The Storm and the Darkness

by Sarah M. Cradit

  When Nicolas was not out socializing, partying, or womanizing, he did not mind the quietness and seclusion of Ophélie. The estate was rightfully Adrienne’s, but Adrienne had let him do what he wanted with it, leaving to live with her husband Oz in the Garden District. She said she didn’t want the same upbringing for her own children, but Nicolas didn’t see what was so bad about it, really. Then again, he hadn’t had to experience the wrath of Cordelia Deschanel day in and day out; Cordelia, who was his mother but was not the mother of Adrienne and her three older sisters. His mother could be mercilessly cruel to anyone she thought minimized her own place in the household. To Nicolas, she had been loving, but she had been a nightmare for the four girls. The father they all shared more than compensated for it in the way he ostracized Nicolas, while placing his daughters on pedestals.

  But they were mostly gone now; a part of his past that seemed almost unreal. His mother, his father, and three of his half-sisters. They perished in a car accident, heading for a family vacation that Nicolas had not been invited to. Adrienne had escaped, but she had disappeared entirely, along with her memory. When they found her several years later, living a new life with a family in the bayou, she was no longer the same person. Rebuilding her life had not been simple.

  If Nicolas had to pinpoint it, this was probably where things began to change in his friendship with Oz. Oz had loved Adrienne. Oz still loved Adrienne, and now was finally sharing his life with her and their two children as he always wanted, but it had not been easy. Although there was still love between Oz and Nicolas, there was also a darkness–the kind that comes with sharing the burden of a tragedy together–that might never go away. Oz was the brother Nicolas never had. But, Oz and Adrienne’s relationship had always been a point of contention, because each man saw Adrienne through very different eyes.

  There would always be invisible walls in his friendship with Oz, but there was one person with whom he shared everything with; someone who, no matter what happened, loved him without judgment, or darkness: his cousin Anasofiya.

  No one but Ana knew, or understood, what it was to have everything and still be empty inside. Nicolas had never really been a part of his family. He was only a baby when his father decided to rut with the maid and have four daughters with her instead of his wife, Cordelia. His father’s bitterness toward Nicolas’ mother flowed the only way it could when it had to run over, and that was toward him. Likely Charles had not realized how unkind he was to his only son, or how unfair. Someone more sensitive than Nicolas might have taken that bitterness and then turned on the four sisters, blaming them for it, using that same rotten sort of deflection he had learned from his father. But instead, he was indifferent. Nicolas and his sisters were always divided by the ugliness that festered between Charles and Cordelia, and while he cared for them, he didn’t care enough to be a part of them.

  Ana and Nicolas had been born a few months apart. When Ana’s mother died giving birth, Ana was taken into the same nursery as Nicolas, and they shared nearly everything–from their toys to their solitude–from that point forward. They had even shared their friendship with Oz. As they all grew older, Ana and Oz grew apart when an attempt at dating soured, and Nicolas grew to love Ana even more when she was solely his. In many ways, Ana was the reason Nicolas never wanted to marry. She was the one person that knew him–truly knew him, not the person he projected to the world–and he didn’t want there to be anyone else in the world who had that knowledge.

  And now she was gone, and he did not know for how long. He supported her stated reasons for going. He knew her quiet anguish. He felt the build-up and the boil-over. They could speak without speaking, so no words were necessary. Nevertheless, he had said out loud that he supported her, just as her father had, though they both knew Augustus Deschanel had no idea. He didn’t know who Ana was; what burned inside of her, and what haunted there. Nicolas’ only regret was not offering to go with her. The only reason he could ever give himself for not doing it was that he was afraid she would turn him down. Ana was the one person he could not handle rejection from.

  Yet...something was bothering Nicolas. At first he chalked it up to his sadness at her leaving, but it started to develop into a feeling that was almost worse: doubt. Doubt that she was being completely honest with him about her reason for leaving. Maybe he was the real reason. He had never really given thought to what their friendship would mean as they grew older and started settling down into their permanent lives, but was it possible she felt trapped? That his friendship was somehow stifling her or keeping her from growing into the person she wanted to be?

  He was a Deschanel; a member of one of the largest, wealthiest, and most powerful families of New Orleans. It was a family of telepaths, telekinetics, healers, and seers. But Nicolas’s power started and ended with his occupation of the family seat, Ophélie; he would never see the future, or read someone’s mind. He was benign, and that never bothered him until now, when he wanted nothing more than to see into Ana’s thoughts.

  Nicolas shrugged off the worries, as he often did whenever something unpleasant dared to cross his mind, but they would come back to him from time to time. To make matters worse, Oz was acting strange–strange for Oz, anyway–and had blown off every invite Nicolas had extended. He said he had ‘family stuff’ going on, but Nicolas was starting to wonder if he hadn’t done something to piss him off. It wouldn’t be the first time. But Nicolas could not recall a single obnoxious thing he had done to Oz in quite some time. He hadn’t even blessed him with one of his famous practical jokes, or poked fun at what Nicolas called his “unfailing hero complex.” He thought about just asking him what was wrong, but in Nicolas Deschanel’s experience, what’s wrong? never led to anything good.

