Summer on Lovers' Island

by Donna Alward

  She put her hand up to shade her eyes as a smallish white boat approached the dock. It was easy to make out Josh at the wheel, his dirty-blond hair shining in the sun, aviators shading his eyes. He wore a white T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out that wasn’t quite tight—but tight enough that it emphasized his muscled torso and arms. As he pulled into the dock, she saw he had on swim trunks. Orange ones, with tropical flowers all over them. She walked over to meet him, watching as he leaned over and kept the boat from bumping against the gray wood.

  “My, my. If you aren’t the very picture of summer.”

  He smiled. His teeth looked extraordinarily white. Good heavens, he could be a poster boy for a Coppertone ad at this rate.

  “And you look ready for a day on the water.”

  She felt like a schoolgirl going out on a first date, and how ridiculous was that? First of all, she was a grown woman and getting all fluttery was silly. And this wasn’t a date. It was spending the day with a coworker, a friend. There was nothing between her and Josh.

  Which didn’t explain why she’d painted her toenails last night, agonized over what swimsuit to wear under her clothes and what to pack in her oversized tote. Sunscreen, hairbrush, lip balm, water, beach towel …

  He held out his hand to help her aboard, and she took it, knowing it would be far more conspicuous to refuse. She hopped into the boat, holding her balance as it wobbled from side to side just a little.

  “Oopsie, there you go,” he said, steadying her with his hands and then stepping back. “Is there anything you need out of your bag? It’ll stay drier if we tuck it in under the seat.”

  “Oopsie?” she asked, giggling.

  “Don’t judge. It just came out.” He shook her bag, raising his eyebrows in a manner of repeating the question.

  “Sunscreen?” she asked, shrugging.

  “I’ve got some up here. Let’s head out first, and when we stop for a bit you can apply.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She stowed her bag and took the other front seat, the interior surprisingly comfortable, as he pushed away from the dock and eased his way out into the harbor. She pushed her sunglasses up, shook her hair over her shoulders, and let out a big breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a day like this, one that was entirely for pleasure and escape. The closest she’d come was shopping with Charlie, but even that had a purpose. Today’s only purpose was relaxation, and as Josh slowly made his way into the wider cove her muscles began to unwind.

  “Ready?” he asked as they advanced through the cove. From out here she got a good glimpse of the small lighthouse at Refuge Point, the white shingle siding bright against the backdrop of the gray rock and scrabbly green bushes.

  “Ready,” she replied, raising her voice to be heard over the motor.

  Josh moved the throttle and the boat shot forward, gaining speed as he headed for the corridor that marked the departure from Jewell Cove into the wider, deeper waters of Penobscot Bay.

  Lizzie gave a little whoop of surprise as he made a smooth turn to take them past a marker, and the wind blew her hair back from her face. Oh, the freedom of it! Josh looked over at her and grinned and then gave it a little more gas so that they were flying out over the waves, bobbing over the crests, bottoming out on the slight waves just enough that it was a little bit rough and wild.

  “Okay?” he shouted over, and she nodded. It was more than okay. It was exhilarating, even the jarring thump as they moved into open water and larger waves.

  For several minutes they headed away from shore until the light at Refuge Point was just a speck and the coastline was a blur of gray and green. Spray flew up over the side of the boat and misted her skin, the salt water soft and refreshing. “Where are we going?” she called over, and Josh pointed a finger ahead of them.

  An island, a hazy dark form, met the horizon. This, then, was the great “hidden” island he’d told her about, the one with the Indian name she couldn’t remember but the nickname she could—Lovers’ Island. The boat bobbed over the waves as they moved closer and closer, and features of the formation became clearer. It wasn’t big; unless it stretched out long and narrow behind what she could see, it couldn’t be more than half a mile in diameter. A wide, sandy beach gave way to rugged white and gray rocks, with straggly evergreens and bushes weathering the rough sea winds. Josh pulled to the right, circling it slightly.

  It looked untamed and lonely and isolated, and Lizzie was suddenly aware that there wasn’t another person for miles. It wasn’t really an uncomfortable feeling, but more … intimate. Private. She swallowed and felt a familiar tension low in her belly. She didn’t want to be attracted to Josh, but the very idea of being alone with him, like this, without a living soul around …

  Just the possibility was enough to tempt her.

  She was searching the shoreline for interesting birds when Josh steered closer, pointing at a stretch of the shore that appeared to be a pile of gray rock. “Look!” he called, edging them in, and suddenly she saw what he was pointing at. Seals, well over a dozen of them, sunning themselves on the rocks. Delighted, Lizzie went to the side of the boat and watched them flop across the hard surface, adorable black eyes staring back at her.

  She laughed as two popped up near the boat, just their heads above the water, as if investigating who might be disturbing their Sunday morning.

  “They’re so cute!” She looked at Josh and grinned widely. “And there are so many of them!”

  “More now than there used to be. A lot of people say that the increase in the seal population is what’s bringing the great whites this far north.”

  She moved away from the edge of the boat a little and he laughed. “Relax,” he said. “I’ve been in these waters a long time and I’ve yet to see one.”

