Edenfield

By Michaela Finn

Carina and John vacation on the remote island of Edenfield, part of the San Juan Islands in the Northwest, USA. Their relationship is in trouble - in fact the whole holiday is just an escape from Los Angeles, where John, a photographer, has messed up his business due his inability to control his anger. After being warmly welcomed and pampered by the villagers, Carina and John start feeling much better. Edenfield is idyllic and the couple is even chosen to be the king and queen of the Summer Party, held in August. What a fantastic island - such a secret getaway! But before the summer is done Carina and John find out that their paradise is a death trap.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michaela Finn
• Release date: Mar 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311308160

Michaela Finn

Michaela Finn is a pen name of an author who usually writes in another genre. She lives in Los Angeles.

Book preview

EDENFIELD

Michaela Finn

Copyright 2015 by Michaela Finn

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

The ferry was not romantic at all. Carina didn’t know why she had imagined it would be, because it did look exactly like it had looked in the photos on the website when she booked the tickets. It was designed to be efficient, for transportation only; it was like a floating airport terminal.

It was packed. There were families with bags scattered at their feet; small kids bouncing on the seats, eating crumbling snacks and licking their messy fingers, older kids reading comic books or playing video games. Backpackers unwrapped coffee shop sandwiches and checked their phones for maps and campsite info, their bike helmets and sleeping bags dangling. People who looked like office commuters stared at their laptops or read magazines and paperbacks, uninterested about the view.

Carina sat by the window, tranquilized by the monotony of it all. They had left the Seattle harbor an hour ago. The slight rumble of the ferry engine shook the hard, modular seats. At random intervals there was an ear-splitting hiss from a nearby coffee bar cappuccino maker. A baby started crying; an older woman with elegant sunglasses dropped her change and a teenager, earbuds on, helped her pick up the coins.

Carina studied her manicure, slightly chipped by the stress of travel. She stretched and looked out through the large window. The rocky northeast coastline slipped by, gray rocks with pale green grass. Seagulls hovered over the steel gray water. It didn’t look very summery, but then again it was only mid May.

Carina's boyfriend John, opposite of her, was still reading the USA Today he had started half an hour ago. Next to him on an empty seat there was a leaflet he'd tossed away, on the cover of it an illustration of a flat green island surrounded by blue water. The white and gray text read Edenfield. The leaflet looked dull, like a medical pamphlet. Carina reached for it, spread it open and started reading aloud. Part of the San Juan Islands, the small island of Edenfield is-

I just read it, John said, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. You saw me read it.

Yeah?

John glanced at her. Why are you repeating everything you know I just read?

Carina put the leaflet down and turned back to the window. John sighed and folded the newspaper. He leaned forward, took her hand and played with her fingers, trying to make up for his harshness. Carina turned to see him, smiled a little and said, I'm sure it's going to be okay-

Of course it's going to be okay, John said, and again irritated, let go of her hand. I just want some peace and quiet and… some goddamn fucking peace and quiet.

Nearby a family ate soft serve ice cream. The kids had their mother's carrot-colored hair. She wiped a child’s chin, then handed the napkin to her husband who, absentmindedly, just took it. After a moment he looked at his hand, then at his wife, and they started laughing. Their kids looked at them, confused.

Carina glanced at her watch and said, Still about an hour or so.

Uh-hum, John said.

Carina stood up and shook off the dull numbness that had taken over her limbs. She tightened the elastic band on her ponytail and stepped over John’s legs and into the aisle. You want ice cream? she asked.

Sure, thanks, John said. No - wait - get me a coffee instead. Thanks.

Carina walked to the coffee bar and stopped at the end of the short line. This holiday was a mistake. A total, terrible mistake. They would fight, he would sulk, she would cry; they'd be stuck in a strange house on a dull gloomy island. But it was too late now. The apartment in Los Angeles was rented out, and they had booked the house on the island until the end of August. It better be a great house, or it would be just a completely intolerable summer.

She got the coffee and the ice cream. But instead of returning to her seat she made a detour, walking to the front of the ferry. She stared out through the large window, holding the piping hot coffee in the other hand, licking the ice cream. Outside on the windy deck people posed for photos, their hair and clothes tossed by the wind. A man leaning on the green-painted railing put his arm around his wife’s waist and kissed her, then pointed at something. A tiny red kayak moved along the shore.

