In Wonderland: A Combination Of Fact & Fiction

I pull my mind out of daydreams a few hours later after reaching out to Lucy and Lizzy to make plans with each of them and slog through a few more emails before I take a break, deciding to grab one of the bicycles that Helen left for me in the garage — the perfect kind with a basket attached to it. The shade sits in the basket in front of me, taking up permanent residence. Since I am supposed to be ignoring it to make it go away, I am glad that at least I can see through it. Still transparent, but present, like looking through the lens of a kaleidoscope. My hitchhiker preoccupies itself by swinging its bent legs along with the motion of the bike, while it looks at the world that I pedal past. Catching up the sun with the wind in my hair, I pedal south, up and down hills, stopping to look at the land as it rolls from sand to forest, and beautiful grassy fields, playing with the wind in my hands as I get myself lost for a few hours, filling my basket with little treasures, from farm stands and poking my nose into wildflowers when I find them. The shade sits higher atop my pile, until it stands atop it like my sentry, raising its arms out to their sides, its head angled up to the sun, catching the wind on its face, still without eyes or other distinguishing features. A clay model. An abandoned project some potter forgot about.

On my way back to the house, a woman gardening in front of a yellow house waves at me and calls me by my name, gesturing for me to stop. The shade hops off the bike and ambles away, disappearing into the woods. “Huh, well, that’s new.”

“What was that, dear?” She wipes the dirt from her hands on the grass and pats her salt and pepper hair, swiping wisps away from her face and offering a slow and soft smile. Clearly, she doesn’t see it. “Oh, just lost in my daydreams,” I tell her.

“How lovely. You’re Helen’s tenant, Caroline. Claire Landry.”

As I approach, she offers me her hand, a tidy handshake, and a nod as she appraises me.

“Do I look that much of an outsider?” I laugh as we shake hands.

“Only just,” she smiles. “I know a bit of everything about everyone here. We’re having a lobster boil here. I know Effie’s already invited you, but I wanted to be sure you also heard the invite from me. It’ll be around back — my boys are already setting up.”

“Thank you, I’ll be there. What can I bring?”

She waves me off with a soft ‘psh’ and grins.

“Just bring yourself and come and meet half of the island. It’ll be a good chance for you to get to know the Islanders and some of the regulars who come here.”

“Thanks. I’m looking forward to it. Your garden is beautiful, Claire. It’s making my green thumbs itch.”

Claire nods.

“I’ll be right back. See if you can figure out what those shrubs are. Go on and look around at the rest of the place.”

She walks around to the other side of her house, leaving me to wander through her garden. The shade is doing cartwheels through the grass, heading towards the ocean. I turn away from it to focus on what’s real. Claire’s yard is covered by shades of yellow paired with blues and greens before the ground slips into deeper shades of purple and red, a prism of flowers and other plants. I run my fingers over the shrub’s red flowers, which trumpet themselves towards the sky, and I gently dip my nose into one of the flowers to smell the sweet fragrance. Its headiness lingers. Spring’s flowers are in full effect and Claire’s garden is slowly transitioning into summer.

The garden leads me to a small grove of fruit trees and rolls south toward a grassy hill lined by a forest of maple and pine trees. Claire’s lot backs up to a farm on the east side. Upon her return, she finds me admiring the vegetables on the west side of her land.

“Do you do all the gardening yourself?”

“Most days, but my sons and their families come to dig in the dirt. And I run some agricultural clinics on the farm with the schools and local camps in the area.”

“Is the farm yours, too? I didn’t realize,” I trail off as we walk back towards the front porch.

“Oh, it’s been in the family for generations. We’ve been here for a long time. It’s how I know everyone. Been here since the early 1800s in some form or another. My husband ran the farm with me until he passed a few years back. We raised our kids here. It belonged to my parents before us and my mother’s parents before them. And so on backward until it wasn’t ours at all. Here, take some of these seeds,” she says, passing a small bag full of them to me.

“A little bit of everything. Plant these in the sun at Helen’s. She won’t mind. We trade back and forth with each other.”