  Although he would never admit it, with the only two people he had ever related with acting distant and strange, Nicolas felt lonely for the first time.

  Chapter Three: Ana

  Ana had many talents, but cooking was not one of them. This fact had nothing to do with her privileged upbringing. When it came to most things, she was surprisingly self-sufficient and she enjoyed figuring challenges out on her own. But a relationship with the kitchen was not meant to be for Ana; she had no culinary vision, and any attempts to make anything interesting typically resulted in a call to the fire department. Most of the items in her pantry involved complex instructions such as “just add water,” or “microwave for ninety-seconds.”

  Ana realized it was better to admit defeat than starve, so she decided to brave the lack of hospitality from the locals and try takeout. Alex recommended Jack’s, which he said was the best burger joint in the state of Maine. And better custard than anything on the mainland, either. He said that about most things on Summer Island, that it was the best in the state. But she knew it had to be an improvement from what she was eating at home, so she decided to try it.

  Androscoggin Avenue, the island’s main street, started at the North end of the island and broke off into two roads about a half-mile from the South shore: Chickadee Lane to the West, and Heron Hollow Road–where Ana lived–to the East. If the weather were warmer and the skies not so dark, Ana would have enjoyed the walk into town, but instead she fired up her father’s old car.

  The old ’76 station was the first indication that she had left the residential area and entered town. Just past that was Flanders Grocery, and then further down on the right side were all the official buildings: Post Office, Library, Police, and City Hall. The rest of the “town” consisted of two unnecessary stoplights and a series of bars, shops, and empty buildings along the mile-long Androscoggin Avenue. In the center of a roundabout was a large Civil War-era fort. No one could say what the name of the fort had been or what glories it had seen, but the wood was rotting and putting it on such crude display only called attention to the strange marriage of the town’s pride with its unwillingness to spend money to fix anything.

  “Mayor Cairne’s been askin’ for money from Portland but e’er since we br
oke free they ain’t fixin’ to give us a dime,” Alex had complained to her. “Anyhow, drive the strip nearly all the way to Edgewater’s at the South Shore, and just ‘fore the road turns into a private drive you’ll see Jack’s. It’s small, but the red, white and blue stripes are hard to miss.”

  Ana was surprised to see so many people there. Jack’s was no bigger than a shack, with two windows–one for ordering, one for pick-up–and just as Alex had said, the building was painted in large, patriotic stripes. The parking lot was small and half the spots had erupted cement, rendering them useless. With the crowd gathered, she had to park down the road.

  Walking up to the window, Ana counted ten people in front of her. She sighed. Do I really have anything better to do? She slid in line behind a tall, dark-haired gentleman.

  He turned around and she recognized him immediately. It was Jonathan St. Andrews. Doctor St. Andrews, as the islanders called him, otherwise known as the town veterinarian, and the unpleasant neighbor she had been avoiding.

  He looked at Ana, without any expression or indication of his thoughts, for what was an awkward ten seconds or so. He then turned back around without saying a word. She blinked and stared at his back, trying to process what had happened.

  Ana’s instinct was to withdraw back into herself and go on as if nothing happened. She avoided conflict and awkwardness at all costs, and she didn’t want it here, in public, especially. But Ana was raised to be kind and hospitable, and the two weeks she had been on Summer Island had been anything but kind and hospitable. Jon’s childish behavior was at the pinnacle of this inexcusable lack of hospitality, and it could not be borne. Emboldened, she tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice unsteady, “I believe we are neighbors.”

  Giving a response that sounded more like a grunt than actual words, he continued to face forward.

  The blood rushed to her face, and her toes curled up in silent anger. Not even in New Orleans had she met someone who was so openly rude without cause.

  Ana took a deep breath and stepped in front of him. He couldn’t hide his shock at her boldness, but he quickly recovered himself, and tried to push past her again. “Ana Deschanel,” she said. She thrust her hand toward him, daring him to respond.

  His eyes darted to the left and the right for a moment. Realizing there was no avoiding it, he reluctantly took her hand and mumbled, “Jon St. Andrews.” He dropped her hand like it carried the plague.

  This was the first time Ana had seen his face in clear view, and she was surprised that he was not much older than she was. He didn’t look anything like his younger brother, or what she had seen of Finn from a distance. Finn was stockier of build with a raw, rugged earthy strength that went well with his strong features and ruddy blonde hair. In contrast, Jonathan was tall–much taller than she had realized before he turned to face her–with hair the color of midnight that looked soft and delicate to the touch. His face had the same softness, with only a few lines just around his mouth, reminding her of the wings of an eagle set to flight. He had the appearance of a man who has never seen hard days, but his eyes betrayed a much different truth. They were the color of emeralds, but had the depth of an entire forest. If not for the look of pure animosity on his face, she thought he would be handsome, in a dark sort of way.

  Handsome, though, was the last description she had on her mind now that she was face to face with the reclusive island vet.

  “So you’re a veterinarian?” Ana probed. She was enjoying his disquiet.

  “Yes,” Jon said, shifting uncomfortably. He continued to look past her as if he was waiting for someone, but no one came. His face lit up with relief as the line moved forward.

