Fly Away with Me

by Susan Fox

  Not wanting to think about death, Eden asked the question she’d been tossing out in every place of business she entered. “Are you and your family Destiny Island natives?”

  “On my father’s side, from the very beginning of settlement. They were fishers, and later farmers. Dad and my aunt opened this bookstore and Mom later added the coffee shop.”

  “This is your family’s store? It’s wonderful.”

  She nodded proudly. “Thank you.”

  “Iris,” Eden started, then broke off. “By the way, my name’s Eden. I’m from Ottawa and I’m trying to track down my missing aunt. She joined the commune back in 1969. Do you think your parents or aunt might have any knowledge of her?”

  The young woman laughed quickly. “I doubt it. My family is quite conventional. Very industrious. Communes and hippies are definitely not their thing. But I’ll ask, if you like, just to be sure. How can I get in touch with you?”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Eden gave her a business card. “I’ll probably be back in the store again if I have any spare time. I’d love to browse some more.” She gazed at Iris and found herself saying, “And perhaps to chat some more as well.” If the bookseller lived in Ottawa, Eden had a feeling they might turn into friends.

  Iris’s smile touched her dark eyes. “I’d like that.”

  “But now I’d better choose a book and pay for it. I’m meeting someone for coffee.”

  “Here.” Iris handed her a book titled Island Magic. “This is the first in the series.”

  After they completed the transaction, Eden asked if it would be all right to put up a poster on the notice board in the coffee shop. Iris readily agreed, taking the one Eden pulled from a folder in her bag and saying she’d do it herself.

  Together, they went into the coffee shop area. It was an attractive place, with plants, artwork, racks of magazines and newspapers, and the bulletin board Eden had noticed on a previous visit. Every one of the eight or so tables was full and a lineup waited at the counter.

  As Iris went to pin up the poster, Eden glanced around at the customers and recognized Bart Jelinek from his photo on the Destiny Island Realty ads. From the Gazette, she’d learned he owned one of the two real estate agencies and was also president of the Rotary. He was seated at a table by the window, a coffee mug in front of him, engaged in animated conversation with a man who stood beside him, takeout cup and paper bag in hand. Jelinek was a tallish man with graying blond hair. A pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses gave him a rather distinguished air, while his short-sleeved, blue-and-white-striped shirt and slightly askew blue tie made him look approachable.

  On the phone, he had confirmed that his family had lived beside the commune. His parents were deceased and he was an only child, so he was the only person she could talk to.

  Not wanting to interrupt his conversation, Eden joined the lineup. A few minutes later, she claimed a low-fat cappuccino. Mr. Jelinek was now talking to a pair of middle-aged women. Tentatively, she approached his table.

  He glanced up, smiled, and said, “Eden Blaine?”

  “That’s me. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “No, no.” He rose, a hand extended. “Eden, I’m Bart Jelinek.”

  His handshake was hearty but not overpowering, and she got the impression he was probably a pretty successful salesman.

  He turned to the two women. “Ladies, I’m afraid I have an appointment. But I do appreciate your kind words. I admit I’m seriously tempted to run when Walter Franklin’s term ends.”

  “You’d be the perfect representative for Destiny,” one of the women gushed. “You do so much for this island.”

  The other nodded enthusiastically, and the two of them went to join the coffee lineup.

  “Sorry, Eden,” Jelinek said. “Island politics.”

  “You’re considering running for office?”

  “In a manner of speaking. We have a unique kind of governance here: federal, provincial, the Capital Regional District, and the Islands Trust. But I won’t bore you with that. You said you’re looking for information about the old commune?”

  She repeated the story she’d told so many times in the past few days.

  “I was just a little kid,” he said as Eden sipped her coffee, which was delicious. “It was fascinating to me, all those long-haired boys and girls in their hippie clothes, the loud music, the drugs. My parents hated having the commune there and tried to get them kicked off the land but never had any luck.”

  “Someone had given them permission to be there? They weren’t squatters?”