I watch her hands move slowly and with purpose.

“Thank you. I’ll do just that.”

“Good. Come over on another day, and I’ll let you work the earth with me for a bit. It’s a good way to learn about each other, working in the dirt together.”

I nod, and we plan to do so later in the week.

“I’m sorry about your husband’s passing,” I tell her.

“A flawed man was he, but a good one overall. I miss him for the most part, my John.”

She pauses to pull a few weeds that have broken out of the soil near some blue Scilla and little purple violets growing around an old, moss-covered tree stump. I pick at the weeds for a bit until she stretches her arms up to the sky, shaking out the stiffness in her body. We carry our bundles of weeds to a can that leans against the side of her garage, moving together in silence for a bit before she continues.

“I took on the whole farm for a while and passed some responsibilities on to two of my sons. They do more for the farm than I do now, but I still run the programs with the schools and camps. The third is off on his adventures in New York. We see him for a bit in the summer. I miss him, but some children need to roam a bit.”

She delivers her last sentence as a hint, watching me to see if I’ll tell her more.

“That’s true for me. At least for a little bit. I needed a reset.”

Claire nods and says nothing.

“I’ve always wanted to come here and see the island for myself since I was a little girl, and it seemed like the right time.”

She is a proper gardener, I think with a smile as Claire studies me. She knows how to wait, watch, and listen.

“Well,” Claire says, “You’ll have to tell me the rest of that story. I should check on the boys and ensure they’re on schedule for the party. It was a pleasure to meet you, Caroline. See you later today. Bring your sand shoes and a good jacket and hat. It’ll get breezy tonight.”

She ushers me toward my bicycle and hands me a branch of the flowering shrub she snipped along our walk.

“Did you figure out what this is,” she asks, turning her head to the sun.

“Oleander?”

“Good guess, but not so. It’s Weigela, our Red Prince of the island. It smells wonderful and loves the sunshine. The trick is to prune it immediately after it blooms so you can keep it flourishing and shape it. Put this in a vase with a penny at the bottom of it. It’ll last longer.”

“It’s lovely. Thanks, Claire.”

I carefully place it in the basket and nudge the kickstand up, slowly settling onto the seat.

“I prefer to maintain a natural look. There is no need to overshape it and force it into some odd-looking box. Just a quick nip here and there, and let it do what it wants in between cuts.”

“Nurture the nature,” I nod back at her.

“Exactly so,” she says and waves me off.

I climb the hills, my passenger resting again in the basket, and the ride is smooth until a group of boys passes my bike, honking and hollering at me from their red truck, enjoying the view in front of them, unafraid to tell me so. I push forward, frowning as I watch them pull into a driveway and stare ahead as I pass them, pretending not to hear their comments. One of them looks rather mean to me. I pick up the pace and suck in my breath when I hear the sound of an engine as I lean forward, pedaling faster up a hill. I look for side roads that might lead me away from them. The shade stands up again and hops off the bike, circling to the back of it and begins to push me along faster up the hill.

“Hey, new girl, who’re you?” the mean one calls out as they slow down and drive beside me.

I grimace and look for the next driveway to pull into, wishing the mute monster behind me were real and would scare the boys away.

“Doesn’t want to tell you her name, Jay,” says one of the boys seated next to Jay in the back of the pickup. They should be in college instead of piled beside fishing poles and buckets in the truck. Not boys, then, but men who know better and don’t care.

“Guess not,” says Jay, his arm resting on the pickup bed as he leans over. “Is it the fish? We clean up good,” he grins.

I look at him, studying his reddened face. He sits next to a white bucket of emptied and unopened beer cans. His friends’ faces are slightly less red, making him the drunkest of the group. The shade has been collecting sharp rocks on the roadside and placing them in the path of the truck’s tires just ahead, continuing to put more rocks on the road.

“Not the fish that stinks — just the manners,” I tell myself, but I let them hear me. They hoot in reply. I recognize the predatory nature of their noises. The shade moves to one side of the truck with a jagged rock and scrapes it across, cutting deeply into the metal as it stares at them. They see nothing but me.

