Page 1 of Walking on Broken Paths

Chapter One

He should’ve called.

That was Jesse Melnik’s first thought as he pulled into the driveway of his childhood home on Prince Edward Island.

The second was that it looked exactly the same as it had the last time he’d seen it fifteen years earlier.

Same one-and-a-half stories of blue siding and peaked roof.

Same square front window with the lace curtains.

Same rickety steps leading up to the front porch, which was only wide enough for a couple of patio chairs.

The white trim was looking a little weathered and the front door had been repainted a cheery yellow.

Maybe the house wasn’t exactly the same. The door had been a weird murky green colour when he’d left.

“Look at that, Mikey,” he said to his brother. “You finally got the yellow door you wanted.”

Mikey didn’t answer.

Jesse put the car in Park and turned off the engine.

He squeezed the steering wheel. “What do you think? Am I going to be hugged to within an inch of my life or shooed off the porch like I’ve brought the plague with me?

I’m guessing the former, although the latter isn’t out of the realm of possibility. ”

Wasn’t like he hadn’t seen his parents in fifteen years—they visited him in Vancouver at least once a year. But he hadn’t been back to his hometown of Charlottetown, where memory after memory layered the house with an uncomfortable mix of guilt and sorrow.

Of course, that guilt and sorrow followed Jesse wherever he went. Being home wouldn’t change that.

Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he exhaled sharply and popped the door open. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The air was chilly on his skin, early June on Prince Edward Island as familiar as the nose on his face despite his lengthy absence. Many people associated June with summer, but summer in the Maritimes tended to run from July to September, depending on the province.

The neighbourhood was quiet, assaulting him with memories as he gazed up and down the street.

A childhood friend he hadn’t seen in years had lived in that bungalow.

There—between the two-storey yellow house that had long ago been converted to smaller apartments and the red-and-white colonial—was where he, his brother, and the neighbourhood kids had played street hockey.

And there was the massive, slightly lopsided tree that had been Mikey’s favourite hiding spot during hide and seek.

“Remember when you fell out of that tree, Mikey?” Jesse smiled at the memory, the lapels of his plaid shirt, open at the front, flapping in the wind that suddenly kicked up. “Broke your arm, but that didn’t stop you from climbing it again the next time we played hide and seek.”

Mikey still didn’t answer.

But then, his little brother had been dead for fifteen years.

Stomach in knots, Jesse turned his back to the street and sucked in a breath. Hopped up the porch stairs before he could think better of it. Debated with himself for probably longer than was necessary about whether he should knock or just walk in.

Recognizing the indecision for the stalling tactic it was, he rapped his knuckles on the door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Well, fuck. Had he built this moment up in his head for nothing?

Dad’s truck sat in the driveway, so Jesse jogged down the steps and headed around back.

And there they were. Quietly working side by side to plant flowers along the back fence line.

Jesse stood next to the deck for a minute, watching them, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

There was something peaceful about this moment—about the two of them working in tandem like they’d done for forty years of marriage, anticipating each other’s moves without thinking twice about it.

Jesse hadn’t ever had that kind of ease with another person. Would never. A part of him had shattered when Mikey died, and what was left of him wasn’t enough for someone else to love. He was too broken for true intimacy; he’d accepted that a long time ago.

His mom turned, reaching for a bag of soil behind her, and caught sight of him. Her sunhat shaded her eyes, yet he nevertheless saw her blink once. Twice. A third time. Then she broke out into the kind of grin that made that damn lump reappear in his throat.

“Jesse!”

“Huh?” Dad straightened from his stoop. “Our Jesse? What about him?”

But Mom was already racing over, giggling as though she were twenty-five instead of sixty-five. She launched herself at Jesse, and he grunted with the impact. Her sunhat toppled to the ground, her arms came around his neck, and she squeezed him so tight that he couldn’t breathe.

Or perhaps that was the effect of being home for the first time since Mikey died.

“You’re home,” Mom said in his ear. “You’re home.” She pulled back, her dark-eyed gaze sweeping him up and down. “Look at you. You look...”

“Like I’ve been driving across the country for a week?”

“You drove ?” Her gaze slid past him to his car as she ducked to pick up her hat. “From Vancouver?”