  “Maybe; maybe not. When I got into real estate, I checked it out. Originally, the land was owned by an elderly man from Germany who was quite a hermit. He died intestate, unmarried, childless, and without siblings. The leader of the commune, who called himself Merlin, claimed to be related. If his legal name was Otto Kruger, that claim was true. Kruger, a fairly distant relative of the deceased, turned out to be the next of kin. But by the time that was determined, Merlin had moved on and the commune had shut down. Another relative was located, Kruger was eventually presumed dead, and that relative inherited. Unfortunately, she put the land into a trust for her kids.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  He leaned forward, his eyes bright. “That’s a great piece of land. Subdivided into large, nicely landscaped lots, in keeping with the ambience of the island, it’d be worth a fortune.”

  “Of course.” The Realtor would no doubt love to get his hands on it. “You said Merlin was legally presumed dead. Was his actual death ever confirmed, or did anyone find out where he’d gone after leaving Destiny Island?”

  “No. It seems he was another one like your aunt.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, but . . .”

  When he paused, Eden guessed he was thinking that Lucy, like Merlin, was most probably dead.

  But he didn’t say that. Instead, he finished, “You do realize how difficult it is to find someone who’s been off the radar for half a century?”

  She firmed her jaw. “I do. But I’ll keep trying. What do you remember about the commune, Mr. Jelinek?”

  “Please, it’s Bart. Nothing that will help, I’m afraid. I admit I defied my parents and snuck over there to spy on the hippies. That was sure an education for an impressionable boy, I’ll tell you.” He gave a hearty laugh. “But I didn’t know the names of any of the members.”

  “Might you recognize a face?”

  “No, I wasn’t close enough.”

  So much for that. Eden sighed. “Did you get any impression that something was off?”

  “Off?”

  She was about to clarify when a smartly dressed young man stopped at the table to ask Bart a question about a meeting the next night. After he’d gone, Eden said, “Sexual abuse.”

  “Abuse?” Bart’s voice croaked, and behind the horn-rims, his pale gray eyes widened.

  “By Merlin. Of the women.”

  He blinked. “No. But as I said, I was a child. Less than ten years old. I saw . . .” He swallowed. “I saw sex in all forms. Including, uh, rough sex. But I imagine it was consensual. Weren’t the hippies all about free love? Love, not . . .” Another swallow. “Abuse.” It seemed the congenial Realtor had delicate sensibilities.

  “Maybe Merlin used some women’s love for him to manipulate and abuse them.”

  He picked up his mug. “Well, that would be awful, of course.” His brows pulled together. “Are you saying your aunt might have been abused and so she ran away again?”

  “I have no idea,” she admitted, discouraged.

  He gave her a sympathetic smile as he put his mug down again. “It sounds like a disheartening mission you’re on. I do wish you luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hope you’re liking Destiny Island, though.”

  “Very much. It’s lovely.”

  He beamed. “It’s our own little corner of paradise. And you know, there’s always work for a lawyer.”

  Her spirits lifted a little. �
��You’re trying to sell me a house, aren’t you?”

  “And here I thought I was being subtle.”

  Chapter Ten

  Aaron had fueled the four-seater Cessna 180 and checked the floats and water rudders. Now, standing on the dock Tuesday afternoon, he checked his watch again. It wasn’t yet one-thirty, the time he’d asked Eden to meet him, but he was impatient to see her. During his morning flights, his mind had kept turning to her. Yesterday had been one fine day. His only regret was that she hadn’t slept over. They had only a few days together and he wanted to make the most of them.

  When he looked up, she was standing at the top of the ramp, pretty in navy cotton capris and a short-sleeved blue blouse. Though she was mostly covered up, he remembered what she’d looked like naked on the beach, flushed from lovemaking.

  She waved and he waved back, gesturing her to come down to the dock. Battling an erection, he went to meet her. “Hey you,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and dropping a kiss on her lips.

  She returned the kiss. “Hey back.” Her hair, pulled into a low ponytail, framed her face, and a hint of tan colored her skin.