I kick off of the ground and ride, letting the bike pick up speed as I ride the slant down the hill of the road. I hear the truck’s tires as they kick up rocks and I turn my head to look back at them. The shade runs alongside the truck, throwing rocks at the windshield, landing a few of them well enough to make the driver swear and swerve a bit, but not enough to stop them from driving and soon the truck matches my pace, playing with me lazily, Jay taking the lead on catcalls. Words that are not subtle and meant to heighten my nerves and put me back in my place. Nothing we girls haven’t heard before. I feel the threat in the air, and my lungs hurt, but I keep my breath slow and look for a place to turn. The truck drifts closer to my bike as we round a bend, my shade continuing to throw rocks at our enemy. A popping sound behind my rear tire startled me, followed by another in front of me, with beer foam spilling quickly over the gravel. Jay laughs when I veer to the right, and my bike jerks to a stop before I catch the ground with my feet to steady myself. The truck stops in front of me at an angle that blocks my path, and I can see the driver’s side a bit more. The driver sets his brake and I think about pedaling versus running, while I try to look calm. Jay starts to stand, his friends following suit.

A driveway is just in front of me. At the end of it stands a man next to a green pickup, already watching us and telling the girl with waves in her hair, who stands next to him, to get in his truck. A face that I recognize. I yell out for Eric, calling him by name as loud as possible, ignoring the slight pitch in my voice and hating how audible it is to the men. Jay frowns, sitting back down, and his friends watch as Eric walks toward us. He walks tall and rangy, ready to move faster and lighter on his feet when needed.

“That Ben and Victor I see in the front?”

His voice is calm and slow. He approaches the driver and leans against the door, his hands folding over the open window. I notice the placement of his right foot and how he slowly flexes his right hand.

“Ben,” Eric nods at the driver, “You home for the break?”

“Yessir,” Ben answers, clearing his throat, his eyes not quite looking at Eric.

“Out fishing, I see. Catch anything back there, Jay?”

“Nearly did,” Jay sneers, staring at me.

“Well, you should try back by Dillon’s Pond,” Eric says without rushing. His hands are still, his body quiet, and his voice low. He is unafraid of looking any of them in the eye. Sitting next to Jay, the two boys in the back of the truck shift their hands in a staccato fashion.

“They’ve been biting better there. It’s a bit dry here. I’ll tell your Dad that’s where you’re heading, Ben. I’ll be running into your parents at Claire’s tonight. I expect you boys will have other plans tonight and won’t be there. Headed to the bars instead?”

“Wasn’t finished with my new friend,” Jay says, looking at me.

“I suggest you are,” Eric says, sparing Jay a look and giving Ben’s left shoulder a quick squeeze before he steps back.

Ben nods. Eric walks towards the back of the truck and shifts his weight to his right foot.

“See you at Mason’s, Jay?”

Jay’s face blisters red patches — fresh raspberries spreading quickly across his cheeks. One of his friends mumbles to him to let it go.

“Fuck it, let’s go, Ben,” Jay sputters, a bit of a slur now in his voice.

“Have a good day. Watch you don’t lose more of your beers on your drive. Be a shame to waste them. You know, Ben, you have a pretty good scratch on Jay’s side. Looks like a fresh one,” Ben says, brushing a finger along a long, jagged horizontal line that runs nearly the entire length of the pickup, deeply etched into its body. He’s right. It wasn’t there before. I look to find the shade, but it’s gone. Not real, I tell myself. Not real. Ben swears. Eric ignores him and waves him away.

“Drive safely, Ben.” Eric watches as the truck pulls away. Not real, I repeat to myself, watching the long scratch as the pickup rounds a bend.

“You alright?” His brown eyes study me before he bends to pick up the cans.

“You’re a southpaw,” I reply. He arches a brow.

“You know a few things about boxing?”

“One or two. Thank you for stepping in there.”

