As dynamic as any human character in the novel, the small, coastal town of Evelyn Bay is a motif that illustrates the benefits and dangers of small-town life. More vibrant than its swirling blue waters are the residents of the tiny village where locals hold down the barstools at the pub and townsfolk tolerate the yearly population swell of tourists on which the island depends. Just as the island town is subject to extreme weather, Evelyn Bay is vulnerable to libelous gossip, judgmental attitudes, and distorted views. Harper suggests that while small towns can feel like close-knit communities, they can also be suffocating and claustrophobic prisons for those wishing to live independently or to start over after making a mistake. Mia explains, “People get hurt when old stuff gets dragged up” (252). Though it exists on a coastline and not down a dirt road or sequestered in the forest, Evelyn Bay stands as a symbol of small-town life which on the surface can appear charming and enchanting but can also be oppressive and cruel.

What was once a vibrant, productive city is now a faded relic: “It hadn’t always been like that, apparently. Evelyn Bay lay sandwiched between native woodlands and the sea, and its fortunes had been driven by fishing and forestry back when Kieran’s parents had been his age” (12).