“Really?”
“Yeah, why not?”
He had so many questions about her, her life, they swirled around in his head and he wasn’t sure what to ask first. And wasn’t sure he’d get the opportunity again. He pushed the on button on the recorder, and when it blinked red, he began.
“OK, you said you moved here in the sixth grade. What do you miss the most—about living on the mainland, I mean?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know—fast food, movie theaters, driving. Do you even know how to drive?”
“Not really. I tried on Bill’s truck once but never could get the clutch part down, so I quit. And let’s see . . . what do I miss?” She was silent for a few beats. “Oh! Girl Scout cookies.”
“Girl Scout cookies.”
“Samoas, specifically. A troop used to sell them outside the Food Lion in Winder and BobDan would pick up a few boxes for me, but they haven’t been out there for years.”
“So not technology or museums or concerts—wait, have you ever been to a concert?”
She shook her head again and Anders gaped at her. Not that he particularly loved concerts himself. He found them overly loud and hot and there were far too many people singing along with the words, when you hadn’t paid to hear other people, had you? You paid to hear the person who originally sang the songs. But still, to never have actually had that experience in real life . . .
And then he remembered her record collection.
“Hey, tell me about your records.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re just so . . . random. I’ve never heard of most of the bands. I don’t know—I guess I took you for more of a Taylor Swift kind of girl,” Anders teased.
Piper’s brow crinkled. “Who?”
Anders jolted, rounding on her. “You’ve never heard of Taylor Swift?”
Unfortunately for him, when Kelsey was in middle school she played “Shake It Off” on rotation until the entire family was begrudgingly humming it every waking minute and ready to strangle Kelsey—and Taylor, come to think of it. But even if Kelsey hadn’t been obsessed, Anders still would have heard of her. She was ubiquitous, like McDonald’s or cold sores.
Piper’s face remained frozen in confusion for a beat and then melted into a lazy grin, her dimples deepening. “Of course I have. Just a little Frick Island humor.”
She giggled as Anders groaned, tossing his head back and half chuckling. When he righted it and looked out at the water, he felt something—a loosening—as if all his muscles had been tightly holding on to a tug-of-war rope and then just . . . let go. The sand was still gritty and slimy. The rock beneath his butt, hard and uncomfortable. But the sun warming his skin, the repetitive lapping of waves, the tang of the salt air filling his nostrils . . . Anders had to admit, there was something soothing about it all. He sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled slowly, his breath joining the light breeze. He had a brief moment of understanding—of why people might like being on this strip of land. Not for good, of course. But visiting, perhaps, wasn’t so bad.
He glanced back at Piper’s profile. “What about your mom?”
“My mom?”
“Is she really in Australia?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you miss her?” What he really wanted to know, but had no way of asking, was: Did her mom know? About what happened to Tom? About what was going on with Piper? How could she stay halfway across the world when her daughter so clearly needed her? Or needed somebody.
Piper turned and looked Anders squarely on. “I thought your podcast was about climate change.”
He swallowed. “It is.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“And the island. I’m trying to give listeners an idea of what life is like out here.”
“What my life is like?”
Anders paused, a pit forming in his stomach. He cleared his throat to respond, but Piper beat him to it.
“I know what you’re doing here,” Piper said, her voice quiet.
Anders went cold, every single muscle in his body immediately constricting at once. “You do?” He tried to gauge the anger in her voice, but it was impossible. Had she heard the podcast? He had passed the cell tower construction—it wasn’t even halfway done yet. But maybe she’d gone to the mainland, listened to it there? Was that why she had brought him out here—to scream at him in private?
“Yeah. You’re not the first person to do it either.”
“What?” Anders was genuinely confused now.
“All kinds of people have come to Frick Island over the years. Most of them stay a weekend, gawk at our quaint, outdated lifestyle, and never return. But every once in a while you get one that comes back. Or stays longer than he expects. Or never leaves at all.”
Anders wasn’t sure where she was going with this little speech, but he nearly choked on his words, he was so eager to assure her there was no risk of him moving here. Piper wasn’t finished.
“They come from all walks of life—young and old, Ivy League educated, union workers—it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing they all have in common.” Piper paused and Anders leaned forward despite himself. She turned and looked at Anders full-on. “They’re running from something.”
There was no malice in her expression, no judgment at all, really. Her face was bare, eyes sharp and shiny, and Anders found himself momentarily stunned by the visceral reaction he had to her full attention. There was something in the way she was looking at him. As though she could really see him.
“Running,” he repeated.
She gave a small, barely perceptible nod, kindness and understanding pooling in her eyes, and Anders had the overwhelming desire to tell her things. Which surprised him, as Anders hadn’t ever wanted to tell anyone anything in his life. Not anything important or meaningful, anyway. He preferred to keep his thoughts locked up tight in his brain, where they belonged.
Instead, he broke eye contact and chuckled. “You think I’m running,” he repeated. “Did you even see me?” He gestured with his thumb back
