style="font-size:15px;"> Phil and Sheri’s house was a small bungalow in the older section of town down near the Exploits River. The clapboard siding was painted a vibrant yellow, and purple asters and miniature white roses spilled onto the slate path leading to the covered porch, complementing the large, hand-painted welcome sign on the door. The place had an optimism that belied the worn treads on the steps and the peeling paint on the siding. Like Phil, it was making the best of lean times.
She rumbled gratefully into the gravel lane that ran up beside the house. There was a white Cavalier parked against the house, and the door flew open just as she was easing her stiff body off the bike. Sheri appeared in the doorway, her lips a tight slash of red.
“Any word?” she asked before Amanda could even say hello, sending her hopes crashing. She studied Sheri cautiously. Neither woman had ever been a fashion plate; in the places they’d worked, comfort and availability in clothing trumped any thought of style. But the woman had obviously done herself over. She’d lost the residual mommy fat and clothed her now curvaceous body in skinny jeans and long red sweater. She had cut her long brown hair to a fashionable shoulder length and added auburn streaks. Oversized gold hoop earrings danced in the sunlight.
Amanda tugged off her helmet and ran a futile hand through the dusty tangle of her hair, feeling every inch of the long, sweaty, gas-fumed drive she had endured. She shook her head.
“Fucking Phil!” Sheri said. “What the hell is he up to?”
“Maybe it’s just a mix-up. Cellphone reception over here seems to be pretty spotty.”
Sheri seemed about to retort, but stopped herself. She shielded her eyes and squinted against the sun. Her restless gaze flitted the length of the street before it lit upon Amanda’s motorcycle, where Kaylee was poking her nose eagerly through her mesh door. For the first time a smile broke Sheri’s tense features.
“What in the name of God is that?”
“My dog.”
“Oh, for the love of —” Sheri hopped off the porch, lithe as a cat, and strode over to release her. “Look at you!”
The dog bounded out to greet her as if she were a long-lost friend. “Dog in a trailer. This is a first even for you, Amanda Doucette,” she said, laughing in spite of herself as she straightened up. “Oh, come on in then, I’ll put the kettle on. Tea?” She paused on the steps. “Or something stronger?”
“Something stronger would be heaven!” Amanda’s whole body ached. She reached into her saddlebag. “I picked up some wine.”
Inside, the house was small and simply furnished in what looked like hand-me-downs, but the curtains and cushions were made of bright prints bought for pennies in Asian and African street markets. Late-afternoon sunshine spilled through the bay window, setting the reds and golds in the fabric aflame. Amanda followed Sheri into the kitchen and filled the dog’s water bowl while Sheri opened the wine.
“This is a treat,” Sheri said. “All I have in the fridge is half a bottle of blueberry wine. I don’t keep much in the house because Phil —” She broke off and turned quickly to get the glasses.
Amanda hid her surprise. Phil had never been much of a drinker, despite the many opportunities afforded by the foreign aid circuit. Back in the living room, Amanda sagged into a rocking chair and took a grateful sip of wine. In the silence, Sheri paced to the window and stared outside. For the thousandth time, Amanda suspected.
She approached the issue carefully. “What’s Phil doing, Sheri?”
Sheri swung around, tightening her jaw. “I thought he was going camping with you.”
“Well, he was. He wanted to show me the whales and icebergs. He was very proud of your island. His adopted home.”
Sheri blew out a small puff of air. Dismissive and impatient. “Where are you two supposed to be going?”
“That’s the thing. He was looking into it, checking out the most spectacular places and what campsites were open where I could take the dog. He was going to tell me where to meet him.”
Sheri’s eyes narrowed, and Amanda could almost see her searching her thoughts. “Whales and icebergs. Now there’d be plenty of them in Newfoundland. Could be anywhere, from the Avalon Peninsula near St. John’s to Gros Morne on the west. Even Twillingate, in Notre Dame Bay just up north there —” she pointed “— that would be the closest.”
“I think he wanted something wild. Not a place full of B&Bs and tourists.”
“Probably not the Avalon, then. But it’s a big, empty island most of the year. Lots of rocks and ocean to choose from.”
Amanda took another small sip of her wine, which was already going to her head after the long drive. Sheri, she noticed, had almost finished hers. “Did he drop any hints? Any place he really wanted to see?”
Instead of answering, Sheri turned away from the window. “You must be hungry after that ride. I’ve got some cookies in the cupboard.”
Amanda followed her back into the kitchen. “Didn’t he talk about the trip at all?”
Sheri’s back was rigid as she rummaged through the shelves. “No, he didn’t. That was between him and you. He knew I wasn’t thrilled. He just said it was something he had to do. Something you and he had to do.”
Amanda hid her surprise. “I’m sorry, I thought … he said it was your idea.”
“Did he, now?”
Amanda cast about for a way out of the hole she’d dug. “He was doing it for me, Sheri. To help me get past the awful time in Nigeria. He thought your island — his island — would give me a lift. That’s all. I would never —”
Sheri gave an odd, strangled grunt. “Since when have you needed help with that?”
“I’ve been kind of stuck back at home. I couldn’t just go back to my old life on the front lines, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do next.”
“And you figured a few whales and icebergs with my husband would do the trick?”
So there it was. Tossed on the floor between them like a sack of stinking garbage. The rebuke and bitterness. The unspoken jealousy. Amanda wanted to say Phil and I have been friends for a long time, since graduate school, and we’ve been through a lot together, but he chose you, remember? Without question, without doubt. But that wouldn’t be enough.
Sheri had piled almost the entire box of cookies onto a plate before Amanda reached out to stop her hand. “Sheri, Phil loves you. Always has. You were his rock during that terrifying time. But Nigeria wasn’t like other posts. You just don’t walk away from it. I needed a way to heal, and I know Phil needed that too.”
Sheri managed a brusque nod, stared at the plate of cookies and eventually heaved a sigh. Her words tumbled out, as if they had been dammed up for months. “Yes, damn it. I know that. I’ve tried to be patient this past year. Tried to keep our home stable and happy, for Tyler’s sake as well as Phil’s. But he shut me out with this fucking, monstrous wall. Everything’s hunky dory, he said. I just need a little time, a little space. Don’t nag me. Goddamn! I’m not a needy wife, you know that, Amanda. He said I didn’t understand, but I
