Page 7 of Always You (A Lilac Bay Novel)

CHAPTER 2

It took Andrew and I the better part of a week to finish our application. The instructions on the website called for a three minute video audition in addition to the written application, and we had both agreed that this was where our little island could truly shine.

Spring was a beautiful time on Lilac Bay, and not just because the grass got a lot greener. The real appeal of the island in April is its people. Winters on this bay in northern Lake Michigan take their toll on all of us. Not only are we confined to our houses by heavy snow and cold temperatures, but we eventually become confined to the island itself. There is no bridge connecting us to the mainland—when the bay starts to freeze our boat access cuts off completely, trapping most of us here for the duration of the season. We have a small airstrip that allows for emergency travel and food deliveries, but the cost of airfare keeps casual travel to a minimum. For many, the winter months are the most challenging part of living on this island. Every fall, without fail, some family decides they can’t stand the thought of another winter, and moves to the mainland. We even have a name for it—the November Migration.

But the harshness of a Lilac Bay winter makes the spring particularly beautiful. Once the ice has melted, once the trees start to bud, there’s a palpable relief on the faces in town. April is filled with a quiet excitement thrumming though the population—pure joy that we’re still here, that we’re outside, that a warm summer awaits us. In April, we’re at our best—excited, joyful, kind, neighborly.

And this was what Andrew and I wanted to capture in our video. We spent our lunch breaks and hours after work each day taking video of the town, the shops, people out and about doing their shopping, catching up, gathering in the square for no other reason than the fact that they could. We also carefully recorded some interviews with our friends and neighbors, telling them that we were working on a promotional video for the town’s website.

After we felt satisfied that we had enough video, we pulled out my trusty Sony point-and-shoot and spent another long afternoon taking picture after picture to include in our application.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had professional stock photographs on file at Town Hall?” I asked Andrew, not quite ready to be done feeling bitter about my department’s lack of investment in the town. “Like, I don’t know, maybe in the tourism promotion department?”

In his typical, look-on-the-bright-side fashion, Andrew pointed out that the photos we took were nearly as good as a professional's anyway. He had a point. We had been lucky to have the weather cooperate—our photos showed vibrant green rolling lawns in the Town Square, budding trees, pops of bright colored flowers, all in front of a brilliant blue sky and the sun dappled sparkling waters of the bay. They looked beautiful, if I did say so myself. In fact, our whole application looked good.

Andrew, who had a knack for techy stuff, downloaded a video editing program from the Internet and we managed to get all of our film pasted together. We’d even set the whole thing to music. It probably wasn’t the flashiest submission they would get, but so what? Lilac Bay wasn’t exactly a flashy place. The application we had put together felt like us, and I was proud of it.

So I was surprised to find Andrew, camera in hand, when I showed up for our weekly Rec League game at the high school sports field on Friday night.

“What’s with the camera?” I asked, dropping my duffel bag at his feet. “I thought we were done.”

“We are,” he said. “Well, wewere. But I figured I could get some good shots during the game. You know, Lilac Bay in all its glory, the townspeople and tourists alike, enjoying a good old-fashioned game of baseball. What could be more all-American than that?”

“Excellent point.” I looked around the field for confirmation. “So we’re playing baseball tonight?”

That was the thing about the island Rec League—you never really knew what you were in for until you showed up. Though we were technically a softball league, we only had enough players to make up four teams—and that included a team whose revolving roster consisted entirely of tourists who wanted to sign up for a game or two during their week on the island. It was hardly enough to form an entire league, and it got pretty old playing against the same people every week all summer long. So the Rec League would occasionally bring in teams from the mainland. And that meant we were constantly switching between softball, soccer, kickball—basically whichever teams we could convince to take the ferry out to the island on a Friday night. We’d even played a rousing game of Frisbee golf once against a group from Elk Rapids, though we’d all agreed never to invite that particular team back when a wayward Frisbee ended up konking Mrs. Parker’s schnauzer, Buttons, in the head.

“Yeah,” Andrew said, snapping a few pictures. “Baseball. Against the Big Hotel.”

“Sweet,” I muttered, my eyes darting to the opposing team’s dugout. Sure enough, the pristine white uniforms of the Big Hotel’s staff were visible from here as the players got settled. The Big Hotel—technically named the Ottawa, but no one local ever called it that—was, obviously, the biggest hotel on the island. It was also the fanciest. Set on a high bluff far above the town with breathtaking views of the bay, the Ottaway was a five-star, full spa, concierge-included kind of place. And since that level of style is apparently difficult to sustain on an island like Lilac Bay, the hotel did a good amount of their seasonal hiring on the mainland. It was a huge object of contention amongst the islanders—all of those shiny-haired, perfectly-dressed mainlanders showing up on the Big Hotel’s private ferry every morning, leaving every night. They never shopped in any of the local stores, never ate in any of our restaurants. Even worse, they took up good jobs that the people of this island desperately needed.

To say there were hard feelings was an understatement.

“You look like you’re about ready to dance on their graves,” Andrew pointed out, and I grinned at him.

“That obvious?”

He laughed. “You’re not the only one.” He nodded towards the stands, and immediately I could see what he meant. Our games usually attracted a fair amount of attention—it’s not like Lilac Bay was known for its evening entertainment—but tonight the stands were already filled, ten minutes before we were set to start. Jerry Brooks was walking around, passing out tin-foil wrapped hotdogs from a box while the local Brownie troop was hawking lemonade on the edge of the field.

“Pretty festive atmosphere,” a voice that sounded awfully like Andrew’s said.

I turned to see his twin, Edward, along with his boyfriend, Zane, approaching.

“Everyone’s excited to see us kick a little outsider ass,” I said, pointing at the dugout.

Zane slid his sunglasses—definitely designer, probably cost more than my entire wardrobe—down his nose so he could peer over at the opposing team, and gave a little shudder. “I’m so glad I’m not one of them anymore.”

“Because you played so much baseball when you worked at the Big Hotel?” Andrew asked skeptically.

“No, but I was still associated with them. And that was bad enough.”

Edward slung an arm over his boyfriend’s shoulder. “You’re fully one of us now, babe.”

Andrew opened his mouth and I stepped down on his foot in warning. He liked to remind Zane that he was not, in fact, a true islander, having come here right along with the other mainland recruits to work in the Big Hotel. But he had fallen for Edward pretty much at first sight, and had moved to the island permanently only a few months later. We had a rule around here—if you could make it through a full winter, you could officially call yourself a permanent resident. Andrew generally believed in that sentiment, but the opportunity to give his twin a hard time was too great an inducement to ignore.

“How’s the restaurant?” I asked the boys. Last summer they had reopened their grandparent’s old place, Rose’s, and had been serving some of the island’s very best food ever since.

“Not bad,” Edward said, grinning. “Business is up almost forty percent from last month.”