“Ben’s pretty harmless, but watch out for Jay. He’s a mean drunk. And a stupid one. The boys sitting in the back with him are lemmings. Victor is the question mark in that group. You on your way back to Helen’s?”

“Does everyone know who I am?”

“Almost everyone,” Eric says, looking at Ben’s tire tracks in the gravel. “I know each of them. I’ll let their parents know. That should keep things from escalating with Jay.” My shoulders shiver before I can stop them. He rests a hand on the bike and looks back at his truck.

“Let’s give you a lift. Alice has been wanting to meet you anyway.”

I look at Alice’s face, staring out of the truck. Eric waits for me to nod before he steers my bike while we walk alongside it. When we start to walk towards her, Alice grins and waves. Rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I smile at her and wave back.

“Not curious yourself?”

“I saw you already,” he replies.

“I remember. You frowned at me as I drove by. Not a fan of convertibles?”

“Not a fan of trouble,” he says, lifting my bike into his truck.

“Presumptive.”

“Predictive,” he counters as he adds the cans to a bin.

“I’ll remember that one,” I warn him before he opens the passenger door.

“I expect you will,” Eric says quietly.

“Scoot over, Alice, you’ve got company.”

Alice squeaks with excitement and moves over.

“Alice, this is Caroline,” Eric holds my right hand as I climb up. “Your sand-writing friend.”

“Hello, Fred,” I whisper conspiratorially, making her giggle. Eric steps to the back of the pickup to make a phone call.

“What’s your favorite movie? Mine is How to Train Your Dragon, except, of course, you can’t. We’re wild.” Alice roars and gnashes her teeth.

“D’you know, I’m pretty partial to Bedknobs and Broomsticks, as I am a bit of a witch.”

Alice’s eyes widen. “You are not. Where’s your wand?”

I arch my eyebrow and smile. “Who’s to say that I need a wand? My nose is magic. My fingers are magic,” I wiggle both to demonstrate.

“You’re a pretty impressive dragon, Fred. That was a good roar. What’s your Dad then?”

Alice shrugs. “Sometimes he’s a knight. Sometimes, he’s a troll.”

“Like Shrek, is he?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, “But mostly, he’s a very good knight. He has to play the bad guy sometimes, so I have someone to fight when we play. But that’s pretend because he’s just my Dad.”

I nod. “Of course. My Dad pretended with me like that, too.”

“Or sometimes I rescue him. We take turns. Girls do a lot of the rescuing. Do you want a piece of candy? It’s just a peppermint because Dad says chocolate is only for sometimes.”

“I’d love one, thank you,” I reply, taking the mint and unwrapping it slowly. I watch Eric end his call and circle back to his door.

“Dad, I gave Caroline candy, so I’m going to have one too because I don’t want her to feel alone in that,” she said, quickly popping her peppermint into her mouth.

He smiles, not fooled.

“That seems fair. Can I have one too? I don’t want to be alone either.”

Alice passes a third candy to her Dad while he checks her seatbelt, then mine, a small move that stills me.

“Right, let’s take Caroline back to Helen’s.”

“Then you’re taking me to Grandma and Grandpa’s so you can eat lobster with the grownups, right?”

“Exactly.”

Alice turns back to me, explaining with her hands moving as she talks.

“I’m going to have a sleepover with my grandparents. We’re going to eat hamburgers, watch a movie, and have popcorn with it. Grandpa said that I could have a s’more with him later. Grandma will let me sleep in the guest room with a light on because sometimes I still need the light on.”

“Sometimes, I still need the light on.”

“But you’re a witch — you don’t need to be scared of the dark!”

“Even witches get a little nervous about the dark, Alice,” I tell her. “But then I just cast a bravery spell, which helps.”

She looks at me, considering this. “Will you teach it to me?”

“Absolutely.”

Eric smiles. “I missed a few things, I see.”

“I’m a dragon named Fred, Dad. But you already know that. Caroline is a witch. She’s a real one! Can you believe it?”

He looks at me. “Do you think she’s a good witch or a bad one?”

“Well,” Alice studies me. I sit still for her, hands folded in my lap.

