Coming Home (Pierpoint View #1)

Chapter One - Summer

CHAPTER ONE

Summer

Welcome to Pierpoint View.

The old faded sign gives me the saddest of welcomes as the beat up Toyota drives across the border into the small town. The hammering rain and dark skies make the road ahead more eerie than I’d expect for a seaside town that was hailed the sunniest beach town this side of Vancouver. It’s only 6pm in mid-July but it feels like the middle of winter. The road stretches ahead, lined with tall trees; I might have passed the welcome to town sign but I may as well still be in the middle of nowhere. Not even a single street lamp is to be seen except for the one glowing dimly over my oh so warm welcome.

As I’m contemplating my decision to move myself and my measly belongings stuffed into two suitcases over 4000 miles across the ocean from England, the cab driver pulls to the side of the road and peers over his shoulder at me.

“I only have a little gas left in the tank and I have to get back to the airport, so I’ll have to drop you here,” he says, his voice gravelly as if he’d been smoking a pack a day for the last 60 years .

Not fully comprehending what he said, I glance between him and the road outside, eyes wide.

“Did you hear? I’ll have to let you out here.”

I take in the downpour outside, the grass verge, the woods, no pavement and no other car in sight.

“Are you serious?” I ask, hoping, praying, he’s joking.

“Nah, I’m sorry Miss. There’s not a gas station any further into town and I won’t have enough to get back if I go any further,” He apologizes, although he doesn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

I frown. “I asked if you could take me to Pierpoint View and you said yes! Why would you say yes?!” At this point, all decorum has flown out the window, over 9 hours on a plane with crying children all around you will do that to a person and this is the last straw, my breaking point.

“Ah, I did get you to Pierpoint, did I not?” A smirk appears on his smug, slightly wrinkled, face.

My jaw drops.

“Asshole,” I mutter, as I slam the door to his shitty car harder than necessary.

The cab drives away, the tail lights making the rain look even worse now I can see actually see it falling in sheets in the glow.

I can also feel it running down the back of my neck already. Great.

I open one of the two suitcases I’d bought with me, the insides instantly getting wet but I know I stuffed a rain coat in here somewhere last minute, thankfully. One customer warned me about the Vancouver rain on my last day of work back in England and right now I’m manifesting all the good karma for the sweet old man.

Once found and donned, I try calling the cab company, or at least finding another one online but to no avail, I imagine with all the rain everyone’s pretty booked up. My phone also chooses this time to run out of battery so my only hope is to keep walking and hope that this road isn’t as long as it seems.

With a sigh, I shoulder my purse, grab a suitcase in each hand and make my way down the road into town.

Despite the terrible weather, I find that I’m not entirely miserable. I’m still soaked, my favorite shoes are covered in mud — probably not salvageable — and I’ve been walking for what is surely at least 10 minutes and it looks like I’ve not covered any ground, but at least I can breathe. I’m free, I’m heading out on my own. There’s nothing in my way, and I’ve taken my life in to my hands and it may not be so pretty right now, but it will be.

Pierpoint View has one road in and one road out if I remember correctly from my research using the Wi-Fi on the plane. Apparently no one uses the road judging by the fact not one single car has driven by in the time I’ve been walking. And, thank god for small mercies, the rain has turned into somewhat of a drizzle rather than the full on downpour it was earlier, I just have to hope that all my belongings have been kept somewhat safe from the rain in my bags.

In the midst of my pity party, a voice breaks through. “Miss, are you okay?”

I hadn’t even noticed a car pulling up behind me, crawling alongside my trudging steps. I turn, shielding my face with my hand to look at the truck and the figure of the man driving it, it’s too dark to see anything other than a large silhouette leaning out the window .

“You know it’s raining, right?”

Did he just—

“Oh really? I never noticed.” Sarcasm laces my words.

“It’s also dark,” his gruff voice replies.

Really?

“I didn’t notice that either, thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re also walking alone.”

“Thank you for telling me things I already know.” I huff and turn back to the road to continue my walk. I am fully aware this is the only car that I’ve come across since the cab but I’d rather continue down this road than deal with his astute observations. They can go to hell. And what is with this guy? I am far past the point of caring about and dealing with another human being after the day I’ve had, and right now this guy has made public enemy number one, “ Oh its raining, its dark, you’re alone. No fucking shit—”

“You know, you’d think considering I’m saving your ass from a soggy hit and run, you’d be more grateful,” his voice calls after me, interrupting my grumblings.

I spin around and throw him my best glare. “You haven’t saved me from anything,” I retort.

“That’s because you’re being stubborn and not getting in the goddamn truck.”

I raise an eyebrow, feeling a droplet of water roll down from my eyebrow. “I don’t recall hearing you ask.”

Through the limited light, I can see him raise his hands in front of him. “Hey, I’m just trying to help you here but I can see when my help isn’t needed.” His window rolls back up and he speeds up from a slow crawl and drives past me, splashing me with a puddle.

I tip my head back with a groan and continue my walk, only to stop when I see the truck parked a couple feet ahead and the man walking towards me and I notice a slight limp.

Without a word, he grabs my suitcases from both hands and heads back to the truck.

“Hey!” I call, ushering myself after him, struggling to keep my purse from falling off my shoulder.

He opens the back of the truck, throws my cases in as if they weigh nothing and goes to get back in the drivers side, pausing, and turns to me.

“Get in the car.”

“Please,” I retort.

He doesn’t respond, just stares down at me. He’s very tall and it’s still dark but I can imagine there’s a frown on his face and I, rightly so, feel like a scolded toddler, so go to get in the passenger side. As I do, I swear I hear him say “brat” under his breath.

