“You have reception here?” He eyes the phone in my hand. “My phone won’t work at all which is why I’ve had to ask people for help.”
“You need a SIM on the local network.”
“Can you make calls off the island too?” He asks as if we’re on Mars.
“I’ve had several calls from Amsterdam today, so yes.” I can’t help the slight edge in my tone. I’m a bit annoyed by this man and his judgment of La Canette, by Janey who thinks the same and is determined to have her say.
The problem is that…well…I have a lot to think about. Like what to do next. Van Wieren is being very flexible. “We can adapt your start time as you need.” And I do need time. To plan. To discuss it with Lessa. I can’t just pick up and go.
“This isn’t a large island, is it?” The suit walking beside me looks up and down the street, the one Lessa used to call afootpath with delusions of grandeur. Except she was laughing good-naturedly when she said it, this man is just critical and scathing.
I look away from him and my gaze lands on a shop window. A light projector shaped like an apple sits under a sign.BABY LIGHT PROJECTOR WITH MUSIC.
The shop is one of those arty-crafty workshops, and suddenly I have an idea.
One of Liam’s wishes that have yet to complete:Make a gift for someone who will not know it’s a gift, nor be able to thank you. It finally makes sense. Little pomegranate is too young to understand and cannot thank me. But I can make her a beautiful baby light. Or at least I can commission the woman in the workshop to make the light projector and put it inside a toy pomegranate. The music I will play myself and program into the projector.
The excitement I suddenly feel is the clearest answer to my dilemma. I need two more months to finish my year on La Canette as Liam requested. Then I can ask Lessa if she’d like to come with me. Her logical, practical mind can solve any problem and find a way to do her new fundraising job online. If I rent an apartment in Amsterdam, she can split her time between La Canette and Holland.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Janey’s voice calls from the phone in my hand.
I lift it back to my ear and do something I’ve never done before, with any woman. “Sorry Janey, I can’t talk.” And I hang up on her.
After delivering the suit to his destination, I pop into the shop and spend half an hour talking to a woman who is La Canette’s answer to Kirstie Allsopp. She helps me choose themes and images that will look beautiful projected on a nursery wall or ceiling. We finally settle on a marine theme, blue water, sparkly fishes, sea plants, and undulating jellyfish. My head is already making a list of music to play, adapted lullabies to put her to sleep, a couple of dances to stimulate and entertain a baby’s mind, and her favourite, Schuman’sKinderszenen.
On the walk home, I rehearse what I want to say to Lessa.
Will you stay with me? Will you help me understand the last three items on Liam’s letter Oh, and could you, one day, when my celibacy vow is finished, see yourself as more than just my friend?
When I finally arrive at the house it’s mid-afternoon, Doris is in the garden watering the tiny, blue flowers cascading along the wall.
I stop to say hello. “What are these called?”
“Blue lobelias.” She shows me.
It warms my heart at how relaxed she has become around me. A far cry from the nervous woman who wouldn’t even let me look at her. She’s still a bit awkward and mute around strangers, but by all accounts, relaxes more quickly. Considering her too-trusting nature in the past, a little caution is not a bad thing.
On impulse, I ask her, “Doris? Would you like a permanent job looking after this garden? I mean, next year, if we have to go away for a while?”
She nods vigorously. But she’s smiling.
“Where’s Lessa?”
She points inside. “Guest.”
I should be able to tell by Doris’ clipped answer, the pinching of her lips, that whoever the guest is, she’s not happy about it.
Neither am I. There’s a lot I need to discuss with Lessa and I’m not in the mood for delays. I push the door handle and walk into our home.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Brandon
“Are you out of your mind?” A man shouts from the kitchen.
I don’t even wait to close the front door behind me before I barrel through.
Lessa is standing by the counter, a mug held in both her hands. If she was being attacked, she wouldn’t be standing there sipping a hot drink.
