I realise something today. Something horrible. There is no future for me, only past. And only the present which I am trying to forget.
Luke covered me in his body, panting softly, stiffening as he climaxed. This was the day, the day he helped create the little baby that was inside of me. Everyone said we were too young, whispered to me words like abortion, and adoption. You’re only nineteen, my father said. Far too young to be having a baby. You’re only a baby yourself, my mother said as she cried quietly into a tissue. This was the day I told them. No pats on the back, cigar handed out or parties and celebrations for Luke and me. Only depression and sadness. Some days I think maybe I deserved what happened, but today I don’t think so.
Hamish is coming soon. I can see the boat on the horizon, the white foamy splashes (a wake, isn’t that what they call it?) fanning out as he speeds ever closer. If there was a high point on this island, I might be able to creep up there, and figure out where he comes from. Then… I stop myself. Don’t be so stupid. There is no escape. There is only Hamish, and the food, and what I need to do to give thanks. The boat is noticeably closer now. I should go to the dock to greet him. He’ll be cross if I don’t, and the sweet things he hides in the hold for when I behave will stay hidden.
Did they have a wake for me? When they realised I wasn’t coming back, and they’d searched everywhere they could think? Did they bury an empty casket in the ground?