“Excellent choice,” he said as they sat down at a cozy candlelit table beneath a tattered antique British flag behind a glass frame.
They picked up their menus and marveled at the story of the old stones in the walls of the restaurant, which had come from the French Fortress of Louisbourg on the island of Cape Breton. The fort had been dismantled by the British after a siege in 1758, which took place during the Seven Years’ War.
Mystified, Joanna ran her fingertips down the gray stones next to their table. Her grandfather did the same. Then they turned their attention to the extensive wine list and selection of entrées on the menu.
“I didn’t expect it,” she said, “but this trip has turned me into a bit of a history buff.”
“It’s never too late to embrace a new interest,” he replied, then showed her a fine French Bordeaux, which he suggested would pair well with their menu selections of seared duck breast and beef tenderloin.
“On the subject of new interests,” Joanna said, setting the menu aside and still feeling a little displaced since their departure from Sable, “I made an appointment for tomorrow morning to read Emma’s academic paper about the island horses.”
“That’s not a new interest,” he said. “You’re an equine veterinarian. You must have read dozens of papers about horses.”
Clearly, he was avoiding the concept of touching pages containing Emma’s very own handwritten notes.
“Yes, but this is different, and you know it,” Joanna replied. “Emma was someone you cared about. Besides that, I can’t stop thinking about that family of horses this morning. They were so friendly. So curious.”
He sat back and let out a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about that too. All of it. It was like a trip back in time. It made it feel like everything happened only yesterday.” He looked away, seeming lost in thought. “Life goes by so quickly, Joanna. In the blink of an eye.”
She observed and understood his melancholy. He wasn’t a young man anymore, but as a result, he was immensely wise. Joanna had learned much from him, and she didn’t want to squander a single day by sitting around her flat, watching the telly. She wanted to see new places, try new things, and have experiences that brought her joy—experiences that touched her soul.
She hadn’t even known that was possible before her visit to Sable Island, but the world looked new and different to her now. It was filled with a natural beauty that left her enthralled, and she was inspired and uplifted by thoughts of what her future might hold.
After dinner, Joanna and her grandfather returned to the hotel, said good night in the hall, and retreated to their separate rooms. Exhausted from the events of the past two days, and sleepy from the Madeira port they’d ordered with dessert, Joanna switched on the light, tossed her room key onto the TV cabinet, and laid her purse on the bed. She rolled her neck, massaged her left shoulder, and couldn’t wait to snuggle into the thick duvet and comfortable feather pillows.
She was about to kick off her shoes when she noticed the little red light blinking on the bedside-table telephone. With a spark of curiosity, she moved to pick up the receiver and pressed a few buttons to access the message. It was from Garrett.
Her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, because he’d been in and out of her thoughts since she’d boarded the helicopter and left Sable Island. Collapsing onto the bed, she listened.
“Hi, Joanna. It’s Garrett. I hope you had a good trip back. The island feels a bit empty since you left.” He paused for a few seconds, and Joanna thought that might be the end of the message, until he began again. “Yeah, so ... there’s that. I’m not getting much work done around here. I’m kind of playing hooky. But what are they going to do, fire me?” He paused again and cleared his throat. “Anyway ... I wantedto let you know that I made some phone calls and found out that Emma Clarkson is alive and well and living in Chester. It’s a little seaside village on the South Shore of Nova Scotia, about a forty-five-minute drive from Halifax, if you want to pay her a visit.”
Joanna sat straight up on the bed.
“I also learned that she’s been a psychologist in Halifax for about forty years, and she’s somewhat renowned. She’s traveled all over the world giving lectures about PTSD and survivor guilt, and she’s considered one of the foremost experts in that area. She was a tenured professor at Dalhousie University—she went by Dr. Baxter—but she’s retired now.” He paused again. “I hope you won’t think I overstepped ... but I asked if she was married. The person I spoke to is a friend of mine who met her at a conference about Sable Island a few years ago, so I felt comfortable asking. Anyway, he said he was pretty sure she didn’t have a significant other at the time, but I can’t be sure. Who knows what’s happened in her life in the past four decades, or past four hours?” Garrett paused. “So, yeah ... that’s all I wanted to tell you, except that I enjoyed meeting you and your grandfather. I’d love to see you both again and catch up on whatever happens next. I hope you’ll keep me informed.” Another pause. “Now I’m rambling. I should hang up. Take care, and call me back if you want to. I’ll be at this number for another month.” He left his details and ended the message.
Joanna set the phone down in the cradle and smiled. Her cheeks grew hot, and her insides started to feel like sweet, sticky honey. She flopped onto the bed and stretched her arms out wide.
“I will definitely be calling you back,” she said aloud. “But first, I need to call Grandad.”
She sat up, picked up the phone, and dialed his room number.
Part Six
Emma
Chapter 37
Summer 1995
Sometimes Emma wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake when she’d purchased a two-hundred-year-old house. There were dozens of things wrong with it. The plumbing needed updating, and before she’d been able to move in, she’d had to replace the roof. The house inspector had given her a long list of necessary repairs, but nothing could have held her back. She’d fallen madly in love with the house the minute she’d walked through the front door.
Emma hadn’t expected to ever live on the water again—not after everything that happened on Sable Island—but something about the little white clapboard house that overlooked Chester’s Back Harbour spoke to her. Maybe it was the fresh salty fragrance of the sea or the music of the gulls that took her back to her childhood. Or maybe it was how the floors creaked when she climbed the narrow staircase. It reminded her of her father’s footsteps in the early days, when she was young, before he’d lost his leg.
Or it might have been the scent of rosebushes that lined the back path to the water, where an old wooden bench stood under an ancient oak tree.
Whatever the reason, it had felt like home.
Since Emma’s retirement, she’d learned to take life one day at a time and relax with a cup of tea and a good book. The dishes could wait, and so could the torn wallpaper in the guest bedroom. Her grandchildren were the only ones who slept in that room anyway, every Saturday night when Emma’s daughter, Rose, went out on a regular date with her husband. Sometimes Rose felt guilty about leaving her children overnight, to which Emma replied: “Don’t be silly. I love having them. And the best thing you can give your children is a happy marriage. So go have fun, and let me enjoy my grandchildren.”
