Haniver Island

The Return

Never say never. That's the first order of life. Even as I left Haniver Island, I knew eventually, I'd have to come back. One can pretend, or even succeed in leaving the past behind to a certain extent. But home...Now, there's a special brand of shackle.

I did what I had to, the moment I left. I worked hard, studied harder, and caught up with the ways of the world after living in a bubble. I found a man who loved me and in time, I felt confident enough to declare I loved him too. Still, I kept from confiding key moments of my childhood to Richard. He knew about my dead twin, and of a grandfather I contacted through mail and phone, but never visited.

Richard once asked me about the Island and I answered in earnest: "You wouldn't like it there, hon." Even the good things I remembered growing up... summer fairs, fishmongers offering fresh catch of the day, colorful sea-side kiosks and autumn dances at the pier house, were now gone. Haniver had taken a steep decline, and families found themselves trying to make ends meet. Whenever I spoke to grandfather, he told me repeatedly: "Things would be different if you were here." To which I answered, "I doubt it, Jethro. Is just that being by yourself, you have nothing better to do than to see things unfold before others do."

As I discovered all was good and steady within my life, I opened up a little but more to him. It was a matter of time before I started corresponding with Ms. Barber as well. Grandfather's health took a turn for the worse, and the town's nurse, who had weathered economic distress and somehow came up triumphant, enrolled him in a senior citizen homecare program under her supervision.

Just like that, fifteen years went by. I returned, because it was my duty to do so. Grandfather died. He had grown grateful of my care in his old age and I had learned to forgive his unintentional spites. As he deteriorated, Jethro let go of his insistence for me to return.

"It's better if you stay, Jen. You have become a woman on your own; away from salt and sea..."

Sorry, Jethro. I guess it would have been easy to guess, I'd disobey. Deep inside, we were always at odds.

Still, I couldn't help the mix of thrill and dread that took over as I boarded the ferry that connected a fistful of islands. I lost notion: Was I leaving home to meet with responsibility, or returning after a long engagement?

Deep breaths reminded me of so much I have sworn to forget about my younger years. Island nights are different from inland. The air forever permeates with salt that sticks to the skin. The sun goes down and humidity sets in, as if evenings were doomed to suffer the sins of the day.

The closer I got to the docks, the easier it was to see the truth evident in peeling coats of paint. The island was dying; it was worse than I imagined. In previous years, autumn proved a gentle transition from a busy summer season as the people of Haniver paraded around town investing their well-earned monies. But summer business had been declining for years, and it showed. Few ever left though; as if they owed something to this piece of rock.

The mobile rang five times before I realized the call was meant for me.

"Hey, ho...ney!" Richard's voice sounded broken, distant. "I know you don't want me there but there's nothing keeping me from checking in."

"Not that I don't want you, silly." I smiled long enough for him to feel it on the other side of the line. "It's just that I rather have you dedicate your free time to the good times. I'll be alright and back after tomorrow. It was something expected, after all..."

Pleased after making me laugh, he hung up.

I turned off the mobile, letting it drop to the bottom of the purse. There were things to take care of.

"Jen, girl! You have grown!" Ms. Barber, now head of the nursing home where grandfather had lived the last months of his life waited for me at the dock, waving. The woman looked the same as I remembered, which was a little odd. Even as a middle-aged lady, she appeared fresh faced and vibrant against the general state of decay the island presented. She had been doing better than most, as I had found out, doing all kinds of administrative odd jobs, including rentals. It was fitting; she was always bound to be in everybody's business. It was something that as I child, I thought about as kindness, but now...

"I was sort of already grown when I left, Ms. Barber. I simply changed." Her arms enveloped me, breaking at the exact moment her affection might turn unwelcomed. At least she remembered I was never too fond of being touched, nor I managed myself well when it came to bursts of emotion.

"I'm so sorry dear, about your grandfather. Jethro will be remembered, that's for sure. These last few months, when he couldn't take to fishing, it felt as if there was something wrong altogether with God's deep blue sea. As much as we butted heads when younger, it's undeniable he was part of the landscape. Quite the character!" There was an almost unconscious giggle that followed. Nerves betrayed her.

"God, nor you have to worry about grandfather, Ms. Barber. What happened, happened."

The woman fell silent, there was an instant understanding between us. The reason she had gone to meet me at the dock was not love or nostalgia. Though her heart was in the right place, her motivation was fear. My grandfather's death occurred under atypical circumstances. While confined to Barber's nursing home, he had managed to escape and get hold of an oar boat. No one noticed him gone until dawn had broken. Later that day, when search parties were alerted, a fishing boat reported finding him disoriented and half mad, pretending to throw a net at the mouth of the bay, raving about cleaning the waters of an unseen scourge. Crusty salt of sea water stuck to his lips... he died three hours later, dehydrated.

"It's just that one can't help think back to your brother. He also died in October. It's unnerving. One would say it's easy to get used to these accidents, but come on. Isn't it eerie? I got the bumps just thinking about it. Perhaps I have lived here too long, and finally gave in to old-wives tales." Her eyes scanned my face, looking for a chance to reignite our old conversations.

"Ram would have been... a fisherman too." My words faltered and I resented Mrs. Barber being there. I had forgiven her carelessness easily and now she felt my leniency gave her the right to be morbid. "They both died as they had lived. Tied to the sea." Turning towards Main Street, I didn't bother to say goodbye. She knew where I'd be.