Evening Stars by Susan Mallery

afternoon had started to wane by the time Averil made her way over the bridge leading to Blackberry Island. Penny had slept for most of the drive north. They’d stopped at a couple of rest stops so they could both use the bathroom, and Averil had given the dog light meals. It turned out that Penny was also a big fan of burgers, so they’d shared lunch at a McDonald’s just south of Portland.
    Now they were nearly done with their drive.
    Averil was both relieved and oddly tense as she took in the familiar sights on the island where she’d grown up. As a kid she’d ridden her bike over nearly every foot of road here and had explored vineyards and coasts. She’d swum in the ocean, eaten at most of the restaurants and stands and knew at least one kid from all the local families.
    Blackberry Island had always been home. It was the place that made the most sense to her. It was where she always knew who she was.
    She supposed that was part of the problem. In Mischief Bay she had many roles. She was a reporter, a writer, a wife. In Mischief Bay, she was a grown-up. Here she was Nina’s little sister. Bonnie’s youngest. There weren’t expectations.
    In her head she knew that running back home wasn’t exactly a testament to her maturity, but she could live with that. The truth was, somewhere along the way, she’d gotten lost, and now she didn’t know what she wanted.
    About a mile from the house, she pulled off the main road and parked by the beach. She collected Penny’s leash and walked around to the passenger-side back door. Penny sat up, waiting for her. Her long tail thumped steadily.
    “So you like me now, do you?” Averil asked with a grin. “It was the burger, wasn’t it?”
    She clipped on the leash, then stepped back. Penny jumped to the ground and started to sniff.
    “There’s a doggie area over there,” Averil said as she pointed to the square of gravel just off the beach.
    Penny used the facilities, then the two of them went for a walk along the rocky sand. The air was warm, the sun bright in the sky. Due west was the Strait of Juan de Fuca. That body of water separated Washington’s northwest peninsula from Vancouver Island. Somewhere in the middle of the strait was the line between the United States and Canada. About sixty miles due west was open ocean.
    Averil remembered her friends staring out at the strait and talking about getting on a boat and sailing away. To see what was out there. She’d been less interested in leaving and found little appeal in the thought of days or weeks at sea. Nor had she wanted to go to UCLA. That had been Nina’s dream for her. But she’d made it sound so wonderful that Averil had agreed.
    Now she was home—whatever that meant.
    “I’m not making much sense, am I?” she asked Penny.
    The dog glanced at her and gave a tentative tail wag.
    “Come on, Penny. Let’s go face the music.”
    They walked back to the car. Penny settled on her bed, and Averil started down the familiar road.
    When she saw the house, her eyes began to burn. Nothing had changed, she thought with relief. Not the street or the neighborhood. Everything was as she remembered.
    Emotions tore through her. She fought against them, not sure if she was happy, sad or desperately confused. By the time she’d parked the car, she was crying.
    Nina opened the front door and walked out. Averil stumbled to her feet and rushed toward her.
    “Hey, it’s okay,” her big sister told her. “You don’t have to cry.”
    But it was too late. Averil hung on tight, sobs tearing through her. She cried without knowing why, but now that she was home, that was okay, too.
    * * *
    Nina stood in the center of the bedroom. Averil had been home all of thirty minutes. She’d carried her suitcase into her old room, changed into PJs and climbed into bed. From the looks of things, she didn’t plan on getting out any time soon. Nina had brought her water and a sandwich. Averil had consumed both, then stretched out with