The cardboardy smell of the pressed waffle cone made Carina slightly nauseated, and after a moment she threw the ice cream away.

John closed the newspaper and closed his eyes. This holiday was a mistake. Three months. Fucking forever. He cursed Fran who had insisted they stay all summer. You need to take time off and really think about things, Fran had said. She was his agent, and he needed her, so he had done what she suggested and rented a goddamn house on the goddamn island. If the house turned out not good, he would immediately cancel the whole deal and book a trip to Asia, anywhere crazy busy noisy. He’d let a chaotic hot city suck him into its dark and decadent swirl. He’d sit in dim backstreet bars with street vendors and cab drivers, the steam of cooking and the smog and the heat making the air sticky. A sturdy peasant girl would serve him glazed duck on a wobbly paper plate, and then maybe later he would follow her to her simple place-

The coffee shop coffee machine hissed. John opened his eyes and saw where he really was. Too bad there were no opium dens anymore. That’s what he wanted now, crazy drugs, crazy life, anything but fucking this. But no - it was going to be chilly weather and English gardens and whatever shit for the next three months. Tea with pensioners, small talk with families with toddlers, kayaking lessons with fifty-something empty-nester adventurers. What a fucking joke! He picked up the newspaper again, throwing it open in fury.

Around noon the ferry pulled into the dock at Friday Harbor terminal on San Juan Island. Like a crowd leaving a packed theater, the passengers started to line up in the aisle, pushing and stomping and bumping, murmuring half-hearted apologies. John took a suitcase and two sports bags. Carina took the remaining suitcase and rolling it, followed John.

They walked among the other passengers, not talking. John bumped into an older man but didn’t notice.

I’m so sorry - please excuse us, Carina said, and the man nodded, looking weary.

At the terminal building John stopped, looking around.

Did she say she would meet us inside? Carina asked.

No, she said outside, by the bus stop, John said.

They moved ahead, bouncing into people who greeted relatives or looked for their missing partners or made sudden, disoriented stops. Carina spotted sliding doors with Exit to Ground Transport-sign above, and they zigzagged through the crowd.

In the parking lot they stopped again. A strong smell of seaweed in the air, mixed with gasoline fumes. Cars emerged from the belly of the ferry in a steady line. Tourists climbed into buses and taxis. A group dressed in bright colored biking gear mounted their bicycles and rode slowly out of the harbor.

Further away a minibus left the terminal parking. A heavy built woman with a thick, long skirt and a navy blue windbreaker, became visible, standing alone on the platform.

That must be her, John said.

The woman lift up her arm and waved it like a traffic controller, with a slow sway left to right. John and Carina started crossing the parking lot, and the woman stepped off the platform and strolled closer, a slight limp in her walk.

Whoa! The Wicked Witch of the West, John said.

Shh! Carina said.

Well she is pretty goddamn ugly.

John please, Carina said.

This end of the parking lot was deserted by now. They met half way, the woman asking, John Miller?

Yes! John said. That's me.

Welcome. Glory Armstrong, the woman said and shook hands with John.

John. Nice to meet you, Glory, John said, smiling.

Glory turned to Carina. Carina struggled with her bags to shake hands. She let go of the rolling suitcase and it fell backwards on the asphalt.

Oops, Glory said.

Carina stretched out her hand. Carina Lind. Nice to meet you.

Glory’s palm was rough, a dry fish. She had a terrifying, doughy face with a severe wall-eye, and her hair was gray and cut short like an old-fashioned doll’s. She is simply startlingly ugly, Carina thought.

Glory turned back to John, saying, Just call me Glory.

Glory guided John and Carina to her motorboat, by a small dock at the yacht harbor, just a five-minute walk from the ferry terminal. Not a long ride any more! she said.

Great, John said.

The wind was strong like a wall of cellophane. Carina, a few steps behind the other two, caught only some of Glory's words.

...rent kayaks... you want to... rent a bike.

Is no one else going to Edenfield? Carina asked suddenly, looking back at the terminal which was now quiet with just three workmen pulling a large hose across the concrete.

It's just you two today, Glory said and opened a gate to the narrow wooden dock. The sea was rough with white froth. The boats, fastened with ropes, danced and pulled. A gust of wind wiped out most of what Glory said next, something about the roads on the island. Carina just nodded and smiled, trying to keep her hair off her face.