  They watched for a few more minutes, and then Josh increased his speed and pulled away, moving them away from the island.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, raising her voice slightly as he sped up, cruising past the south side of the island and into more open water.

  “I’m going to take you fishing, just like I promised,” he said, grinning. “The depth out here is perfect.”

  She raised an eyebrow, slightly disappointed they weren’t going to visit the mysterious island. She was sure there was more to enjoy than just seal watching. “You were serious about that?”

  He laughed. “Of course I was.”

  She sat, curious, as he picked his spot, cut the engine, and let them drift on the waves. “Now’d be a good time to put on that sunscreen,” he suggested. “I know it’s midmorning, but it can get pretty intense on the water.”

  While she applied the cream to her legs, arms, and face, he retrieved rods and tackle. The sun was beaming down and warming the top of her head, so she took a ball cap from her bag and pulled her ponytail through the back. He handed her a fishing rod, which she gripped rather awkwardly. She’d done a lot of crazy things, but she’d never done something as simple as going fishing in her life.

  “This is a jig line,” he explained. “More than one hook, see?” He showed her briefly, then demonstrated how to work the reel. “You’re going to cast, like this.” He cast out from the boat, the line whirring until it hit the water with barely a plop. “Let your line drop until you feel it hit bottom. Then you lift, and reel a little bit. Lift, reel. Like this.” He lifted the end of the rod, reeling in some line, lowering it again. He’d only done so twice when he grinned. “And I’ve got something on the line. Ten bucks says it’s a pollock.”

  “You’ve been here lots before.”

  “After a while you learn the best spots and depths for certain kind of fish. Pollock is one of our favorites. Nice and mild, beautiful when it’s fresh.”

  She watched as he patiently brought up the line, saw the tip of the rod bend under the weight of the fish. When it was nearly up, he held the line with his hand and brought it over the side of the boat. Two silvery fish, each just over a foot long, wiggle
d on the line.

  “You got two!” She watched, fascinated, as he took them off the line and threw them back.

  “You’re not keeping them?”

  “We’ll get bigger ones and put them in the live well. I’ll take the extra back home and give some to Mom and the girls. Sometimes on the weekends the guys come out with me and we have a big fish fry in the evening.”

  “That sounds fun,” she said, watching as he reset the line.

  “It is. Mom makes these great potatoes with garlic and parsley butter, and in another few weeks there’ll be vegetables from Sarah’s and Mom’s gardens. You should join us for one of those.”

  It sounded lovely … and a little too familyish for her liking. She was supposed to be keeping her distance and not getting overly involved, wasn’t she?

  He smiled at her. “Pan-fried it’s great. But my favorite is when Sarah makes her beer batter and we have homemade fish-and-chips.”

  What a perfect life he seemed to lead. And it was all well and good for now, she supposed. But eventually she knew she’d start missing her condo and restaurants with real cloth napkins and a wine list. Heck, even a movie theater or a club would be a huge step up.

  “Now you try,” he said, putting the rod in her hands. “Use this to release the line as you cast, then get a feel for it as it drops.”

  Her first cast only went about thirty feet, but Josh said that was okay and to carry on. She didn’t catch anything but got familiar with the rhythm of lifting the rod and reeling in the slack.

  “Try again,” he suggested. “Fishing isn’t something done in a rush. It’s like you have all the time in the world.”

  This time her cast went out a little farther and before long she felt a pull and jerk.

  “I think I’ve got something!”

  Josh’s grin was wide. “Awesome. Don’t rush. Just be smooth, lift, and reel.”

  She reeled in the line, the weight of something on the other end terribly exciting and foreign. When she lifted for the last time, she saw the fish on the hook. “I got one! He’s still there! What do I do now?”

  Josh chuckled. “Just bring it over the side. I’ll do the dirty work.”

  Thank God. She liked fish, but generally it came from the market, all nice and clean and, well, dead. She held the line and waited for Josh, but she had to wait a little longer as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture first. “Come on, you need a picture of you with your first fish,” he said, then took the line and gently removed the hook from the fish’s mouth.

  “Are we keeping him?”

  Josh laughed. “He’s only about eight inches. I promise, we’ll get more. This time we can both cast.”

  They carried on that way for a half hour, and Lizzie managed to bring up three good-sized pollock as well as a darker, thinner mackerel, which Josh threw back. On her last catch, she insisted on handling the slippery fish herself, removing the hook from its mouth and slipping it into the water of the live well.

  Josh’s line brought up an ugly, spinier fish, which he identified as an ocean perch and also threw back. Lizzie cast in once more but got a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. God, she wasn’t getting seasick, was she? She swallowed, but her mouth seemed full of saliva. “Uh, Josh?”

  “Yeah?” He turned around, took one look at her, and reeled in his line.

  “Look at the horizon,” he suggested. “Bring in your line, and I’ll get us moving. The problem with drifting is that you ride the swells.”

  He took the lines and secured them and then started the engine again. Lizzie swallowed repeatedly, not wanting to be sick. How humiliating! And Josh looking as fresh as ever. Of course he’d grown up on the water and probably never got sick. She took desperate gulps of fresh air as he sped up, skimming the swells rather than rocking on them. “Better?” he called over to her.