  “What do you do all day, sit in the back and play video games?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, I can’t imagine the veterinary business is exactly booming on an island of 200 people,” Ana clarified with a laugh.

  Jon stared at her and blinked with a slow deliberateness, as if trying to decide if he should bother with a response. “It keeps me busy,” he finally replied.

  “What, the video games or animal care?”

  He lips formed a thin line and he gave a short sigh of disgust. He was once again looking past her, at the line, willing it to move faster. The conversation was obviously causing him great discomfort.

  “Aye! Ana!” A voice called out behind her, and she turned to see Alex waving and heading toward her.

  “I see you’ve met our beloved veterinarian,” Alex said enthusiastically as he joined them in the line, clapping Jonathan on the back. Jonathan flinched and grunted, but Alex didn’t seem to notice.

  “Ya know, he is the first veterinarian this island has had in over 200 years?” She gave a polite acknowledgement and he added, “Aye, and his father was our only physician as’well. Family of medical geniuses, the St. Andrews men are!”

  Jon’s lips twitched again at the mention of his father. “‘Course,” Alex continued, “E’ryone was hoping Jon would be a doctor as’well. Ya know, Andrew St. Andrews was the best doctor in the whole state of Maine, you best believe, and he did a lot o’things he weren’t supposed to, like surgeries and whatnot, and right out of his own house! He did it out of love, ya know, love for this island and the people, and oh, Jon, you were his assistant back in those days, ya?” The question seemed rhetorical as Alex continued to go on and on about Andrew St. Andrews and his wonderful, but unorthodox, medical practice.

  Ana watched Jon as Alex talked. His eyes took on a darker gaze the more his father was mentioned. She still couldn’t read him, but could sense his unease. Ana found herself actually feeling sorry for this unpleasant man, as she watched his expression evolve from annoyance to pain.

  “Alex, I’ve been meaning to ask you, should I be keeping the cupboard doors under the sink open at all times, or just at night?” She was bailing Jon out, even though he had given her no reason to. Jon’s lips twitched into what might have been a smile, and he turned back to face the line.

  As it turned out, Alex was also dining alone, and offered to join her. She wasn’t opposed to some lighter company after that unpleasant interaction with her neighbor, so she accepted and they took the burgers back to her place.

  She didn’t know if they were the best burgers in Maine or not, but they were better than anything she had eaten since she arrived.

  After Alex left, Ana spent the afternoon returning emails from friends and family, including a handful from some of her students at the University. Seeing their names in her inbox caused a sharp pang of regret.

  Her father had been holding out hope that she would join Deschanel Media Group, but she did not have the heart for business. She was sorry he hadn’t had sons, or even a more willing daughter. It was looking more and more like he was either going to need to groom one of the cousins to eventually take over, or go public and take a backseat, though Ana could not see her father taking a backseat to anyone.

  When Professor Jones asked her to step in as a Professor of English, it was supposed to be temporary until he found someone else. Later, she would remember the glint in his eye when she accepted, and she wondered if he knew then how much she would love it.

  She missed her students, her classes, and the feeling of belonging that only really came to her when she was standing in front of a class, speaking about those things she knew best. Ana related to people most easily when she was helping them, offering them a bit of herself.

  Ana’s thoughts grew darker as her mind wandered back to all the nights in the Quarter. The routine was always the same: pick him out from a crowd (this was always easy; “he” was always the one scanning the crowd looking for the same thing she was), make eye contact, let him buy her some drinks, then back to his place. When she realized that this was not just an occasional thing anymore, she moved to bars in Treme, where she would be less noticed by anyone who knew her or her family. It was not the shame she might bring to her father than bothered her, it was
the shame she felt in herself...for not being capable of connecting with another human being in any meaningful way; for letting herself seek it out in ways that were dangerous and completely unlike anything else she had ever done or wanted to do. She had been fortunate to never run into anyone that she knew, or anyone that might have recognized her. At least, she had been until that last night.

  Was this what was meant by the Deschanel Curse? Many of the Deschanels believed that the family had a centuries-old curse brought upon them by a greedy ancestor who had sided with the wrong faction during the Civil War. Ana thought it was ridiculous, but sometimes, when she would wake up next to an unfamiliar face with an all-too-familiar headache, she wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it.

  Then there was this ridiculous “gift” she had been granted, simply by being born a Deschanel. Healers are rare, her Aunt Colleen liked to tell her. Aunt Colleen was a healer too, but her ability actually worked. When Ana laid her hand on another person and imagined their wounds healing and their body mending, nothing at all would happen. It only worked on herself; she could only heal her own cuts and scrapes. You’re not focusing enough, Colleen would say. If Ana focused any harder, she thought her brain would explode.

  If only it worked on my mind, and not just my body. What I wouldn’t give to fix that.

  Cocoa jumped into her lap and rubbed her face against Ana’s, creating a welcome distraction. Ana did not come here to dwell on what had happened. She came to distance herself from it, to figure out what was wrong with her and why she felt she could only connect to another human being through meaningless physical contact. To figure out why she had done what she did that last night in Treme, and if there was any way of correcting the damage done.