I’m sure I will, I say, pulling myself from my own thoughts and looking out at the water on our drive. It’s undeniably beautiful in its vastness—Canada has so much wide open space; so many green trees sprawl out along the highway, untouched. I roll down the window and can smell the salt in the air.
We pull off the highway and onto a driveway that winds down towards the water, crossing over train tracks that my brother tells me aren’t used anymore.
He and Florence live in a place called Christmas Island, which sounds like something from a children’s story. As fate would have it, he had unknowingly bought his wife-to-be’s childhood home long before they ever met. And while we’ve chatted over FaceTime on the occasions that I’ve called my brother and she’s nearby, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Florence in person.
That slither of envy worms its way in again, making me feel quite poorly. As far as romantic love stories go, theirs is a bloody great one. It was Florence’s first visit home in a decade, and Allie pulled her over for speeding. And while I think she was pretty mugged off when she found out my brother had bought the place—and about the driving ticket—he managed to win her over.
Another tick for Allie boy, while I’m not a good fit.
The house itself looks almost like a small cottage from the outside. A sign to the right reads, Lake this way, with a painted blue arrow pointing through the trees and in the direction of the water.
I look back towards the house, which has a long deck lined up around the entire front of the building. The screen door swings open with a creak, and a beautiful redhead strides outside, heading in our direction. While she may be short, something about her entire demeanor tells me she’s not to be fucked with—that she might even tackle me to the ground if I was being a shithead.
But she smiles at me, a lovely, genuine smile that’s almost a little impish, and says, Hello Finn. I’m so glad you’re here. She pulls me into a hug.
Floreeeeenceeeeee, I singsong into her ear and she laughs, pulling me away to get a good look at me. I smile my most devilish smile and she grins back at me, wicked and mischievous. I hear my brother groan.
I’ve always worried about what would happen if you two joined forces, he says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking genuinely nervous. Florence only laughs and skips over to him, kissing him on the cheek and nestling into his side.
We’re interrupted by Mum, who follows the sound of voices out the front door.
Oh, my wee Finnie, she says, her tone morose and her eyes sympathetic. I try not to groan. I’m not bloody wee, I’m over six feet tall. You must be exhausted, what a horribly long flight you’ve had.
I’m fine, Mum. Just fine. I say, my smile a wee bit tight. I try to check my rising irritation. She’s only worried about you, I remind myself. Except it feels like all she does is worry about me.
You must have been so stressed, and all by yourself—
Here we fucking go.
Honestly, Mum, it was fine. It wasn’t. The flight was annoying at fuck, but I don’t need to add any fuel to her fire. And I’m here now, it’s no bother, really.
I try to keep the tone from my voice, the arsehole tone, but I think Florence notices. She smiles at my mother, a nice, pleasant smile and not the half-wild one she gave me, and ushers her back inside.
Come on Eileen, let’s give Finn the tour and then let Al take him down the road to the cottages. I’m sure he’s desperate for a nap.
Florence, I know through Alistair, lost her mom more than a decade ago. I feel a stab of guilt at her gentle voice with my own mother, who I could stand to be a little nicer to these days. Mum’s in Edinburgh, an hour away from me in Glasgow, but I still see her at least once a week, often more than that, and we speak on the phone every day.
Does she talk to Alistair every day? No, because he’s busy. But I’m the poor, lonely sod who needs more frequent check-ins, I guess.
As promised, I’m given a tour of the house, the air inside cool compared to the sticky heat spreading outdoors as the day goes on. The house has a spare room where Mum is currently staying, and an upstairs loft, but is mostly on one level. The front windows look out to the deck and the lake beyond. We walk down to the water, a dock jutting out into the lake.
Fuck this is a nice place to live. Something about it makes me feel trapped in my own life.
Have you been in yet, Mum? I ask, knowing the answer. She shakes her head.
’Course not. Far too cold for me.
Ah c’mon Mum, it’ll be a laugh, I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders but unable to stop from sounding sarcastic. I’ll be shocked if she gets in even once this summer. She’s always cold, even in the summer heat, but more than that, it’s nervousness—probably worried she’ll get a chill and simply never recover.
My brother sighs before adding, It’s really not that cold Mum, especially once you get in.
Now, I’m biased, Florence starts, but this is the best spot for swimming in all of Cape Breton. My cousin Alba, however, holds the second-place title at her bed and breakfast. There’s a dock there too. She glances down at her phone. And speaking of Alba, I need to head over there. We’re going to get Violet at the airport, but Alba’s going to leave the cottage open for you, Finn.
Violet—the other member of our merry little wedding party, or so I’ve been told. Florence’s cousin, Alba, is also standing with her. It’s only me standing on my brother’s side, as far as I’m aware.
It’s the second one on the left. Florence says before she turns to my brother, You know which cottage, right Al?
He nods, kissing Florence again before she departs.