  She didn’t answer. The sick feeling also made her head feel funny and she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to hold out.

  He slowed as they approached an inlet of the island, and Lizzie knew. She stood up and put her hand on his arm. “Stop,” she said, gulping. And before she could say anything more, she rushed to the side of the boat and heaved.

  What a great date she was turning out to be.

  CHAPTER 10

  She gagged until there was nothing left to come up, then let out a breath and turned around, feeling more than a little wobbly on her feet.

  Josh had stopped the boat and was waiting, holding out a bottle of water.

  “Swish that around and spit it out,” he said gently. “And then take a drink. I’ll have you on dry land soon.”

  She obeyed, cleaning out her mouth and spitting the water over the side. Josh started up and guided the boat into the inlet and to a small, ancient dock that leaned to one side but must be sturdy, since he pulled up next to it and tied the line to a graying post.

  “It’s safe,” he assured her. He took the cooler and put it on the dock and then tossed up a rucksack beside it. He hopped out and held out his hand to Lizzie. She’d taken her tote from under the seat and was ready to step onto something firm that didn’t rock back and forth.

  She put her fingers in his and let him pull her up. He grinned then and nudged her shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. It happens all the time.”

  “Right,” she grumbled, adjusting her tote. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

  She watched as he put the ruck on his back and then hefted the cooler, the muscles in his arms flexing under the weight. Her vomit didn’t seem to bother him in the least, though perhaps that came from being a doctor, because it didn’t really gross her out anymore. It was the embarrassment more than anything. And feeling weak. She hated that.

  “All right, let’s go. You need to get some food into you.”

  “Food?” Gah.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” Josh started off down the dock and she followed him, her sandals making flopping sounds on the old wood.

  “I had yogurt and fruit, same as I do every morning.”

  He nodded wisely. “Which probably ran out over an hour ago. It’s always worse on an empty stomach. And I should have thought to tell you to take an antinauseant.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  He laughed and kept leading the way, off the dock and down a narrow dirt path leading to a sandy beach.

  “You were doing so well,” he continued, adjusting the weight of the cooler in his arms. “But you were really focusing on the water, which makes it worse. Your brain messages get all screwed up.”

  “I know what motion sickness is,” she answered tartly, but he only laughed more.

  “Lighten up, Lizzie. You’re not the first person to get seasick. You actually held out quite well.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was a backhanded compliment or what, but she forgot when they reached the beach and the sparkling sand was spread out before them, drastically different from the rough, rocky shoreline the seals called home.

  “Oh, this is beautiful!” Breakers lapped on the shore and gulls circled overhead, wheeling and crying. “Like if you got stranded on a desert island and there was no one for miles and miles.”

  Josh put down the cooler and took off his ruck. “I always like to think of it as it might have been a hundred and fifty years ago. Whether or not there is treasure buried here, I imagine the ships and cannons and battles. Charles Arseneault was rumored to use the island to smuggle his goods. And people.”

  Josh reached inside his pack for a blanket. He spread it on the sand and sat down, then patted a spot beside him. “Charles was a Southerner, and he hated what the war did to the place he loved. At the same time, he wasn’t all that comfortable with slavery. So he smuggled supplies past the blockade into the Confederacy and snuck slaves out and into the North.”

  “Talk about playing both sides,” Lizzie commented, pulling her knees up to her chest. When Josh had begun to tell her this story on July Fourth, sh
e’d been intrigued. Now that she was actually on the island? She was dying to know more.

  “Oh, there’s no question he was in it for profit,” Josh said, grinning. “He made a killing. Until he met his wife. She was something, I guess. They met when she was here on the island, helping send slaves onward up to Canada. They say the love of a good woman … It certainly seemed to turn him around.” Josh grinned suggestively. “Maybe they came out here for lovers’ trysts, too. It would definitely explain the island’s nickname.”

  “And so he buried treasure here? Why? What would he have to hide if he just, well, quit?”

  “Who knows? Evidence? Contraband? Secrets? That’s what’s kept the legend going all this time. No one really knows what was supposed to be in that treasure. Money that he’d come back for later? He settled in Jewell Cove and never seemed to be hurting for coin. Charles and his wife were both risk takers, passionate about their beliefs. It makes for some interesting reading. You can always check out the historical society for more if you’re interested.”

  Her, dig around at the historical society? It was kind of funny, really. Certainly not her speed. And yet … the story intrigued her somehow. It was adventurous and romantic. And it gave the sleepy little town of Jewell Cove a smidgen of glamour when all was said and done.

  Her stomach and head were starting to come around, so she nodded at the cooler. “So, you brought us a picnic.”

  “Of course. Food always tastes better outdoors and it’s not like you can find a drive-thru around here.”

  He opened the cooler and handed her a small bag of buns and a rectangular plastic dish, cold from the ice inside. She peeked inside the lid and gaped. “You brought the stuff to make lobster rolls?” Another container held an assortment of vegetables: carrots, celery, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes. “Josh, this is amazing. Who on earth was open early enough for you to pick this up before we left?”