"Night," he said quietly, continuing toward the bathroom.
"Night." My voice sounded nervous.
When I made it to my room, I closed the door and then leaned my back against it, gasping as my heart followed a new, unsteady rhythm. The brush of his shoulder had lasted maybe two seconds, but my skin still tingled where we'd touched.
I came to study a community, but that one man is becoming the whole story.
***
The village center of Ironhook wasn't much more than a cluster of worn buildings arranged around a gravel parking area that optimistically called itself the town square. It was an indication the island once allowed motor vehicles.
After several minutes exploring the slowly crumbling structures, I spent most of the afternoon at the co-op, a combination general store and community center that served as the island's unofficial nerve center. There, I interviewed residents about infrastructure challenges and seasonal population shifts.
The sun hung low as I made my way back toward Wes's cottage, following the main path winding between houses built by people who understood that beauty was a luxury.
Most were simple Cape Cod structures, with cedar shingles silvered by salt air and foundations high enough to survive storm surges from brutal nor'easters.
"Young man."
A voice from behind stopped me near the intersection where the main path split toward the harbor. I turned to see Mrs. Lin, an eighty-year-old woman I'd met at the co-op, emerging from behind a row of beach plum bushes.
She was shorter than I'd expected from our brief introduction at the co-op, not much over five feet tall. She carried herself with quiet authority, creating a presence beyond her physical stature.
"Mrs. Lin." I shifted my gear bag to my other shoulder. "How are you doing? It was great to meet you."
"Well enough." She studied my face with dark eyes that missed nothing. "How are you managing in that house with Wes Hunter?"
"Fine. He's been very accommodating."
She made a sound that might have been slightly derisive laughter. "Accommodating. That's one word for it." She weighed her next words. "Hard man with a good heart. That boy saved my sister's life."
My pulse quickened. It was the first time anyone volunteered specific information about Wes. I leaned forward slightly, hungry for insight into the man who'd become such a puzzle.
"What happened?"
Mrs. Lin glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers. We were alone except for an orange tabby cat watching us from beneath a hydrangea bush.
"Last winter. Worst storm we'd seen in twenty years. My sister Emma lives alone in the cottage past the north point—stubborn old bird, won't move to town where people are around." She shook her head. "Caught pneumonia. Fever so high she was talking to our mother, and Mother's been dead fifteen years."
I remained silent, not wanting to interrupt the flow of her story.
"No ferry in that weather. Clinic was closed—Dr. Whitman couldn't get back from the mainland. Emma was dying, and there wasn't a damn thing any of us could do about it."
Mrs. Lin sighed heavily. "Except Wes showed up with antibiotics; he'd snowshoed over from the emergency cache at the south dock. He chopped enough firewood to last her two weeks and ran her generator every four hours around the clock until the storm passed."
"How did he know she was sick?"
"That's what I asked him." Mrs. Lin smiled for the first time since we'd started talking. "You know what he said? 'Saw her chimney wasn't smoking.' For him, that explained everything."
I imagined Wes checking the horizon for smoke signals that meant his neighbors were alive and warm.
Mrs. Lin continued her comments. "He acts like he doesn't care about anything or anyone, but when it counts, he's there. Emma calls him her guardian angel, though I don't think he'd appreciate the comparison."
A gust of wind rattled the beach plum leaves, and Mrs. Lin pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Her penetrating stare pierced through me. "Because you're living in his house, and you're asking a lot of questions about resilience and how people survive out here."