John sat in the front next to Glory who stood behind the steering wheel and sped on the waves, the hood of her windbreaker flapping in the air like a trapped crow. Carina sat in the back of the boat on a wide hard bench. Big and small islands flew past. Sailboats and motorboats and ferries crisscrossed, cutting water.

Half way to the island, now clearly visible with white rocks on the edges and greenery topping it all, John turned and grinned at Carina. Almost there! he said, and then he said something else, the wind eating his words.

Carina just nodded. She hoped to find a diner, a coffee shop or a hot dog stand right there at the harbor, anything. It looked like a small island - but it was hard to tell really, no other islands nearby to compare it with. The sea was open and quiet now, with just one lone white sail of a faraway boat.

We have a couple of really good restaurants, Glory yelled over the wind. But unfortunately most of them aren't open yet. The stores are closed today too but I have some groceries for you in the house!

Thank you, Carina said, sweeping hair off her face with both hands. Probably a can of soup and hardtack - Glory seemed so utilitarian.

The island of Edenfield moved closer and grew taller. The beaches looked rocky. Up on top of a cliff there were a few houses. It was 2:10 p.m. now; the boat ride had taken about forty-five minutes. Glory slowed down. The boat slid into the small marina which consisted of only one large concrete dock, the long arm of a breakwater curving half way around it. There were four sailboats and two motorboats docked, but no people. The sea was rolling in large, calm waves. A light fog hovered above the water. Far away on a small cape a group of seals lounged, rolling around like plump wet dogs, craning their lazy necks.

There was a large red-painted building divided into two. One third of it was a bar, Marina Pub sign on the window, a Closed sign on the door. The rest of the building looked like a restaurant, also closed now, a heavy padlock on the door. A boat rental, a little further, was just a row of three sheds.

Glory steered the boat to the dock, jumped out surprisingly lithely, then returned to her normal heavy self and fastened the boat ropes with slow movements. Carina thought she was like a duck; smooth in the water, awkward and clumsy ashore. John got out of the boat, and Carina handed him their bags. She could feel minuscule water drops in the air against her skin. John held out his hand and helped her up onto the dock. She opened a bag and pulled out a thick fleece and put it on. John hugged her briefly. You okay?

Yeah I'm okay, she said.

John smiled. He was in a great mood now. This island was clearly for serious sailors and campers, with none of that tourist gift shop shit with seashell jewelry and neon flip flops.

Glory led them to a battered, orange Jeep. John helped lift the luggage onto the back, the bags suddenly feather light in his hands.

I'm sorry the weather is not the best possible, Glory said, opening the door for Carina.

Oh no no, I really enjoy it, Carina said, finding it hard to look into Glory’s eyes - it seemed neither one was focused directly on her, or that they both observed her different body parts simultaneously. We get more than enough of sunshine in L.A.

Glory slammed the back door shut.

Is it often this foggy? Carina asked.

Uh-hum. Early summer especially. Glory said. And in the mornings, of course.

Carina climbed in and Glory closed the car door. It’ll be much warmer soon, she said. In June, July, August we’ll be baking... absolutely baking. She got in and yanked the door shut started the engine. By the way, that’s my house, over there, she said, nodding at a somewhat faded, New England style house further away on a cliff. If you ever need anything. But most of the time you’ll find me here at the boat rentals.

Okay, John said. Do you rent sailboats?

Yes, we have one. That one over there. She nodded vaguely at the marina. My son also has one boat he rents sometimes. He keeps it docked by his house.

They bounced along a bumpy, overgrown dirt road. Leafy trees and bushes brushed both sides of the car, hushing and screeching against metal. Wild flowers, all fresh; small fields of potatoes and strawberries; a few houses here and there. The wind had eased now that they were driving inland.

Is there a golf course? John asked.

No, but there’s a tennis court, and- Glory suddenly stopped, frowning. You’re not smokers, right?

No, Carina said.

Good. Because there have been people… it stains absolutely everything! Lingers forever! And the lungs of a smoker - not a pretty sight. Already bad enough you live in a big city.

John grinned. Carina avoided looking at him. No, we don’t smoke, she said.

Good, Glory said.

What if we want to visit the nearby islands? Carina asked.

There's a taxi boat to Victoria every morning at nine thirty. But that's all. I can always take you, if you plan ahead.

John suddenly rose on his seat and pointed to the right. What is that? There’s a house there?

Hidden behind tall maple trees there indeed was a large rectangular building. John reached further