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Maybe one day, when I didn’t have bills to worry about, when I felt more stable in my life, that’s when I could make this place my home.

Because for the first time in a long time, I actually felt like I belonged somewhere.

4

Marcella

Iclutched either side of the tiny boat, my nails digging into the icy metal as I was being taken to the isolated cabin.

I was pretty sure the boat wasn’t made for choppy ass ocean water like this, but when I had voiced my concerns to Harmond, the older gentleman who was taking me, he just grumbled that it was fine and left it at that.

Of course, the day I took this trip it was a shit day with frigid rain that felt like little needles as it contacted my bare skin.

The waters were almost violent, and the boat was out in the middle of nowhere, bouncing aggressively. I was two-seconds away from having to lean over the edge and throw up my breakfast.

The rain jacket I wore kept me mostly dry, but it didn’t keep out the icy chill that even in August seemed to surround me.

My three large waterproof bags sat on the inside of the boat, the rain pelting the rubbery coating that covered them.

A wave of nausea rose in me as we went over a large crest, the boat bouncing up and down so hard my ass ached.

I started shivering, my teeth chattering as the wind and rain whipped all around me. My fingers were numb because I hadn’t let go of the sides of the boat since sitting down.

I stared at Harmond. He had a perpetual scowl on his face, but I was pretty sure that’s just how he looked.

Deep lines and grooves etched his face, he had white whiskers all over his cheeks and chin, was missing a few teeth, and although I knew he wasn’t smoking right now given the rain, he kept his pipe wedged in the corner of his mouth.

When I’d met him at the dock, he’d been wearing a scuffed up and dirty yellow rain jacket, black rubber boots, and, of course, that pipe that had smoke billowing out of it. He’d offered me a lifejacket, ordered me to put it on, and then did the same.

We’d been traveling for half an hour before he finally acknowledged my presence. He tipped his chin and grunted, the rain pelting his face.

“What?” I shouted to be heard over the engine of the boat.

Harmond grunted again and pointed behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and squinted through the gray surroundings to see the little cabin coming more into focus the closer we got. And when we were about ten feet from the dock… the fucking rain let up.

Of course, I silently said to the sky as he maneuvered the boat, tied it off on the wooden post of the dock, then climbed out.

I glanced at him, then at the island, which was still a far distance from where we docked.

The dock bobbed as he moved around on it, the width only about four feet as he started pulling my bags out.

I was a little confused why we weren’t going straight to the island when I spied a skiff off to the side.

“Can’t get closer,” he grumbled out, as if he heard my thoughts. “Boat will get stuck.”

I knew nothing about boats or sailing or any of that, but the skiff was half the size of the boat we were currently on, and I could see the rocky beach and how shallow the water was around the island.

Harmond said nothing as he took one of my bags and transferred it to the skiff. He gestured me forward, and I unsteadily climbed onto the dock.

The platform bobbed up and down with the current and I reached for the banister, feeling my thigh muscles tense as I tried to keep my balance.

He climbed into the second boat and I took a seat next to my bags and across from him. And then he rowed us to the shore.

I learned he was a man of very few words, but got his point across through his expressions and grunts.

Once we were on the shore, I got out and grabbed my bags. He was already throwing the bags to the dock before I even set them on the ground.