“Well, you could act in it yourself. Pull an Ed Burns or Mark Duplass and write your way to stardom.”
“That time has definitely passed.”
“Not entirely,” I said. “I saw your Tim Horton heist film, and there may have been some buzz in the audience about securing rights. By the way,Improis fascinating. I finished it.”
Paul lit up, his eyes filled with enthusiasm, which didn’t feel entirely flattering. He always seemed careful to stay calm with me, to put just a little distance between us, just enough so I wouldn’t think anything was going on.We’re not dating. You do know that, right?But on the topic of improv books, he was like an eager teenager. “It is so cool, isn’t it? He’s a smart guy. Very of his time. Of course, some of that stuff you could never get away with today.”
“Thanks for lending it to me.”
He shrugged, looking away again. “Well, I wanted you to read it. You really do have a talent for it. So if—I mean when—you go home…”
“I don’t think it would be as much fun doing improv at home. In New York, the improv scene involves lots of acting school grads in competition with each other to launch their comedy writing jobs. It’s like an alt comedy fraternity rush system.”
“I’m glad Lisette brought you along to practice, at any rate.”
“She’s the best. I know she’s had a hard time, too.”
“You letting her stay at your place like that was really amazing.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was incredible.”
“I don’t feel incredible.” I considered the waves. The island was growing closer to us. “My sister thinks I’m selfish for not moving down to Atlanta with her. So I guess I’m not feeling like a good person right now.”
“This is the sister who had you babysit her child four days a week? For what, a year?”
“Two years.”
“And you were paid?” He raised his eyebrows, knowing the answer.
“No. But that’s not even…” I trailed off. It had been so long since I’d heard anyone defend me that I didn’t know how to react. “The thing is, Hannah misses me.”
“I’m sure she does, but you have a right to your own life.”
“It’s hard to set limits with people you love.”
“Yeah.” Paul grimaced and looked away.
“I like it here, you know,” I said. “Don’t start making your good-byes now. I’ve got a few more weeks to decide. I could stay, if I can get a work visa or something.”
He glanced at me. “It’s not much compared to New York City.”
“Well, Bell Island better impress me. I’m expecting at least a Disney Store and Hard Rock Café.”
He laughed.
“And I’m told it has excellent seabirds.”
Paul looked away, embarrassed.
We got back in Paul’s car to wait to unload onto the island, and then Paul drove us off the ferry and up through the ring of cheerful houses that tumbled around the terminal like nesting gulls. Before long, Paul’s car was wandering through a stark and beautiful green landscape with empty stretches of scratchy fields and tiny houses tucked low against the wind. It reminded me of photos I’d seen of places like Ireland or Maine, those northern stretches of the Atlantic where the light seemed to hit the worldsideways. Eventually, Paul found a place to pull over, and we all climbed down a rocky cliff staircase to get down to a beach together. It was low tide; everyone on the coast of Newfoundland seemed aware of things like tides and sea levels, and I realized I had never, not once, clocked a high or low tide in New York. Here, though, there were treasures to be found when the sea drew back: starfish and sea anemones and a rocky cave that we wandered into together, still occasionally planning out our Newfoundland love story.
“It starts raining,” Lisette said, “and they get stuck in a cave together.”
“Like Dido and Aeneas,” I offered, “but with access to condoms.”
Paul shot me an impressed glance. “Classical references.”