  He opened the Cessna’s door. “Hop in.”

  “We’re flying? I didn’t realize that.”

  “We’re going to see Gwendy, the former commune member. She lives on her own island along with—”

  “Island?” she broke in. “Didn’t you say she lives at a place called Severn’s Reach?”

  “Which is an island.”

  “I didn’t realize.” She eyed the plane doubtfully. “Is it far?”

  “A hop, a skip, and a jump in the Cessna.”

  “That’s a really small plane.”

  “And a really safe one. Jillian and I fly it two or three times a day.”

  “Oh. Well . . .” She gave a soft laugh. “Sorry, it’s not that I don’t trust your pilot skills. I guess if I can go kayaking, I can fly in a miniature plane.” Glancing toward the Blue Moon Air office, she said, “Should I go up and pay for the flight now or wait until we get back?”

  “You’re not paying.” He helped her into the plane. “The Cessna wasn’t booked. It was just going to sit here doing nothing.”

  “But the fuel,” she protested as she belted herself in. “And there must be maintenance costs and whatever else is included in the cost of a flight.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She frowned but kept quiet.

  Five minutes later, they were up in the air. “How was your morning?” he asked.

  “Frustrating, except for a nice chat with Iris Yakimura at Dreamspinner. I met with Bart Jelinek, but he didn’t know anything. I phoned Cynnie Smithson, who refused to meet with me. She said her stint at the commune was a misguided little adventure and she remembered nothing about it. It was like she wanted to brush it all under the carpet and pretend it never happened.”

  He pictured the woman, with her neatly styled and dyed hair and boring clothes. “Yeah, Cynnie and her husband aren’t exactly free spirits. He’s a retired accountant and she was a stay-at-home mom.”

  “And a grandmother now, she told me proudly.”

  “Guess she doesn’t tell her kids and grandkids about her days of long hair, tie-dye, and joint smoking.”

  She laughed. “Guess not.” Then she went on. “I also talked to the friend of Rachelle’s father, the man who took a few of the commune boys out fishing occasionally. They told him they wanted to learn and to catch food for the commune, and that they’d haul nets and so on for him in exchange. He said most of them were useless, but there were a couple of decent ones. He’s actually still friends with one of them, Seal SkySong. He doesn’t remember anyone named Barry. And he said that whenever he asked questions about the commune, the boys would giggle and say they were sworn to secrecy. He thought it was all pretty adolescent.”

  “I’m sorry you haven’t had more luck with your hunt for your aunt.”

  “Me too.” She sighed. “I spoke to my mom this morning. At first she sounded good, but when I told her there was no news, she got discouraged. She’s always been able to count on me. I hate that I’m letting her down.”

  He reached over to briefly touch her arm. “Eden, you’re doing everything you can. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  She gave him a flicker of a smile. “Thanks.” The smile widened. “Hey, I told my sister about us. She said you’re good for me. I think she’s right.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” It gave him a warm feeling that went all the way through him.

  For a few minutes, they were both quiet, and then Eden said, “I see the shadow of the plane slipping across the ocean.” She glanced his way. “It seems as if it should be totally silent up here and yet the engine’s so noisy.”

  “I know.” He’d gotten used to engine noise, so attuned to it that he barely noticed unless there was a strange sound that might signal a problem.

  “You said this plane used to be Lionel’s? How old is it?”

  “Built in 1970.”

  Her hands gripped her seat belt. “That’s really old.”

  “Planes have a long life if they’re well maintained. This baby has always been cared for. Give her a try.” The plane had dual steering yokes, and he gestured to the one in front of Eden.

  She raised her hands in a gesture of protest. “I can’t fly a plane.”

  “Just rest your hands there, see what it feels like.”

  Gingerly, she obeyed. “It doesn’t feel so different from a car steering wheel. Okay, what do I do?”

  He took his hands off his own yoke. “Gently pull straight back and we’ll gain altitude. Shove down a little and that’s where we’ll go. And like with a car, the plane will go left or right if you turn the yoke that way. Keep all your motions slow and easy.”

