The Storm and the Darkness

by Sarah M. Cradit

  "I don't think your brother likes me very much," she said in earnest. "And besides, I can't rely on the kindness of strangers for everything. I did take your lobster after all," Ana teased.

  "My brother doesn't like anyone," Finn said. "And I hardly think we are strangers anymore."

  “Just because I threw my problems into your lap...”

  “Fine,” he said, looking intently at her. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before. Not even Jon.”

  She smiled slowly. “I’m intrigued.”

  He cleared his throat. “I...am afraid of the ocean.”

  Ana burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Alright, goodnight Finn.”

  He put his hand on the table and leaned in toward her. “Serious. I almost drowned when I was thirteen and I’ve been terrified ever since.” His hand moved instinctively to his chest, as he often did when thinking of his scar.

  “Then...why are you a fisherman?”

  “Because it’s who I am,” Finn said simply.

  “I think I understand,” Ana replied, smiling. "Maybe I will drop by tomorrow then."

  A nice brush-off, but a brush-off nonetheless. Or was it? It was hard to tell with her.

  She walked him to the door and when she opened it, the wind was blowing so hard they both had to shield themselves from the snow that came driving into the house. Boldness overtook him, and this time he did kiss her. He felt her stiffen at first and then her hand slid up and gently touched the back of his head, as she returned the kiss. Unexpected warmth coursed through him.

  "Be safe," she said and put her hand on his chest. Even in the harsh cold he could feel the heat of her palm. He slipped his hands over hers. “And maybe I will see you tomorrow."

  Chapter Thirteen: Ana

  For the first time in years, Ana felt exhilarated.

  Finn. She was used to seeing him daily when he'd return from the sea; used to the waves, and shared smiles. She was still reeling from the conversation they shared over dinner tonight. The kiss.

  She could very clearly picture his sandy, wind-tousled hair. The small scar above his lip. His brilliant blue eyes. The cut of his muscle under his sweaters. His small bullish nose. That smile...it was as if he knew something he shouldn't and wasn't telling, but it was so genuine. Here was someone whose life was so simple, no frills, and yet he seemed sincerely happy. He didn’t even flinch when she had shared her darkest secret with him. Instead, he had admitted that he was the same.

  Ana could still feel his hands on hers...roughened but at the same time soft like rocks slowly smoothed out by the sea. Finn was made for the labor of the sea, but that was not all he was made for.

  She recalled how his face fell a little when she turned him down to go home with him that evening...but Ana had spent the evening explaining herself to him so surely he understood? Despite that unlikely connection, she was hesitant to get involved with anyone when she had come here to break that behavior.

  Much as Ana tried to apply caution, she could not convince herself that what had happened tonight was wrong. It didn’t feel anything like all those other times, even though Finn fit the profile. Instead it felt...refreshing. Healthy.

  Ana had been so comfortable that she had very nearly blurted out, “Oh, and I come from a family of people with crazy abilities! I can heal people, sometimes, maybe!”

  It had never worked with anyone except herself. The doctors always saw Ana as a medical marvel, healing from wounds in a fraction of the time and never needing ongoing care for breaks and sprains. She had been hit by a car as a child, and the injury resulted in dozens of broken bones. She nearly died. She closed her eyes and slept for seven days, letting her “gift” work its magic. When she awoke, her bones were healed and she was like new again, as if the accident had never happened. Her father finally had to stop returning the doctor’s calls, because he was practically begging to run all the tests he could find to figure out how she had come by her miraculous recovery. It had taken a generous donation to the research labs to finally get them off his back.

  All throughout Ana’s life, she had never known the terror or discomfort from a terrible illness or injury. Though she could help no one else, she had always been able to help herself.

  Except...she had helped someone tonight. This unpredictable ability of Ana’s had worked with Finn, and she had no idea why.

  Ana caught herself cleaning the same dish for a full minute, or making long pauses in the middle of drying, as she recalled how his lips felt on hers. How he smiled at her all evening, and how she felt more comfortable being open around him than people she had known her whole life. The more she had talked, the less encumbered she felt. How was it that Finn had opened a window to a part of herself she didn’t even know was there?

  She didn’t know why she had told him such personal things tonight. Maybe she had hoped he would be shocked and horrified that he would leave, and solve the problem of any future awkwardness when he did find out. Or maybe she told him because she hoped he might react exactly the way he did.

  Finn was so different from his brother. It was like night and day. And yet, it was clear how much Finn loved his older brother. Ana had detected deep protectiveness anytime Jon’s name was mentioned.

  I healed you, she kept thinking. I helped you and I don’t know how I did it.

  As the snow continued to come down in relentless waves, Ana started to wish she had taken Finn up on his offer.

  Ana picked up the phone to call Nicolas, but she stopped short of making the call. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell him about tonight. She didn’t want to hear his jokes, or his smart-ass analysis. She didn’t want to ruin the way she was feeling, because she had no idea how long it would actually last.

  The one person Ana did want to speak to right now was someone whom she had never met and never would: her mother.

