her old station wagon and watched the speedometer needle tremble at the edge of fifty. Sabrina was trembling as well, a fine tremor emanating from deep inside her that rippled along her skin and shivered her fingers and the edges of her mouth.
âIt was your idea to send those poor people out to Goat Island, wasnât it?â Mary had said with accusatory glee. âThatâs what I heard, and if it wasnât for you, that poor man would never have been on that island, and never got killed. I had second thoughts as soon as I suggested you for this job. Youâre about as responsible as my dog Curly, and I havenât managed to house train him all these years!â
Long Road never seemed longer as Sabrina sped past the endless grass-covered dunes. This part of the island was designated a national park, and except for the occasional homesteaded house and road, there was no sign that man had ever dreamt of beach houses and fruity drinks in sleek restaurants beside the sea. The park was full of birds and small animals, and bigger ones in the shape of the shaggy island ponies. Sabrina usually enjoyed the solitude of the road, which ran down to the other end of the island to an old, defunct military base, but right now she couldnât enjoy the stark beauty.
After what seemed like forever, she saw the discreet sign that signaled the turnoff to Shell Island. She took the turn so fast the station wagon slid in the loose gravel of the private road and ended up with its nose touching a pine tree.
Her trembling had bloomed into full-blown shaking as she sat staring at the tree.
âIâve got to get myself together,â she said out loud, wishing Calvin was with her. Not only was he a comfort, he also made her feel less like a shoo-in candidate for the loony bin when she talked to herself. âIâm fine. I can get through this.â
The shaking refused to abate. She thought about turning around and going back to town, finding Mary Tubbs and telling her she was quitting. âI. Am. Not. Going. To. Quit!â she said between clenched teeth. âIf I canât hack this job, then itâs time for me to go back to Cincinnati.â She took a deep breath. âI am sitting on a beach and I can feel the warm sand between my toes and hear the surf washing back and forth. I can taste the salt of the air and hear a seagull callâ¦â The shaking slowly subsided as she continued to visualize her happy place. That her mental sanctuary, the one she created long before ever coming to Comico, closely resembled the island did not occur to her.
âNow, like a knight before battle, I will don my armor.â Sabrina pictured herself pulling on the sturdy armor that was featured in countless King Arthur movies. She had no clue how one would get the armor on in reality, so in her vision it slid on like a suit of clothes, even complete with a nice modern zipper. Once her vulnerable naked skin was covered, Sabrina added the last touch, the helmet. She surveyed herself in an imaginary mirror. Despite the heavy armor, she was pounds lighter than normal. Unlike TV, delusional fantasies subtracted pounds instead of adding them.
Satisfied that her loins were sufficiently girded, Sabrina opened her eyes. As her therapist had promised, she felt better. At least she didnât feel as if she was walking around with her skin freshly peeled. She used to go through this ritual every morning, so she supposed she should be happy she only had to garb herself in armor on occasion now. Unfortunately, those occasions had been coming with more frequency over the last couple of months.
âLetâs try this again.â
With that, Sabrina put the car in gear and continued on to Shell Lodge.
***
âIt was horrible,â Matt Fredericks said, and shuddered. For a moment it looked as if he might cry, and Sabrina patted his arm.
âThere, there,â she soothed.
âHe was floating there, face down,
âIt was your idea to send those poor people out to Goat Island, wasnât it?â Mary had said with accusatory glee. âThatâs what I heard, and if it wasnât for you, that poor man would never have been on that island, and never got killed. I had second thoughts as soon as I suggested you for this job. Youâre about as responsible as my dog Curly, and I havenât managed to house train him all these years!â
Long Road never seemed longer as Sabrina sped past the endless grass-covered dunes. This part of the island was designated a national park, and except for the occasional homesteaded house and road, there was no sign that man had ever dreamt of beach houses and fruity drinks in sleek restaurants beside the sea. The park was full of birds and small animals, and bigger ones in the shape of the shaggy island ponies. Sabrina usually enjoyed the solitude of the road, which ran down to the other end of the island to an old, defunct military base, but right now she couldnât enjoy the stark beauty.
After what seemed like forever, she saw the discreet sign that signaled the turnoff to Shell Island. She took the turn so fast the station wagon slid in the loose gravel of the private road and ended up with its nose touching a pine tree.
Her trembling had bloomed into full-blown shaking as she sat staring at the tree.
âIâve got to get myself together,â she said out loud, wishing Calvin was with her. Not only was he a comfort, he also made her feel less like a shoo-in candidate for the loony bin when she talked to herself. âIâm fine. I can get through this.â
The shaking refused to abate. She thought about turning around and going back to town, finding Mary Tubbs and telling her she was quitting. âI. Am. Not. Going. To. Quit!â she said between clenched teeth. âIf I canât hack this job, then itâs time for me to go back to Cincinnati.â She took a deep breath. âI am sitting on a beach and I can feel the warm sand between my toes and hear the surf washing back and forth. I can taste the salt of the air and hear a seagull callâ¦â The shaking slowly subsided as she continued to visualize her happy place. That her mental sanctuary, the one she created long before ever coming to Comico, closely resembled the island did not occur to her.
âNow, like a knight before battle, I will don my armor.â Sabrina pictured herself pulling on the sturdy armor that was featured in countless King Arthur movies. She had no clue how one would get the armor on in reality, so in her vision it slid on like a suit of clothes, even complete with a nice modern zipper. Once her vulnerable naked skin was covered, Sabrina added the last touch, the helmet. She surveyed herself in an imaginary mirror. Despite the heavy armor, she was pounds lighter than normal. Unlike TV, delusional fantasies subtracted pounds instead of adding them.
Satisfied that her loins were sufficiently girded, Sabrina opened her eyes. As her therapist had promised, she felt better. At least she didnât feel as if she was walking around with her skin freshly peeled. She used to go through this ritual every morning, so she supposed she should be happy she only had to garb herself in armor on occasion now. Unfortunately, those occasions had been coming with more frequency over the last couple of months.
âLetâs try this again.â
With that, Sabrina put the car in gear and continued on to Shell Lodge.
***
âIt was horrible,â Matt Fredericks said, and shuddered. For a moment it looked as if he might cry, and Sabrina patted his arm.
âThere, there,â she soothed.
âHe was floating there, face down,
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