Journey to cheshire bay, p.1
Journey to Cheshire Bay, page 1
Journey to
CHESHIRE BAY
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
H.M. SHANDER
Journey to Cheshire Bay
Published by H.M. Shander
Copyright 2022 H.M. Shander
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals, are entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored, in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written consent of the author of this work. She may be contacted directly at hmshander@gmail.com, subject line ‘Permission Requested.’
www.hmshander.com
Cover Design: Eleanor Lloyd-Jones @ Shower of Schmidt Designs
Editing: PWA & IDIM Editorial
Shander, H.M., 1975—Journey to Cheshire Bay
AUTHOR’S NOTE
At its heart, this story is about love, hope, and finding yourself. However, the journey there is often bumpy, unclear, and at many times, trying.
This book deals with depression and loneliness, and there are discussions about suicide. I’ve tried to be sensitive and delicate, but I understand these words could reopen past scars.
I trust you to know your limits, but to also remind you, you are never alone.
Suicide Hotline
(Canada) 1.833.456.4566
(USA) 1.800.273.8255
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Cheshire Bay Series
Dear Reader
Acknowledgement
About the Author
Chapter One
Suicide wasn’t the answer, and hindsight was always 20/20.
I knew this to be the truth, but in the present moment, giving a giant fuck-you to the people I thought were my friends and running away made me feel better. Made me feel like I had control.
Naturally, it was all an illusion.
I had control over nothing.
No one cared what I did with my life, where I went, or how I destroyed everything in my wake. My future, if I wanted a fresh start, beckoned me with the promise of something new. All I had to do was survive the flight there. It was now or never.
A voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Final boarding call for Air Canada flight 127, bound for Vancouver.”
Fuck it.
There was no time like the present.
“Just wait,” I yelled to no one, as I pushed through a thick crowd of people.
This new urge to take the reins and live the life I wanted – or at least try to – consumed me, propelling me down the lengthy corridors to the gate at the end. There was no way I was missing this flight. Too much was on the line if I had to watch the plane pull away and deal with everything I’d left in the aftermath of my disastrous failure of a life.
I increased my speed and threw my arm through the other strap of my backpack, pulling tight to stop it from slamming against my back with each bouncy step.
I ran double time, rudely yet apologetically pushing the people I was unable to avoid out of my way and screeched to a halt in front of the desired gate.
“Wait, please.” Breathlessly, I waved my boarding pass to the flight attendant at the desk.
“I need to see ID.” She clicked on the computer without a glance.
Beyond the window, the plane sat still attached to the jetway, the spotlight on her nose highlighting the blanket of darkness surrounding it. Thank goodness it hadn’t left yet. The potential for a brand-new start still lay ahead.
I rooted through the Coach knockoff I discovered in the bottom of a bargain bin at Goodwill, and pulled out my temporarily invalid driver’s license, presenting it with my boarding pass. As I struggled to catch my breath, I swiped my forehead with the back of my hand.
“Seat 34A.” She handed back my effects. “Have a safe flight, Iris.”
Cringing at the sound of my birth name, since I’d long used a nickname, I slouched as I struggled to regulate my breathing while I walked down the jetway. Damn, I was truly out of shape. The crisp August midnight air mixed with a touch of something unfamiliar; the scent of it getting stronger upon approach.
My legs suddenly froze at the sight of the heavy metal door resting off to the side of the mighty jet, ready to seal my fate. Once that door closed, there was no turning back.
My new beginning was just a mere five feet in front of me.
Could I really do it?
All I had to do was step on the plane.
Whether to appease the building ache or to remind myself I wasn’t important and had never been, I glanced over my shoulder to the stretched emptiness behind me for one more final check. No one aside from the flight attendant who’d just scanned my boarding pass was in view. Not a ‘friend’ not a ‘family member’.
“Come on in, we’re just getting ready for departure.” Another airline worker, with a nametag bearing Wendy, waved in a rush.
My hand shook as I held out the boarding pass, but thankfully, the length of the sleeve kept my tiger stripes from view, although she did stare at my hand longer than I thought was necessary.
“You just made it,” she said with a smile as her hand touched my shoulder. Her head bobbed as she attempted to read the shaking seat assignment, until she grabbed the paper firmly. “You’re at the back, on the right. Window seat.”
A cold sweat washed over me as I left the unsteady jetway and put my foot onto the sturdy floor of the interior of the plane. Passing through the high-priced business class, the passengers glared while I shuffled by their seats, as if I were keeping them from their destinations. But I hadn’t. I’d arrived just on time. Just. The flight wasn’t scheduled to depart for another three minutes.
