Chapter twenty-two: Kenneth James continued their tour of Mayne Island. At Dinner Bay Park, he proudly showed Aster the mural he worked on with the community. In words and photos, the mural depicted the history of the Japanese-Canadians on Mayne Island.
Chapter twenty-three
Kenneth James led the way through the tall grass. "Slip a bookmark in the book. That chapter ended. We're home."
Aster sighed, and he found comfort in that sigh. He thought Mayne Island was having an effect on her. He thought it was changing her.
"Our home," she said, and he slowed down to listen. "It's a clump of clay. Clay that we can mould into..."
He sped up.
“We could keep the current structure and..."
He slid open the door.
“Add bathrooms and bedrooms and a kitchen and..."
Kenneth James unearthed his laptop and began to type.
Aster stood in front of the wood stove. "And of course, we'll need to purchase new appliances." The stove was like an insatiable baby—constantly in need of feeding. Even though they had just finished eating lunch, in order for the stove to have gained enough heat to cook on, she would have to start a fire now. "An electric stove is far more convenient. After all, you can't expect me to spend my days preparing meals. My quality of life needs to be higher than that." She recalled Kenneth James's instructions—paper teepee first, then kindling, then a small log. When the fire is roaring, steadily increase the size of the logs.
Paper tepee and... fiddle-faddle, Aster had a better idea. She formed a triangle with two middle-sized logs and put crumpled newspaper in the centre of the triangle. She weighed down the newspaper with kindling. The first match went out the instant she tossed it into the stove. That was disappointing, but she was determined that her method would work. The burn basket held flyers, envelopes, and newspapers. She ran a match under the corner of an envelope. The return address was for Ms. Darlene McDonald of Mayne Island. The envelope had been torn open. But opening someone else's mail was a felony. Surely, Kenneth James knew that. Orange flames licked her fingertips. Aster set the envelope on top of the newspaper. She watched the fire consume the newspaper and then added a small log. The fire continued to grow. She increased the size of the log from medium to large. The fire grew increasingly larger. She felt as giddy as one of her students.
“Kenneth James.” She went to his desk expecting to see a Word document open on his laptop, but— He was reading an email? “I—. ”
His right hand remained on the keyboard as he corkscrewed around in his chair. “Um... What?” He pressed a key. A picture of the Mayne Island lighthouse appeared on his screen. He pressed another. Music—fiddles playing a waltz. Kenneth James leapt out of his chair, swept Aster into his arms, and danced her across the floor.
Aster laughed. She was actually happy—on Mayne Island.
Out of breath, she fell into her reading chair, and he slipped into his. They huffed and puffed as they tried to catch their breath. The expression on Kenneth James’ face grew sombre—like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Aster..."
"Yes, Kenneth James? I'm listening."
"I..." He held her hand and looked into her eyes. “Aster, I’ve met some—”
“I know the amount of work required to transform his cabin into a livable home may seem daunting, but just think we’ll actually have a home that we can feel proud to call our own. K—.”
Kenneth James dropped her hand and went back to his computer.
Aster left her chair and hunted through cupboard after cupboard, hoping to find something delectable. All she found was a tin of salmon. “Would you like mushroom soup and tuna sandwiches for supper? I know we had sandwiches for lunch but...”
“That’ll be fine.”
Aster took tomatoes, celery, and mushrooms out of the crisper and brought them to the cutting board. “How many sandwiches would you like?” When no answer was forthcoming, Aster turned from the cupboard and faced the sliding door. It was open. Kenneth James was no longer sitting at his desk, and he wasn’t in his reading chair either. She figured that he must have gone to the outhouse. The desk was clear. The only paper remaining was a folded note weighed down by a paperweight.
Aster set the table.
Kenneth James still hadn’t returned. When she investigated further, she discovered that his keys weren’t hanging on the hook. His backpack was gone. She figured that he’d decided to pick up something for dessert.
Aster ate supper and washed the dishes. She knit until her wrists started to ache. When the sun slipped behind the horizon, she yawned and stretched. She went to bed confident that she would wake to find her husband by her side.