  Her mother’s story was not a happy one, but so much of it remained unknown to Ana. She knew her mother Catherine–born Ekatherina Aleksandrovna Vasilyeva–had fled the USSR in 1970 when she was nineteen, leaving her family behind in the hopes she could make enough money as an au pair to send for them. It was immediately clear she was not qualified for that job, but the family she worked for recognized that she did have a head for business. They enrolled her in accounting school, at their own cost.

  Catherine joined Deschanel Media Group in the winter of 1972 as a junior accountant. By that time, the magazine–simply called, Deschanel–had started to grow in popularity and printing outside of the city. Within a year of Catherine’s hiring, the magazine expanded beyond the United States and was being printed across Europe. They had two offices in New Orleans, one in New York, and were looking at one in London. Ana’s father, Augustus, was just twenty-three.

  The same year they were looking at an office in London, 1973, Ana’s parents were married. The story of their courtship had never been shared with her. She did not know if there was any romance, or love, or how it had even started. Pictures from their brief marriage showed her father happier than she ever saw him in later years. His body language suggested he liked to keep his wife close, and Ana saw a warmth in him that was unfamiliar to her. Ana had asked a lot about her mother, but there were only a few things he would say to her; only that her mother was a very, very smart girl, that she was valuable to the company, and that Ana looked just like her.

  Just before Catherine became pregnant, her young sister, Anasofiya, died in Russia from pneumonia complications at the age of fourteen. Ana’s mother was heartbroken, and felt that she had failed her family in not being able to bring them over soon enough. Early in the pregnancy, she decided that her daughter would be named after her sister. Ana’s name on her birth certificate had been Anasofiya Aleksandrovna Vasilyeva Deschanel, named after the aunt she had never met.

  Catherine died after birthing complications with Ana. Augustus worked to start her parents’ immigration process after Catherine passed, but it wasn’t until after the fall o
f the USSR, in the early 90s, that he was able to bring them over to the U.S. to stay permanently. They moved to New York to be closer to other family members that had emigrated earlier. Ana’s stepmother, Barbara, had tried to keep the connection alive for Ana, but the Vasilyevs spoke very little English and so the relationship existed only superficially through cards and letters. Ana only met them once.

  Ana loved her stepmother, but Ana could not confide in her any more than she could confide in anyone. She always imagined that if her mother had lived, they would have been close, the best of friends, and maybe, just maybe, Ana might have turned out differently.

  But if Ana was anything, she was a realist. Her mother was not here, and Ana was who she was. She didn’t know if tonight should give her hope, or just be another reminder of what life could have been like had things simply been different.

  Ana finished with the kitchen, and as she was getting ready to turn off the lights and head upstairs, she noticed something shiny on the edge of the counter. Keys. Not hers.

  She examined them. There was an old, battered anchor, and several keys of varying sizes. It was obvious they were Finn’s, but she had no idea how important they were. For all Ana knew, they could be keys to his storehouse, or whatever it was he was worried about with the storm. He was probably searching his pockets right now for them.

  Ana decided to give him a call, and then realized that she did not have his phone number. She searched desks and cupboards for a phone book, but there didn’t appear to be one in the house. She flipped open her laptop to search online, but the small light on her wireless data card was red, and with a glance outside, she knew why. Remembering Alex, she called him, hoping he would have the number, but he wasn’t picking up.

  She stood in the middle of her kitchen, at a loss. This is so silly, she thought. I’m going through all this to figure out how to get ahold of my next door neighbor.

  Ana glanced over the sink, through the window, at the snow that was coming down relentlessly, resolving that it would be easier to go over there now than it would be later. Finn had shown her a kindness tonight and she knew that this was the least she could do to repay it.

  She pulled her sweater over her head and slipped into the heavy winter coat purchased for her time in Maine. Glancing back, she switched off the lights, unsure of how long she would be gone. When Ana opened the door, the wind gusted into the room so hard that it nearly blew her backward. And people here are used to this.

  Although Finn lived next door, there was no easy way to get over to his property. Going down the driveway was actually longer because the roads did not intersect for almost a quarter mile, and then she would have to double back. But going across the properties from the waterside was hilly and rocky. It would not be easy with several inches of snow covering the ground. She reminded herself that there was nothing extraordinary about snow in Maine, and started out toward the St. Andrews property.

  It grew colder with each step away from her warm home. Ana had traveled all over the world, but snow was still foreign to her. Trudging through close to four inches of it–and counting–felt very real. Even the locals did not spend time outdoors in this weather, Finn had told her.

  About a hundred feet from home, she considered that maybe if the keys were that important to him, he'd just come back over and get them. But what if he doesn’t realize until morning, when we are all snowed in?

  Ana reached the edge of her own property, and could see, hear, smell, and feel the ocean as it responded to the thrust of the winds and snow. It seemed to her that the gods themselves were crying out. Was this really what they were used to here? And was she really going to have to deal with this for the long winter ahead? Stop being such a wuss, she told herself. Its snow, and I’m only going next door. I’m embarrassing myself.