I stepped beyond the elite seats, into economy where the seats were crammed together, but where most of the passengers sent less than a cursory glance in my direction. Despite the late hour departure, the flight was nearly packed.
The sign above the first section of tightly packed seats indicated row 14. Clearly, at row 34, I was at the far back of the plane, and I shifted my backpack as I inched, reminding myself to breath as I moved towards my escape.
The seconds to change my mind were ticking loudly.
Another flight attendant advanced up the aisle. “Seat?”
“34A.” My voice was as jittery as my legs were weak.
This was going to be a long six-hour flight across the country to my first stop in Vancouver. After a small layover and another short flight, I’d land in Victoria to spend a few hours until my cousin’s friend would arrive and fly me over to Cheshire Bay.
My new residence. No more living in my car.
My cousin Amber offered me temporary shelter and solace. It was the break I needed to start fresh.
The flight attendant walked backwards and pointed to the vacant window seat.
Just my luck, I was sharing the space with a guy about my age, and a decently cute one to boot.
“You can store your bags overtop, or under the seat in front of you.” The flight attendant pointed to both areas.
“In front of me is better.”
My seat mate twisted his legs off into the aisle, allowing me to squeeze into the tiny space I’d paid big bucks for. Dropping into my seat, I didn’t miss his cocked eyebrow, followed by a narrowed gaze as he tipped his head questioningly to the side.
What was his problem?
Avoiding eye contact, I tore my focus inward and begged my heartrate and breathing to slow down to acceptable levels. My heart pounded incessantly, not from the running, but from the rapidly fraying thread I believed was my future.
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted the unknown. Even though things were a disaster, everything here was familiar. The places, the day to day, the heartache of epic loneliness.
The growing ache switched from a dull pang to weak painful stabs, focused solely on my heart. Was this the end? Was this how I was going to die? From soul-crunching loneliness? At least my original plan gave me a false sense of control over when and how. But this?
It was too much, and I unbuckled, ready to get off. “I’m sorry, I need to go.”
The plane rocked, and I threw my gaze out the window to see what the hell was going on. We were leaving; the plane was moving backwards. It seemed the now portion of now or never had arrived. No turning back.
“Fuck my life.” I whispered as the tears welled up and blurred my view.
My head knocked against the head rest, shifting my messy bun, and I closed my eyes, unable to stop the wave of forthcoming tears.
Voices spoke overhead, pointing out exits and floatation devices, most of which I didn’t understand. All I truly heard was cabin crew doors flight position and cross-check, please.
That’s it, the doors were sealed, and my breath hitched for all that it meant.
“Hey, miss?”
I wiped a damp eye wi
“Everything okay?”
“Just frickin’ peachy.” The words rolled out lacking confidence but ripe with sarcasm.
Truth of the matter - I was a total mess. My stomach was in knots, and I felt like I was having an out of body experience, hovering and staring at myself from above.
“You look so familiar.” He tapped his chin. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Unless you were a regular at Del’s on 86, I’m afraid you’re mistaking me for someone else.” I ran my gaze slowly down and up him, not letting a morsel of recognition light up my face when it dawned on me who he was.
Truth was an evil bitch.
Whereas he’d changed and morphed from an awkward caterpillar into a handsome butterfly, to the point I barely recognized him, it was the crater above his right eye that gave away his identity. I knew exactly who I was sitting beside.
FML.
Karma wasn’t even close to being finished with me yet.
Chapter Two
This was going to be a much longer flight than scheduled. Not only was I terrified about my first ride in a plane as a grown ass adult, now I had to sit next to the nerdy guy I’d picked on in high school for the next six hours as we flew across the country.
Fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it was laughing her fucking ass off. What an unfortunate seat assignment.
I glanced around the cabin, trying to see if there were other vacant seats. All I saw were heads, lots of heads, and no spaces between them.
“You look nervous. Have you ever flown before?”
“Once.” When I was three and being flown to my new family. I didn’t dare look him in the eyes.
“You know, my sister gets like this when she travels and let me tell you, the first time she flew, well, she was paler than you. Actually, she was a touch green.” Hearing his inflections had a weird effect – they actually started to calm me. “What helped her was the vomit bag and some fresh air.”
“Are you going to crack a window?”
He chuckled. “You’re funny, but no.”
A green sweater filled my view, and a second later a blast of cool air was directed at my face. I slammed my eyes shut again as the tentacles of air wrapped their fingers around my neck. Surprisingly enough, it had the opposite intended effect of calmness, and I reached overhead to twist the air off.
“No, thank you.”
“Thought I’d offer.” He shrugged, a hint of either a New York or Bostonian accent in his voice. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Feel free to keep talking; your voice is easy to listen to.”
