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The island is gearing up for the busy summer season. There’s a job posted for a waitress, a housekeeper, a construction worker, and here’s one: “Manager wanted for Salt Spring Island Resort. Please send résumé and letter of introduction to info@SaltSpringResort.com.”
I pull up my old résumé, archived in my Hotmail account. I make a few adjustments and attach it to an e-mail. I find myself writing that I’m very interested in the position, and that I love Salt Spring Island.
I click send, and the e-mail disappears. The screen says: “Your e-mail has been sent.” There’s no going back. I turn everything off and head back home, where Scott’s waiting for me. I tell him about Mrs. McKinley and the wood he needs to bring for her tomorrow. I don’t tell him about the ad I saw or the e-mail I sent. I keep them to myself, and they drift through my mind as I fall asleep.
Sunday morning I read books to Morgen and sip my coffee, and I wonder if there’s an e-mail reply waiting for me. I resist the urge to drive to the station to check, and I focus my attention instead on the day. Morgen and I bring Scott some coffee, and we sit in bed and chat until he gets up. We color pictures and play a board game, and that evening when we sit down to a meal of mashed potatoes and canned corn, we go around the table to share what we’re grateful for.
“I’m grateful for my family,” Morgen says.
“Me too,” Scott and I both agree.
Monday morning I find an e-mail message waiting for me. I click on it, certain it’ll say thanks for the inquiry, we’ll be reviewing applications shortly. But instead the e-mail is from a woman named Kayla who’s very interested in meeting me and wants to know if I have plans to visit the West Coast over the next couple weeks. I hit reply and tell her I’ll be there next week.
The rest of the day drags by, and when Scott gets home that night, I have a glass of wine already poured for him.
“Okay, listen,” I say, handing him the glass. “I know you aren’t crazy about moving, and I’m not saying we have to, but there’s an opportunity that I think we should at least look into, okay?”
“What is it?” His tone is tentative, but not exactly disapproving.
“A resort. On Salt Spring. They’re hiring a manager and I sent them my résumé and they want to meet me.” I’m careful not to let my voice get too excited.
“Salt Spring?”
“Yes. I’d make enough to support us all.”
“That’s a big move.”
I take a long, slow breath, trying to figure out what to say next. I know how he feels. It is a big move. We’re settled here. It seems crazy to want to uproot and move two thousand miles away. But it’s an opportunity to access the life I’ve been dreaming of and searching for all these years.
“Will you at least give it a shot?” I ask. “Can we go check it out? I promise, if we go out there and you don’t like it, we won’t move there.”
“We can’t afford a trip out there. Flights and hotels.”
“I have a thousand dollar bond,” I tell him. “I’m going to cash it in.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? You’ve been holding on to that bond forever. This is what you want to spend it on?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. What’s the website? I’ll go to the library tomorrow and check it out.”
I was hoping for an answer tonight, but I force myself to smile and write out the web address without pushing it more. The one last thing I permit myself to say is a little request for him to also Google Salt Spring and look at the pictures.
“You’ll love it,” I say. “It’s so nice there!”
The next day I walk down to the credit union and present my Canada Savings Bond to the teller. “Can you cash this for me?” I ask.
“I’ll have to check with the manager.”
I wait, thinking about all the times I’ve thought about cashing this bond in. All the years, all the struggles. So many times I resisted cashing it in because it was my security, my fallback. Through it all, all these years, it has given me an option. And that option was hope. I’m so grateful for that. But now, it’s time to use it. Now, faced with this opportunity, I know without a doubt that this is what I’ve been keeping it for.
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