She took a glass of wine with her to the driveway, where she busied herself pulling weeds, smiling at passersby, most of whom—the islanders at least—stopped to chat and introduce themselves.
At six o’clock, Brooks pulled up next door in an old F-150 truck, cherry red, giving her a cheery wave and smile as he headed into his house. She tried to quell the vague disappointment that he didn’t come over, didn’t show any signs of wanting to continue their conversation, but as she was mulling it over, Aunt Judith’s familiar old station wagon pulled into the driveway, tooting the horn in welcome, as Audrey flung herself down the steps and into her aunt’s arms.
Home.
Aunt Judith’s solidity had always felt like home to Audrey. Her hair was grey and curly, her eyes a soft blue, her body seeming to be smaller and rounder than it had been before. “I was built for comfort, not for speed,” Aunt Judith had a habit of saying, and it was true; when Audrey imagined her, she was always sitting comfortably somewhere, knitting, reading, or doing something equally cozy.
Her roundness and coziness and warmth had always comforted Audrey, who found herself leaning her head on her aunt’s shoulder, as, without her knowing why, tears started to leak down her cheeks.
* * *
“You look unchanged,” Aunt Judith mused over a glass of wine later that evening after they had eaten, cleared up, and were sitting on the porch watching the fireflies buzz around.
“Apart from the English accent?”
“I can’t hear it anymore. You look exactly the same, but you seem … quieter.” She peered closely at Audrey, who said nothing, just looked into her glass and took another sip of wine.
“How is Richard?” Aunt Judith asked next, perceptive as ever.
“He’s fine.” Audrey looked up at her aunt. “He’s charming, handsome, polite, and … distant.”
“Isn’t that how most men are?” her aunt asked, a twinkle in her eye.
“Is it?” Audrey thought about that afternoon in the kitchen, the ease she felt around that man, Brooks, how she felt a connection, a closeness, even though she didn’t know him at all. “Perhaps,” she said. “Richard is very English, I think. But I presumed things would change once we got married. I thought he would let his reserve down, that we would grow closer, he would be more of a partner, but…” Her words trailed off.
Her aunt waited a few seconds. “It sounds lonely, child.”
Audrey, surprised, blinked back tears as she forced a smile. “Sometimes it is. But he is a good man. I am a lucky girl.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?”
* * *
Upstairs, in her room, getting ready for bed, Audrey thought about her day. She thought about Aunt Judith, all they talked about, the conversation flowing in and out, back and forth, from laughter to seriousness and everything in between.
She thought about Brooks, the charming man from next door who made her feel a slight jolt, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in a very long time, the likes of which she wasn’t expecting to feel again, and certainly not from anyone other than her husband.
It’s just because he’s familiar, she told herself. Of course you felt comfortable with him, you know him, if only because you are from the same place, you share the same culture, you understand each other’s backgrounds. She hadn’t realized just how out of place she was in England until this day, coming back home, meeting someone unexpectedly and feeling an instant connection merely because, surely merely because, they were fellow countrymen: they understood how the other thought.
She pushed thoughts of the handsome artist out of her head, remembering her wedding to Richard, how he looked at her with such love and pride, thinking of the life they had built together and how, in his own way, he treated her like a princess.
Thoughts of Richard led her gently to sleep.
* * *
Jet lag hit Audrey in the middle of the night. She was wide awake at two in the morning, padding around the house, trying to immerse herself in a book, not worried about the lack of sleep because the next day she had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and if she chose to sleep all day, even though that would be the worst possible thing to do, to give up a moment of her precious time on this island, she knew she could.
She wandered down to the harbor to watch the sun come