I cracked my right eye and stole a peek. The handsome guy in a green sweater with gorgeous dark hair had all the tell-tale signs of a fully blooming blush colouring his cheeks. Too cute.
He cleared his throat and stretched out his neck to look through the window on my left. “In a minute, we’ll be heading toward the runway.”
“And that’s where the fun begins, right?” Each passing minute took me further away from my living hell, and closer to what I hoped – and needed – to be my newly promised beginning.
He shrugged effortlessly. “For some. Most will go to sleep, this being a red-eye and all.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” I rested my head against the wall of the plane. The coolness seeped into my burning left cheek.
“I’m a night owl by nature, so I’ll just enjoy the quiet hum of the dim cabin and catch up on some reading.” He tapped the pouch in front of him where a thick brick of a novel was snuggly tucked in. “It’s Death by Black Hole, by Neil deGrasse Tyson. It’s a real page turner.”
It suited him as it looked like high-level nerdy reading material. Once a nerd, always a nerd it seemed. I shook my head and inhaled sharply while covering my chest. The ache was slowly diminishing, but it hadn’t gone away completely. The quick breath proved that.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Iris?”
Incredulously, I stared open-mouthed, my eyes widening in response, and he did the same.
“Iris Charbonneau! That’s who you are.” He snapped his fingers and mumbled as if he had been just as surprised at knowing my name as I was hearing it roll off his lips. “From St. Jude’s.”
Guess he remembered. Fuck me and my peer-pressure filled high school years.
“Holden? Holden de Lauer? Does that name ring a bell?”
A rush of regret blew threw me. It came like a slap across the face. Physics class, tenth grade year, some ten years ago. The nerdy dweeb who knew all the answers and was a nasty combo of both a brown noser and the teacher’s pet. Didn’t help that he was two years younger than the rest of us. Holden had been taunted by me and tormented by my group, until I was sent to yet another foster home at the end of the year.
“I thought you looked familiar.” A smidgen of surprise laced the tip of his tongue, not sure if it more or less mirrored what I was experiencing.
“Yeah.” Sure, I wasn’t the nicest kid in class, but I also wasn’t the meanest. Far from it. I only hurt with taunts and jeers, never in the physical sense. Sadly, my gang was responsible for those. “Small world, isn’t it?”
“It gets smaller every day.” His jovial attitude had marred a touch, but not as much as I suspected it would’ve. Or should’ve.
From the side of my eye, I glanced at my former classmate. Why was he not curling his lip in disgust? Why was he being kind and sweet? By all rights, he should be rude and mean; I certainly had been. What was his game plan here?
He shifted as the plane paused in final preparations for takeoff, pushing his back into the seat. “I suppose I should warn you, in case you don’t remember, how I ramble too much and, what was it again? I’m a know-it-all? I may fill your head with useless facts.”
Fuck me. He hadn’t forgotten a thing. Clearly, this was his plan – make me remember all the bad things I’d done to him. It was going to be a long, painful flight.
“However, if it gets to be too much, please just tell me.” He cleared his throat and tossed a quick glance in my direction. His features softened. “We’re both grown ups now, and I hope we can be civil towards each other.”
Although his voice was soothing, my heart was pounding too erratically, and my blood pressure had to be through the roof, a mixture bound to keep me awake for the duration of the flight without idle chit-chat of recalling all the stupid shit I did years ago. “Fair enough.”
“If my memory is correct, you were always one for speaking your mind.”
I cringed and turned away. Looked like things have flipped. Now he was the one being direct, and I was cowering.
However, he carried on. “But high school was a long time ago. It’s water under the bridge and all that. I’m sure you’ve matured, settled into your life, and grown up. I know I sure have.”
“Yeah, my high school years are far behind me.”
High school was the highlight for most people, excluding myself. I was a major shithead likely because I was treated as such. A vicious cycle of nastiness that only intensified until I ran away from that problem and dropped out of high school mid way through grade eleven to move out on my own.
A new ache pinpricked my heart for having been such a punk back in the day.
“But bygones be bygones.” He shrugged, and a weak smile filled his face. “Catch me up on the 411 with you.”
“No one uses that phrase anymore.” I held back a sharp eye roll.
“Point to you. Are you heading to Vancouver, or continuing on to Victoria?”
The plane started moving and through closed eyes, I breathed in deeply. “Even beyond that. A little village on the west coast called Cheshire Bay.”
“Never heard of it but visiting anything with a bay in its name sounds nice.”
I nodded in agreement and lifted a shoulder. “I’m moving there to lie low for a bit.” And that was more information spoken aloud than I’d wanted to share. Blinking away my stupidity at the verbal diarrhea, I scanned his unadorned hand. No ring, no tan line from a ring. Perhaps he was as single as I was. “Married? Kids?”
