Frank followed her inside and shut the door behind him. The hairs on the back of Charmaine’s neck bristled, but she ignored them. Frank wasn’t a danger to her. She breathed deeply, calming the anxiety that tickled the pit of her gut.
A quick check of the back room showed no sign of homework. She stepped back into the shop to find Frank standing next to the table where the articles lay exposed. He wasn’t looking down, though. Instead, his gaze was firmly fixed on Charmaine’s face. She felt a sudden urge to hustle him out of the shop as quickly as possible. There was something unnerving about him that she’d always ignored, but now it was making her uncomfortable.
“No homework. She must’ve remembered to take it with her,” Charmaine trilled as she headed for the door.
She pulled it open and held it for him. He stepped through and out into the street. “Thanks. I’ll see you later then.”
When he walked away, Charmaine shut and locked the door behind him, then leaned against it with a giant sigh of relief. She’d been so jumpy since her brother first came to town, she’d become entirely paranoid. What did she think would happen? Frank might be a mess, but he’d never given any indication he might harm her. Yet her instincts had set off alarm bells from the moment she answered the door. She’d become a basket case if she didn’t pull herself together soon.
If he’d seen the articles on the table, he’d given no indication. Even if he had, would he make anything of them? Still, she should put them away. It’d been foolish to leave them out in the open in the middle of the shop, even if she was the only one there. He might’ve seen them and told Betsy what she was doing. But then again, the articles might not have anything to do with Betsy, in which case neither Frank nor Betsy would care about them.
She was so confused. Her thoughts spun around and around in circles. She kept returning to the same ground, thinking through the same scenarios, asking the same questions. It was too much. She had to stop. She was becoming obsessive, and it was likely that her fixation was a result of feeling unsafe over Sean’s presence on the island. But as far as she knew, he was gone now. She could move on and forget he’d even been there. Her life was her own to begin again. She should focus her attention on moving to the beach cottage and living the life she’d always dreamed of with Bradford by her side.
Yes, Bradford was the person she should be fixing her thoughts on. A smile drifted across her features as she shuffled the articles into a folder and carried them upstairs to her flat, switching the lights off as she went.
Upstairs, Watson waited patiently, scratching at the door. She let him in and opened a can of cat food to put into his bowl. He ate while watching her, tail tucked around his plump grey body.
“It must be nice to have such a simple life. Go where you like, sleep all day, people feed you, chase a lizard, sleep again, then repeat.” She laughed and scratched the top of his head.
Her phone dinged, and she lifted it from her pocket to read a text from Watson’s owner, Finn.
Do you know where Watson is?
She responded.
He’s here with me. Eating his dinner.
Do you mind if I come and get him? We’re heading out of town for a few days, and we have a pet sitter I want him to meet.
No worries.
Charmaine explained to Finn where she lived, then poured herself a glass of juice and ate a peach while she waited.
“I’m finally going to meet the woman who owns you. She’s an artist, apparently. A pretty good one. I should probably get changed—I look a mess. But then again, she’ll no doubt arrive while I’m naked and I’ll trip over my own pants trying to get to the door and knock myself out on the floor, or something equally ridiculous. I hate social anxiety. Know what I mean?”
Watson chewed his food, a blank expression on his face.
“Yeah, I don’t think you struggle with it the same way I do, for some reason.”
She reached down to scratch behind his ears with a sigh. With everything that’d been going on lately, Charmaine missed her mother more than she had in years. She went looking for her purse and pulled out the photograph of the two of them she kept tucked inside her wallet. The image brought tears to her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and set about looking for tissues.
There was usually a box on the kitchen bench, but she must’ve run out. She looked in the drawers by her bed—no tissues to be found. Under the sink, she discovered a new box and was opening it when there was a knock on the back door. She quickly blew her nose as she walked to the door and flung it open.
A woman stood there, bathed in the faint golden light emitting from the outdoor bulb that hung above the staircase.
“Hi, I’m Finn. I’m here about Watson. You must be Chaz.”
Charmaine’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared without blinking.
“Um… Chaz?” The woman’s eyes registered confusion. “I have the right place, don’t I?” She glanced around, probably looking for a street number or any kind of identifying features in the small flat.
“Oh, there you are, Watson. Come on, boy. You’re such a freeloader.” The woman stepped into the flat and reached down to pick Watson up. She held him aloft, stroking his head. He folded himself easily into her embrace.
Finn had light golden-brown hair flecked with gray. It was cut short and combed back from her face. She had an enormous cowlick over the left side of her forehead, and her grey eyes twinkled as she spoke to the cat. Her button nose bobbed slightly with each word. She wore a pair of brown linen pants and a white singlet top with a chunky azure necklace around her sun-kissed neck.
Charmaine couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. Every part of her was poised for—what, she didn’t know.
“Um… hi,” she finally said.
