He Voted Me Off the Island, So I Left Him Stranded novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Vote on the Dock
Her fiancé breaks the tie that leaves her on the dock, and she cancels what she booked.
My fiancé's family voted on me in the ferry shelter, in front of a dozen strangers holding coffee.
It was the first morning of their island weekend, and I had been up since four.
I had booked the ferry, the crew, the groceries and every seat.
Three weeks ago Brant had put me in charge of the whole trip, and he had kissed me when he said it.
"Everybody gather in," his mother called. "A quick one before we board."
She stood under the shelter's heat lamp in her navy coat, holding a brass box with a slot cut in the lid.
She had thanked me twice that morning for the sandwiches.
"The family votes on a spouse before the invitations go out," his mother told me. "It's an old tradition, dear. A formality."
"It's a toast with paper, Fern," Brant said. "Ten seconds."
He squeezed my hand and let go to take his pen.
His cousin already had his phone up. He films everything for the family group chat, and nobody ever tells him to stop.
Eight adults wrote on eight slips and folded them small.
Brant's sister caught my eye, mouthed "relax," and dropped hers in the slot with a flourish.
I stood there with my tote bag and tried to look like someone who was being voted in.
"I always count these myself," Judith said. "Brant, you'll be my second reader."
She carried the box into the ticket shed with her son behind her.
Teddy, the cousin with the phone, followed as far as the window. The shed door stayed open a hand's width, and he filmed the two of them bent over the counter.
The deckhand from the Marigold looked at his watch and then at me.
I told him it would only be a minute.
It took six.
Judith came out first. Brant came out behind her with his eyes on his shoes.
"Four and four," Judith said.
The strangers with their coffee had gone quiet.
"A tie. By our rule, the last slip decides, and the last slip is always the one who knows the person best." She turned to her son. "Brant, darling."
He took a fresh slip from her hand.
He did not look at me. He wrote something with the pen resting on the bench, folded it twice and put it in the box himself.
Judith opened it and read it aloud.
"No."
My ears rang. I said his name.
"Brant?"
"Mom says it's the rule, Fern." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It doesn't mean forever. We'll revote at Christmas."
"You voted," I said. "You wrote it down and you voted."
"Don't do this here."
Judith put a hand on my arm.
"Nobody is angry with you, dear. Take the Tuesday boat, rest, and we'll all talk when the house is warm. It will look different in a few days."
The deckhand was standing at the foot of the gangway with his clipboard.
"Nine on the list," he said. "I count eight on the dock."
"Eight," Judith said, pleasantly.
He found my name on the list and drew a pencil line through it.
Brant went up the gangway first. My suitcase was already stacked under the tarp on the foredeck, next to theirs.
I watched it go.
The Marigold backed off the dock with eight Thornquists at the rail, waving at the harbor in general.
Brant turned once and lifted a hand. He was smiling a little, and he looked relieved.
I did not run along the pier. I did not shout.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.
Brant: Please don't make this a thing. Tuesday boat, I'll meet you at the dock. Love you.
I read it twice.
There was no Tuesday boat. I had spent a month on the ferry schedule, and in October the Marigold was the only large boat that crossed.
I had booked it myself. I had paid for it myself.
So I stayed where I was.
I opened the booking app with my thumb shaking, and the whole trip was there under my name.
The outbound crossing, finished.
The crew who had opened the island house, the groceries in its pantry, and the Marigold's return crossing, Monday at ten.
Beside the return was a small gray note.
Only the account holder can release this boat.
I was the account holder.
The Marigold cleared the breakwater, and I tapped Cancel.
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