“You do know they make these things called planes now,” Dad said as he approached. He swept Jesse into a hug that was just as tight as Mom’s had been, and Jesse inhaled the scent of fresh earth.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jesse chuckled and released his dad. “But I wanted my car so I didn’t have to rent one.”

Dad squeezed his shoulder. “You plan on staying for a while then?”

“Until I need to be back in Vancouver for training camp.”

They stared at him. In unison, two sets of eyebrows flew upward.

“Not here ,” Jesse added with a short laugh. “No offence, but I don’t want to move back in with my parents, even if it is temporary.”

“Did you get an Airbnb or something?” Mom asked.

“Or something,” he muttered. “So, hey. What are you planting?”

She launched into a monologue, leading the way to the fence while his dad gave him that patented Dad look.

The I-know-you’re-not-telling-me-everything look.

Jesse had never not caved to that look. It was why he’d blurted that no, he hadn’t been at Parker’s playing video games like he’d said.

He’d instead gone to a party at the beach and kissed a boy behind a row of parked cars, and yes, that was why he’d trailed red sand into the house hours past curfew.

Parker had been at the party, so Jesse’s lie had only been a half lie.

Jesse didn’t recommend coming out to one’s parents in the same breath that one got defensive about their half lie. It hadn’t taken long before thank you for telling us and we love you no matter what turned into you’re grounded for the rest of the summer .

Still, that had been a damn good summer—once Mom had freed him from house arrest. Sixteen years old, feeling on top of the world for no reason aside from the very teenage belief that he was the shit.

Mikey had still been alive, and they’d ride their bikes around the neighbourhood or convince the neighbours to come out to play street hockey.

Jesse and Parker had spent their days at their lifeguarding jobs at Brackley Beach and their evenings enjoying freedom from school and homework, going to the movies and hanging out downtown and kissing boys.

But no kissing each other, no matter how badly Jesse had wanted to kiss his best friend.

That was a long time ago, though, and the last update Jesse had from his parents was almost as old as his absence.

Parker had gone to university at Concordia in Montreal, then stayed there after graduation.

A little bit of snooping on Jesse’s part a couple of years ago—out of curiosity and perhaps a bout of nostalgia—had informed him that Parker was a writer for a newspaper in Montreal.

For all Jesse knew, Parker was happily married, working a job he loved, and was living his best life in Quebec.

Jesse wouldn’t know. When he’d fled Prince Edward Island fifteen years ago, it hadn’t been only his parents that he’d left behind.

The wind picked up again, sending Mom’s sunhat flying mid-sentence. She chased after it, laughing, and Dad shook his head. “She lost four hats out on the water last summer.”

Jesse frowned. “On the water? When did you get a new boat?”

“A new boat?” Dad matched Jesse’s frown with his own. “Son, we’ve been sailing the same boat since before you were born.”

It was a sucker punch to the gut, and Jesse’s breath left him in a rush. “You still have The Windblown ? But... I thought you sold her after Mikey died.”

“We were going to,” Dad said. “Your brother was always happiest on that boat, and for a long time, it hurt too much to even look at it. We meant to sell, and then one day, we fixed her up and took her out for one last sail, and...” He scratched his salt-and-pepper jaw.

“Being on The Windblown was the closest we’d felt to Mikey since he died.

That last sail turned into the first in years, which turned into the first of many. So we kept it.”

Jesse swallowed hard, too many memories pummelling him at once, each one a knife to his chest. Mikey sitting on the boat with his face turned toward the breeze.

Mikey’s too-long-to-be-fashionable waves tangled around his face as they sailed out of the harbour.

The sunlight reflecting off the water just like it reflected off Mikey’s sunglasses.

Mikey’s skin bronzed to a light brown by the end of the summer from too many days sketching on the boat while it was docked, just for a “change of scenery,” according to him.

He’d loved to people watch, and his ability to capture on page the fluidity of a woman pushing a stroller or a family making their way toward their boat or an older woman braving the wind to trek her groceries home had been remarkable.

Mikey had been happiest on The Windblown .

Until he hadn’t.

Jesse had his brother’s suicide note folded in his wallet as proof.