimerish.
Three teenage girls with matching cat-eye contacts were taking selfies near the rail. Arms around each other, they struck various poses—smiling, goofy, model-serious—while the tall girl on the end held a selfie stick. Not far from them was an adorable elderly man and woman who reminded me of Rose and Jack in their later years, if Jack had lived. (I used to write non-canon Titanic fanfic where Jack had climbed onto the door with Rose and lived. It was plenty big enough.) An androgynousgoth couple in black stood arm in arm near the bow, gazing toward our destination, their coats billowing around their ankles. Now that would make the perfect promotional meme, I thought.Dreaming of Darkaway.
Just then, the door to the ferry’s passenger area opened with a bang, and I turned to see a small child running onto the deck. Coat unzipped and flapping, he beelined straight for the bow. Except that he wasn’t actually wearing a coat, I realized, but a wizard robe. Wait. It didn’t have sleeves. A superhero cape? A vampire? Underneath, he wore red shorts, a matching t-shirt and a pair of Velcro sandals. It made me cold just looking at him.
Not seeing an adult with him, I caught the boy right before he reached the rail. “Whoa, there, little dude. Where are you going?”
“I wanna see. I wanna see!” he cried, trying to squirm out of my grasp.
“It’s too foggy,” I said. “There’s nothingtosee.”
I was about to ask him where his mom or dad was when a harried-looking young woman carrying an infant like a football dashed through the mist towards us.
“Thank you so much,” she said breathlessly. “I was inside, changing the baby’s diaper, and when I looked up, Austin was gone.”
“No problem.” I’d once nannied for a family with a boy who bolted the moment you turned your back, so I could relate.
The woman shifted the baby to her other hip and took the boy’s hand. “Austin, don’t ever run away from Mama like that. I didn’t know where you were.”
He stuck out his lower lip. “But I wanna see the mom-sters.”
“I know you do, honey, but they’re not out yet.” She winked at me over the boy’s head.
Austin squatted in front of George’s carrier and started tostick his fingers inside, but I caught him just in time. “Careful, sweetie. He might bite.”
“Is this your son?” the boy asked.
His mother laughed. “He’s just a regular cat, honey.” Then to me she said in a low voice, “He thinks every animal coming to Darkaway is a—” The sudden sound of the ferry’s horn made me jump and drowned out her words. “Thanks again for catching my little monster,” she said, not skipping a beat as she smiled gratefully and turned to go. “Hey, why don’t you stop by Midnight Garage and Nails on Nightshade Avenue for a mani/pedi. My treat.”
“MidnightGarageand Nails?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. In fact, nothing this woman said was making much sense to me.
She nodded. “My husband works on cars, and I do nails.”
Well, that was a combination I hadn’t heard before. I shoved my hands into my pockets, not wanting her to see that I was a nail-biter. “Um, thanks.”
She hesitated and looked at me a little more closely, but not in a harsh, judgmental way. “Is this your first time on Darkaway?” she asked with a friendly inquisitiveness.
“Well, I entered this contest and?—”
“Oh my gosh, you’re one of the contestants!” Excitement sparkled in her caramel-colored eyes. “I read about it in the Daily Epitaph. The whole town’s talking about it.”
I hurried to correct her. “No, no. I won a contest, but I wouldn’t call myself a contestant.”
“Youhaveto stop by the Garage,” she gushed. “I know it doesn’t look like it now, but I’m really good with hair and makeup. I’m Portia, by the way.”
But before I could ask her what in the world she was talking about, her little guy took off again.
“Ack!” Tucking football baby back under her arm, she chasedafter Austin. “I’m serious,” she called to me over her shoulder. “I’d love to help.” Then she disappeared into the fog.
