On a small island like Avalon, secrets don’t stay secrets for long, and some days, the effort of guarding them is the only thing that keeps my restless energy contained.
I always tell myself I have nine lives anyway.
“Here.” I drop to one knee and cup my hands.
Tom knows exactly what to do. I brace against the wall as he steps into my hands. One strong push, and he hoists himself up, climbing over with an ease that tells me this is business as usual for him. Why am I not surprised?
I let out a breath and look up. My turn.
I grip the top of the wall, the rough limestone scraping against my fingers, but I’ve done this enough times to know exactly what I’m doing. One smooth swing of my legs, and I land safely on the other side.
Tom is waiting, watching me with tired eyes. Normally, I'd expect him to come up with something clever. Not tonight.
We don’t waste time. Keeping close to the inner wall, we move quietly through the dimly lit path behind the studios.
Tom’s studio is the last in a row of ten. When we reach his door, I turn to him.
“Go in. I’ll grab some supplies to change your bandages.”
He gives a small nod before sneaking inside.
I head toward my own studio, slowing down as I enter the lobby area. The night clerk is watching soccer on his phone.
“Hey, George. Is Blue Avalon winning against Trinidad tonight?”
“Mm.” He doesn’t even look up from his phone.
Good.
When I enter my studio, I head straight for the cupboard and gather what I need.
Top shelf, left side; sterile gauze stacked in organizing trays and cotton rolls, compressed in a clear plastic bag. The bandages are arranged by size. Tweezers, check, saline solution…over there.
The routine keeps my thoughts calm. I can’t let Tom’s confessions take over, he needs me a little longer. After that, I’ll deal with it by staring at the ceiling.
I double-check the contents of the paper bag. Everything’s there.
Back at Tom’s studio, I give a soft knock, then open the door.
“Still awake?” I ask as I step inside.
Tom looks up from the kitchen table, clearly he’d been waiting.
I wash my hands, hook a chair with my elbow, and sit beside him.
“Alright, Rocky. Let’s take a look at your wounds.”
Tom huffs softly, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Carefully I loosen the bandage. Grains of sand spill onto the table.
“That’s the thing about living on an island. The beach is everywhere.”
He rolls his eyes. “figured.”
Once the bandage is off, I take the tweezers and lift the gauze away.
Tom grits his teeth and looks aside. I’m as gentle as I can be, but I know it stings.