  With excruciating slowness, she experimented. “Wow. But there’s more to it than this.”

  “One or two things. See this dial?” He pointed to the instrument panel. “That’s the altimeter. We’re eight hundred feet above sea level. See how the needle responds when you pull up or push down on the yoke?”

  Trying it out, she nodded.

  “This is the compass, which comes in handy when you’re flying over open ocean with no landmarks below to guide you.”

  She watched the instrument panel as she moved the yoke this way and that.

  “There are other things a pilot pays attention to,” he said. “I won’t overwhelm you with all of them. There’s just one more thing you need to think about right now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Other air traffic.”

  “Oh my gosh!” She jerked her gaze to the windows. “I’d completely forgotten that there could be other planes out there.”

  “And birds. A flock of gulls . . . well, let’s just say that’s best avoided. We fly VFR, Visual Flight Rules. That means you need sufficient visibility—you can’t fly in heavy fog, for example—and you rely on your eyes rather than on instruments.”

  She gripped the yoke tighter, peering out the windshield. “I was right. Flying is scary.”

  “So’s driving a car. It’s a matter of learning how to do it and putting in many, many hours of practice until it becomes almost instinctive.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Drop altitude slowly,” he said. “Just keep taking her down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s Severn’s Reach down below.”

  She jerked her hands off the yoke. “No way am I landing this.”

  Laughing, he put his hands on his own steering yoke. “No, you’re not. Sit back and relax.” Then he said casually, “There’s something I didn’t mention about Gwendy. She lives with her partners, Sandra and Peter.”

  Eden glanced at him, blinked, and said, “But Sandra and Peter weren’t at the commune?”

  “No. They all got together later.” He waited a moment, and when she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “It doesn’t bother you? Them being a threesome?”


  She shrugged. “Why should it? Do you think I’m naïve or prejudiced or something?” She stiffened. “Does their relationship bother you?”

  “God no. That’s the joy of Destiny. You can be yourself.”

  “I wish the whole world was like that. If people aren’t hurting anyone, why should it matter how they live their lives? If Gwendy, Sandra, and Peter have found love together, then they’re lucky.”

  Luckier than he’d ever be, he figured.

  * * *

  Aaron barely watched the sunset, though it was a spectacular one viewed from the rustic deck at the Sunset Cove pub. Every shade of red, orange, and gold lit the sky, cast reflections in the still ocean, and painted ever-changing patterns over the half-dozen boats at the small dock below. But his attention was on Eden’s face. It was there he tracked the progress of the setting sun, from subtle to fiery and then fading to mellow. The colors stroked her face, but even better was the fascination in her eyes and the soft curve of her lips.

  She was too caught up in the experience to speak, though she occasionally reached out and absentmindedly had a sip of wine or snagged one of the tempura zucchini and yam rounds from the appetizer plate in the center of the table. When their waitress brought a thick candle in a wind-resistant holder, Eden didn’t notice. Aaron wondered if she was ever like this in Ottawa, totally in the moment and at peace.

  For the twenty minutes, it took for the sun to drop into the ocean, he sipped his craft beer from Blue Moonshine, munched on tempura, and reveled in her enjoyment.

  Finally, she turned to him with a sigh and glazed eyes. “That was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her eyes widened and she groaned. “Why didn’t I take a picture? Why didn’t I think to pull out my phone?”

  “Because you were living in the moment.”

  “That’s not like me,” she said, sounding puzzled and a little displeased.

  He fought back a grin. Wait for it . . . Yeah, there’s that scrunchy forehead.

  She frowned at her empty wineglass. “I finished my wine and didn’t even notice.” Her forehead scrunched tighter as she gazed across at him. “Aaron, I’m organized. I don’t live in the moment, I plan for the future. I’m a lawyer, right? It’s all about analyzing the goal, the tasks required to complete it, and the time frame and resources that are available. Like, even with this glass of wine, I’d normally have made it last through dinner. And we haven’t even ordered yet.”