We both get in in silence. The truck smells new and I’m worried I’m going to ruin the seats with how soaked my clothes are but I figured he deserves it after being so pig-headed.

As we drive down the road, the rain starts to clear even more and my body starts to relax as the sound of the rain slowing against the metal of the care abates. I knew I was tense, my attitude said so, but I didn’t realize how much my body was feeling it until my body starts sinking in to the leather.

The car’s inside light is on dim, so I sneak a look at the guy. I noticed it before, but this man is big, so big he makes the truck look like the tiny car I used to have back in the UK. He’s wearing a backwards cap, his dark hair long enough to see the curls peek out underneath and a fairly grown out beard. He’s also wearing a red check shirt which puts a little smile on my face. How very Canadian of him, shame his personality doesn’t match the stereotype.

We make it all the way into town before either of us speaks a word.

“Do you know where you need to go?” he asks.

I turn to look at him. Now there’s more and more light filtering in through the windows of the truck from the lights from the far and few between between buildings and street lamps, he actually looks terrible, the lighting only enhancing the dark circles under his eyes. Terrible, but still handsome. Lucky son of a bitch. I know I look terrible, I don’t need a mirror to confirm.

I go to check my phone, forgetting that it’s out battery and try and remember anything from the email telling me about my new address.

I try wracking my brain but the only thing that comes to mind are the names of the people I’m leasing my apartment from.

“My phones out of battery…”

He side-eyes me from the drivers seat and doesn’t offer a response.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not Miss Perfect but I’ve had a hell of a day and it’s not my fault that I don’t know my new address by heart.”

He scoffs, “Yes it is.”

I roll my eyes, suddenly wishing I was back trudging through mud, hauling my suitcases behind me. He looks over at me for no more than 5 seconds and seems to take a deep breath.

“I need to know where I’m taking you.” His voice is marginally softer, I can still sense the annoyance but he’s trying to not be a jerk… I think .

I sigh. “I know, I’m sorry. Do you have a charger?”

He shakes his head. “Do you remember anything?”

“All I know is I’m leasing it from the Taylors and from the pictures it’s on top of a cliff.”

“I know exactly where that is.” Thinking he’s being sarcastic again because how would he know where my new apartment is based off that vague description, I laugh, half in defeat and half because I think I’m going delirious.

“What was so funny about that?” He’s looking at me like I’m crazy.

And then the realization hits me that he’s not joking. He’s being serious and he know’s where that is.

“You know where that is?”

“It’s a small town.” He shrugs as if that explains it.

“You live here?” If he does live here, I did not make a good first impression.

He grunts, “Used to.”

“I see.” I say, nodding my head. I clasp my hands together in my lap, and look straight ahead at the town as it opens up into what looks like the main street.

He heaves a sigh. “I used to, I grew up here. Moved away for work. You just moving in I take it?”

“Yeah, it’s actually my first time in Canada ever.”

“No shit,” he says and a small, seemingly sincere smile starts forming on his face.

Now the tensions have died down a little, and I’ve dried down a little and he doesn’t seem as argumentative, I figured now’s a good time to call it a truce and start over. Love thy neighbor and all that. “I think we got off to a bad start, shall we start over?” I ask.

“We both had shitty days and took it out on each other, huh? Well, as my peace offering,” He nods to the road ahead, bringing my attention to the still busy streets full of pedestrians and bustling businesses even though it’s now 7pm. “This is main street, its the main strip in town. You’ll find almost everything you need down here.”

“Where I’m from, any amount of rain would render the streets empty.” I marvel at how busy the street is still and how the businesses are only just closing down for the day. Back in England most places would be closed already, everyone back in their own homes for the night.

“That’s never been the case here, a town like this needs to keep moving or it becomes stagnant.”

“Is that why you moved away for work? It was just too… small here?”

He seems to actually consider my question, eventually shaking his head. “No, my job just happened to be out of town, and I guess if you ask me if I prefer a big city or this town, I’d say the town.”

Before I can respond, he carries on as tour guide, “So, to get to Highcliff Street, which is the name of your road by the way, you just turn left at this cross roads and carry on round the bend.” As he takes those same directions, I see that Highcliff Street is in fact, situated at the top of a cliff, and as the more we venture round the bend, I see weathered, pastel clapboard houses on one side, a steep drop down on the other.

“This town takes things pretty literal, huh? Highcliff, is on a high cliff. Main Street, is the main street...” I say rhetorically.

As we come completely round the bend, I notice we’re pulling up to a row of storefronts more suited for the beach and visually less kept than the ones on Main Street, not as modern, but they fit perfectly with their surroundings. My small seaside town in England is not so dissimilar, so I can imagine myself feeling right at home here, exactly what I hoped this place would be for me.

He pulls over into one of the spaces in front of one of the stores, “How did you know this is the address?” I ask. From the pictures I’ve seen and remember, this is definitely the right place.

He puts the truck in park, takes his cap off, ruffles his dark curly hair a couple times, yawning, before shoving the cap back on his head. “This is the only place the Taylors rent out on the cliff top. They have a couple other places on Main Street though,” he says, getting out the truck, slamming the door in the process, making me jump. Through the window I see him nod his head at me in the direction of the only empty storefront.

I hurry after him, closing my door more gently than he did. It smells of the sea, the salty air made even more prominent by the rain, that has, thank god, finally let up, with only a slight balmy breeze. Still not summer weather but a lot better than how it was earlier.