Come June [ h.s. ]

5

5
.

He spent the rest of the day getting better acquainted with the town. It was small enough that it only took him into the late afternoon. He circled through the streets, passing by antique and book shops alike. It was soothing to familiarize himself with a new place.

Indeed, this felt like a brand new chapter in the book of life, and Harry was rejuvenated.

Once he'd gotten groceries and some other housewarming supplies, he drove the expedition back to unload the cargo. It wasn't much-- milk, eggs, dry snacks, and whatever else could carry him through the week.

He figured that he wouldn't need much. Considering all of the establishments in town, he might as well spend his first few days experiencing them, and worry about everything else later.

What mattered most was that he'd finally made it somewhere that he could cast aside his inhibitions, and put himself back together. That was all he needed, really.

To put himself back together.

He wasn't sure how long it would take, exactly. Maybe tomorrow, maybe a week, maybe a year. There was no way to be certain. But Harry knew deep down, within his very soul, that it would happen someday.

When the evening had grown late, he found himself on the back porch watching the sun set. He admired the pink and orange that streaked the horizon. It looked like the paintings his mother hung in her kitchen.

Although he hadn't been to the coast in quite some time, it brought back many of his forgotten memories. It seemed like they happened so long ago, perhaps in another life. And as he recollected those fragments of himself, standing alone with the cool ocean breeze against his face, Harry sighed.

"Does it ever get better?" he whispered to himself, staring out across the water. It barely made a sound, just loud enough to be heard amongst the heavy waves.

He wasn't really sure what the question meant. A more appropriate one probably would've been, will I ever get better?

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He was afraid of the answer.

And after a few minutes more of staring out and the twisting, tumbling sea, he made his way back inside the beach house, with an unclear head and a lonely heart.

.

Eileen didn't live far from him.

She didn't live far at all.

He found this out when he decided to take a walk through the neighborhood the next morning. The air outside was cool and crisp, mixed in with the sweet scent of rainfall. Instead of a cityscape, he was met by the sight of charming little cottages and gardens, all of which were surrounded by lush greenery.

The reason Harry had set out on foot was unclear. He didn't have any clue as to where he was headed, nor did he remember Eileen's words from yesterday regarding her address. Something about flowers, maybe.

But that was all.

And so, when he left the Castaway on the morning of February 3rd at precisely 9:00 am, she was the last person he expected to see.