Chapter sixteen: Aster envisioned Kenneth James waiting expectantly at the ferry. The ferry docked, and Kenneth James wasn't there. What had happened to him?
Chapter seventeen
Occasionally, a car or a truck would drive passed the bench. Most swished by, but some drivers did stop to ask if Aster would like a ride.
“No, thank you,” she called from the bench and waved the drivers away. The waiting time increased, the traffic dwindled, and anxiety's grip tightened.
Aster tried her husband's cell phone again but was forced to leave yet another message. “Kenneth James, where are you? You told me you would be here to receive me, but you’re nowhere to be seen. I’m waiting and growing a little worried. When you get this message, which I hope will be soon, please contact me and tell me you’re on your way. It will bring me some peace of mind. I’m counting on you. I know you won’t disappoint me. Hurry, my love. Do hurry.”
Minutes stretched into hours, hours stretched into days, days stretched into weeks, weeks stretched into—. Or at least that was what it felt like to Aster. Vehicles had stopped driving down that desolated road. Her husband had abandoned her. She would have to live out the rest of her days on that park bench. Alone. Completely and utterly a—.
A white four-door hybrid Honda glided up beside the bench. The driver had replaced her BC Ferries uniform with jeans and a tee, but Aster quickly identified her. “Would you like a ride?”
“I believe my husband has been unavoidably detained.” Aster sunk into the cushy red-cloth passenger seat.
“That’s just island time.” The woman climbed out of the car, retrieved Aster’s luggage, and—.
“Do be careful with my suitcases. They’re rather expensive.”
Fitting all of Aster's suitcases into the car’s trunk was a challenge but the woman enjoyed playing Tetris. She quickly solved the puzzle and returned to the steering wheel. “Save and sound, without a mark. Now, where can I take you?”
The address...? Aster may have had that information once but she had long since replaced it with something more important. Her lack of knowledge embarrassed her so she changed the subject. “Do you like residing on Mayne Island?” When Aster thought of island life, the words that came swiftly to her mind were boring and depressing and—.
“I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
“And why is that?”
“What do I like about Mayne Island? Huh?”
Aster felt sorry for the woman—self-imprisoned on this remote island for the crime of poor judgment. Clearly, her life here was an empty existence—bereft of cultural enrichment or anything that would bring fulfillment or value. But somehow the woman had convinced herself that she enjoyed this prison. Aster was interested to hear what foolishness she had fed herself.
“I could make one of those travel commercials. I’d include the golden orange sunsets. The wild deer prancing around the island like royalty. Seals sunning themselves on rocks like movie stars with cocktails. And the soundtrack... Tree frogs sweetly serenading. An eagle’s cry. The sound of a wing moving through air. And the people. I can’t forget the people. Do you know that many island seniors still cut and stack their own firewood? And the children...”
As the woman went on and on, Aster unzipped all the compartments on her purse and then re-zipped them.
“Do you know that after every performance at the Ag Hall we all help put the chairs away? It doesn’t matter who we are or once were. We all help.”
“How long have you lived like this?”
“Twenty years.” The woman smiled. “Watch out.” The woman swept a hand over her face. “This could happen to you.” She laughed. “Where would you like to go?”
Go? Aster saw herself sipping wine in Paris or applauding as a curtain opened in a London theatre or carrying an armful of clothes to a New York cashier or riding the elevator in Toronto’s CN tower or—.
“Your husband’s address?” The comment brought Aster back to reality.
Aster sighed. “I always regarded that information as extraneous.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
“Why? Why would I worry?” Aster adjusted her glasses and straightened her back. “Please take me to Professor Kenneth James Steven’s residence.”
photo by ldyck
