One
AS THE FERRYpulled alongside the dock, Charmaine Billings tented a hand over her eyes and studied the outline of Coral Island. She’d never visited before, but the tourist brochure she’d discovered when camping in Airlie Beach hadn’t done it justice. It was stunning, surrounded by sparkling azure waters, with green hills climbing away from golden shores and quaint houses dotted here and there. It looked like something out of an advertisement for paradise. Not a real place where she might live.
“Excuse me.” A man pushed past her to find his vehicle. She stepped aside with an apology, then leaned on the railing to watch as the ferry driver slowed their pace and turned the mammoth barge, making a perfect landing against the dock that would allow the parked vehicles to drive through its open mouth.
“Home sweet home,” she whispered beneath her breath. She could’ve shouted it and still no one would’ve heard—the noise of the engine and the rush of the wind as it buffeted the ferry drowned out the sound of her voice.
She was moving to Coral Island.
It was crazy, of course, since she knew almost nothing about the place other than the bits and pieces she’d read. But it seemed absolutely perfect. And besides that, she had nowhere else to go. No one she was responsible for or who cared where she lay her head at night. So, why not? Why not move to a tropical island and start her life all over again?
And yet before her mother died, she’d mentioned an estranged sister who had lived on the island. She might not be there any longer, could’ve moved on long ago, but that vague recollection of a distant memory from a woman in and out of consciousness was her only tether to a semblance of family. And she’d come all this way in the hopes of finding her.
If her aunt was long gone, she still couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t move to Coral Island anyway. It was as good a place as any other. And so she’d decided to do it, even though something inside her was both flummoxed and frightened by the move.
At twenty-five years of age and with half an archaeology degree that had done absolutely nothing for her career prospects, she tried not to overthink her current situation—single, alone, with no family and no possibility of making anything more than minimum wage. If she was going to live in poverty on her own, at least she should do it somewhere picturesque. And that’d been the deciding factor for her — on paper, Coral Island appeared to be the perfect location to ignore the dumpster fire her life had become.
With all the cars now gone, she stepped out of her hiding place against the railing and walked onto firm ground. Her backpack was already heavy, and she longed to put it down, but first she had to find somewhere to stay. And given the island’s identity as a tourist destination, surely that wouldn’t be so difficult although she doubted there would be a backpackers’ hostel, and she couldn’t afford a hotel, at least not for more than a couple of nights.
She spied a bookshop. A small sign above the door announced “Eveleigh’s Books”. There was an old ship’s wheel tacked to the wall beside the door and a rusting pelican statue perched on the weather-worn deck. It was warm, welcoming and had the kind of character that drew her attention. She loved books, so a bookshop seemed a good place for her to start. She could ask around about a place to stay and take a look at the books they had in stock at the same time.
Inside the store, she set her backpack against a wall out of the way and pushed her sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead, enjoying the feel of air-conditioning on her skin. She wandered around the store, pulling books from shelves to read the description, then returning them carefully to their place and moving on. She stopped near the mystery and thriller section for half an hour and got caught up reading one of the books she found there. When another customer squeezed by, she came rushing back to reality with embarrassing clarity and pushed the book into its place on the shelf, her cheeks warm.
The woman serving customers at the register had bright red hair in smooth curls and a laugh that was deep and melodious — every now and then, it echoed through the shop as she chatted with her customers over their purchases. When she wasn’t slipping purchases into paper bags, she flitted between organising shelves and helping people find what they were looking for. Charmaine stayed out of her way. The last thing she wanted was to be kicked out of this delightful shop because she’d overstayed her welcome.
When she reached the other side of the shop, she noticed a large set of open double doors that led down three wide tiled steps. Within moments, she found herself in a quaint, warm and welcoming café. Several of the tables were occupied, but it wasn’t full. Quiet music drifted through the café over the hum of low conversations.
“Would you like a table?” A middle-aged woman with blonde hair and kind eyes peered over a set of glasses that were perched halfway down her nose. She held a menu in both hands.
Charmaine nodded, her lips pressed together. She followed the woman to a small table at the back of the café against the window and sat. The woman handed her a menu.
“My name’s Beatrice, but you can call me Bea. I’ll come back to take your order in a minute.”
Charmaine offered her a half smile.
The woman hesitated. “Are you okay? You’re a little … pale.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Pale is my normal state of being. Also, I arrived on the island an hour ago, so I don’t know my way around. That, plus the heat — I’m not quite used to it yet.” It felt strange to hear her own voice. She’d hardly spoken to anyone in weeks other than to say “thank you” when someone served her at the grocery shop or “excuseme” if she needed to squeeze past. Other than that, she’d kept to herself for the most part. Her voice was thin, strained, as though it could easily float away on a breath of air never to be heard again.
“Are you staying somewhere on the island or heading back this afternoon?”
Charmaine’s cheeks flushed with warmth. She wasn’t fond of attention. “Um… Well, I’m not sure. I haven’t found anywhere to stay yet. I need a job, too. Any ideas?”
Beatrice pushed her hands into the pockets on her apron and stared out the window at the quiet street. “Oh, what a shame. I hired someone last week otherwise I would’ve had an opening for you. But I think I heard that Betsy Norton is hiring. If you follow that street there, you’ll see her florist shop. I’m sure I can find you somewhere to stay if you give me a little while to mull it over…” She chewed on her lower lip. “Taya would probably have a place for you, but she’s on the other side of the island. The resorts on this side are usually booked solid this time of year, but there’s no harm in trying.”
“Oh, I’m planning on living here, so I’d rather not spend all my money on a resort.” Charmaine clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t often share so much information with a stranger within the first five minutes of meeting them. But there was something warm and inviting about Bea that made her want to open up. She reminded Charmaine of her own mother, who’d passed away three years earlier.
Charmaine ordered a cappuccino and a slice of banana bread toasted and lathered with butter, then settled into her chair and pulled a dog-eared copy ofPersuasionout of her pocket. She’d love to read something new, but Jane Austen’s classic was still her favourite, and she’d need a library card before she could get anything else. In order to get a library card, she had to find somewhere to live first, so revisiting the beloved story was her only option for now.
Bea brought her banana bread and coffee and set them down on the table.
“Is there a library in this town?” Charmaine asked.
“There sure is. The Kellyville Library.”
“Kellyville?”
Bea smiled. “That’s where you are. You didn’t know?”
