The walk to Bernice’s cabin took a few minutes on the winding path that cut through the trees.Birds chirped overhead.Leaves rustled lazily in the breeze.
Lost moved behind us, quiet as a cat, his eyes sweeping every angle.
“Bernice always liked this part of the island,” Pearl said softly as we walked.“Said the trees were the right kind of spooky.”
Shay smiled faintly.“The right kind of spooky?”
“Yeah.”Pearl chuckled.“Not the kind that makes you run.The kind that makes you want to look closer.”
I stayed close enough to hear every word.Shay looked around the woods with curiosity instead of fear, which was good.I didn’t want this place to terrify her.I didn’t want anything to terrify her.
Pearl slowed as Bernice’s cabin came into view.
The small cabin stood tucked between two massive pines, its porch lined with weathered boards and a rocking chair Bernice used to sit in with a cup of coffee.There were wind chimes hanging from the eaves that chimed softly.
Shay stopped beside Pearl.Her eyes softened.“It’s going to be okay.”
Pearl nodded and bit her lip.“Yeah.It is.”
I saw her swallow hard.Felt the shift in her breathing even from a foot away.Grief was hitting her hard, but she didn’t crumble.Just took a deep breath and steadied herself.
Shay reached for her hand again.“We’ll do it together.”
“Yeah,” Pearl whispered.“Together.”
Chapter Ten
Shay
Bernice’s cabin smelled like dust, pine, and old paint.
The kind of paint that had sunk deep into the wooden floorboards over the years and mingled with the island air until it became part of the walls.Part of the place.I hadn’t had the chance to step inside before.Now here I was, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with Pearl, surrounded by boxes.
So.Many.Boxes.
Some open, some taped shut, some overflowing with canvases and half-finished sketches.It looked like Bernice had packed an entire lifetime into her short weeks here.
Pearl grabbed the nearest box and pulled it between us.Her fingers trembled slightly as she peeled back the folded flaps.“I don’t even know where to start.”
We sat in the middle of the small living room, just a few feet from the stone fireplace Bernice had apparently insisted on keeping stocked herself.The place was tiny but warm, filled with mismatched furniture and thrift-store charm.Curtains hand-stitched.A lamp that looked like it belonged in the seventies.The kind of quirky stuff that built character in a space.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Prime stood on the front porch with the door propped open behind him, leaning one shoulder against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest.Lost hovered beside him like an unmoving statue.Their eyes scanned the treeline, the lake, the shadows, everything.
Prime met my gaze for a second and gave a single nod.
Safe.I was safe.
I turned back to Pearl, who was already pulling out the first stack of papers.
Sketches.Dozens of them.
Faces.Trees.Water.A cabin porch I recognized as the one Prime and Lost were on now.She’d sketched everything she saw from every angle, like she didn’t want to forget a single inch of this place.
I held up one, a charcoal drawing of the lake.“She was talented.”
“Bernice could draw an emotion,” Pearl murmured, her smile small and sad.“She said one time it was like the island just came out of her hands.”