“I think she’s a good witch because she likes candy, and bad witches don’t like anything good, and candy is good, Dad. So.”

“So,” I add, sucking the mint between my teeth with a wide grin that reaches my eyes.

“Hmm,” Eric says. “I’m not convinced yet.”

“Well. She likes beds.”

Eric blinks.

“And knobs. And sticks,” I say benignly.

Eric looks straight ahead, unbothered, save for a quick bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Exactly! Oh, and brooms, too, Caroline.”

“Of course. Witches love brooms.”

Alice’s eyes sparkle. “Do you fly?”

I smile. “I don’t know if I should tell you all of my secrets. There’s a code of honor that I must follow, you know,” and I touch the side of my nose with a quick wink of an eye.

“Oh, of course,” and she mimics me before side-eyeing her Dad, who appears to have not noticed our exchange.

We settle into a comfortable silence as Eric parks the truck. Alice jumps out and heads for the chickens, clucking as she runs. Eric offers me a hand before I can hop down.

“Thanks. She’s wonderful, you know.”

His face cracks into a natural smile. “She’s already better than I will ever be.”

“I suppose that’s the goal when you’re a parent. But don’t sell yourself short. She seems to think you’re a good knight. Mostly.”

We trail behind Alice, my bike in tow, and watch Alice feed the birds while she talks to them about her day.

“Sir Daddius Bigglesworth. The name has evolved over the years. I used to be Sir Ronald The Duck.”

“Ducks can be brave.”

“Oh yes, furious wings when necessary. So beds and knobs?”

“Angela Lansbury. It’s one of my favorite children’s movies.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about that one. I’ll have to find it for Alice to watch now. She likes you, so she’ll want to learn all about witches now.”

“I hope you don’t mind – I’m a sucker for a kid with a great imagination. Being one of them myself.”

“I don’t mind. And I could tell. Gentle with the chicks, Alice.”

“I know, Dad,” Alice sighs, petting the soft yellow down of the baby bird that pecks at her hand. “Will you eat lobster at Claire’s, too, Caroline?”

“Yes. I’ve never been to a lobster boil before. What should I wear?”

“You could wear a pretty dress. But then you might have to swim because lobster gets messy and will be cold. Dad should give you one of his wetsuits. You should wear a hat. Claire likes hats.”

“Noted. I like hats, too.”

Alice considers this information while she locks the gate and waves goodbye to the chickens.

“Does Mom like hats, Dad?”

“I think so. She used to wear a cap, made me think of the Newsies.”

“I wore those, too. It was the thing in college.”

Eric ruffles Alice’s hair and boosts her back into the truck. No rings on his fingers, I think, noticing his bare hand.

“You need a lift to Claire’s today?”

“Thanks, but Effie’s picking me up with the rest of her group. I assume you know her too.”

“The whole island knows Effie. She’s been up here before. We kind of grew up together. This place is a second home to many people in the summer. Well, see you at Claire’s then. Maybe park your bike in the garage and lock up everything for a while, Caroline.”

“Already had that thought, thanks.”

“You can keep Dad company so he’s not lonely,” Alice offers, leaning out the window. “He likes to talk about music. You should bring your guitar, Dad. And Legos. He’s good at building things with them.”

“Alright, ear-hustler. It’s time to go to your sleepover. See you later,” Eric nods at me.

“I’ll bring a set of blocks with me,” I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes, and I wave at the truck as it drives off. Then, I locked the bike in the garage and headed inside to shower, locking the doors and windows along the way. Afterward, I watch the steam disappear from the bathroom, and my face reappears in the mirror.

“Thank you,” I tell the shade as it stares at our reflections. It studies us momentarily, and the sockets where there should be eyes seem to be more than just bones and skin. We look at our faces for traces of the men until they are gone. It nods at me before leaving the room, giving me privacy to dress in my bedroom. I find my brush on the bed. It was on the nightstand before. I sit on the bed, holding the brush in my lap, unsure what to make of the tricks that must be playing in my mind, and then dress in silence.