  Ana approached the rocks that separated their properties, before sloping down into the small outcropping of shore. She would need to go slow here, and tread carefully, or she could slip very easily and hurt herself, especially since the rocks were already covered in a white blanket of snow. She crouched down, thinking how silly she would look if anyone were watching, and used both hands and feet to pull herself across the rocks. Her hands were freezing and she wished she had the sense to buy gloves. Her feet struggled to find bearing as she moved across each rock, slowly, cursing herself for not waiting until the storm had subsided. She could not see more than a foot in front of her and after a few minutes of this she was no longer even sure which direction was the right one. Not even the lighthouse was visible. All she could see on all sides of her were rocks and the blinding white of the snowstorm.

  Well this is a fine mess girl, was Ana’s last real thought before things went bad. Her foot gained, then lost, traction on the rocks, her hand instinctively reaching for anything solid to regain her balance. Finding nothing but snow, her hands flailed, and her other foot lost grip. Suddenly she was sliding, then falling, and then everything went black.

  Chapter Fourteen: Jonathan

  Jon watched his brother come in, late, smiling. A girl, most likely, although Finn picked a poor night to be out playing around.

  "You're home just in time," Jon said, as he settled Mr. Jenkins down in front of the fireplace. The dog heaved one shuddering sigh and then settled back into his normal, sleepy breathing. "Some of the roads are closing."

  "I wasn't on the roads," Finn responded, flinging the snow off. Jon realized that he had seen Finn's truck in the driveway when he pulled in earlier. "But I could have told you they'd be closing them soon. My guess is they'll be closed for a while."

  Finn sat down next to Jon, taking in the full heat of the fire. Their father had installed central heating years ago in the old house, but both boys always loved the natural warmth of a nice, crackling fire.

  "You were next door," Jon said. It was not a question. He worried this might happen. He looked around to make sure Finn had not brought her home, and was relieved to see he was alone.

  "Don't worry, your sanctuary is safe. She said she'd prefer not to come home with me." He added, as if purely to gauge a reaction, “She said you don't like her."

  Jon grunted. "Don't like her? I don't know her."

  "Don't want to, is more like it."

  Finn took off his wet socks and tossed them in Jon’s direction. Jon smacked them away in annoyance. “You're right, why would I want to, when she's leaving soon?"

  Finn looked around the room, then stated sarcastically, "I don't see anyone else here, Jon. Just you and me. No need for pretense."

  Jon made a sound under his breath, then stood up, heading towards the kitchen for a glass of water. "When is she leaving, anyway?"

  "She doesn't know. Maybe never."

  "Or until her daddy decides to pull back the funds."

  "You can be a hermit all you want Jon, but you don't have to be an asshole." Finn’s smile disappeared. He shoved his cold feet dangerously close to the fire. "She owns that house herself, and she’s here for her own reasons."

  Jon finished drinking and, feeling unusually reckless, dropped his glass into the sink. The loud clink echoed. “Defending her now?" he taunted. "Must be serious." Teasing was better than being teased.

  "You really need to blow off some steam,” Finn said in disgust and left the room, knocking the mocking smile off Jon's face and leaving him feeling like he'd gone too far. Teasing was also easier than being reminded of who he was. He was being unfair to his little brother...Finn might tease Jon, but he also protected him. Finn was the one who would make an excuse for Jon when he was feeling unsocial before an event. Finn was the one who bought the groceries, and made the phone calls that needed to be made, bailed Jon out of awkward conversations. People always called Jon the smart one, but Finn was smart too, usually in ways that mattered more.

  Jon found Finn near the back door, slipping into a dry coat. He was starting on the boots and snowshoes, when he looked up and saw Jon standing there. "I could use some help with the tanks,” Finn said,
as a peace offering. “If we shovel the dock and the ramp, we should be able to get them up here safely." Jon knew Finn was disappointed in himself, and he heard what Finn didn’t say: He should have done this earlier, instead of spending an evening with Ana. He should have kept Jeremiah a little longer and moved the goods before the snow hit. Jon saw no point in hammering his guilt.

  Jon laced up his own boots, and bundled into his thick jacket, scarf, gloves, and finally his fur hat. Finn was already out the door with the snow shovel by the time he finished, and so, without needing conversation, Jon went around the side of the shed to get the snow thrower. This was work they had been doing together for years, and even with experience it was long and hard work. It could be midnight before they finished plowing and moving everything. But the town would be shut down tomorrow. The brothers would have all day to rest and recover, maybe longer. This might be the storm that shut the island down for most of the winter.

  They shoveled in companionable silence. The snow was coming down so densely it muffled the sound, making talking pointless. Jon glanced to the East, toward Ana’s house. He wondered what had happened that evening between her and Finn. Finn was smiling big enough when he came home, yet she hadn’t agreed to join him.

  Not because of him, you ass. Because of me. Jon felt badly about that, but overpowering his guilt was relief that she had stayed in her own home. She might have been stuck with them for days. Maybe that's what Finn wanted.

  He wondered sometimes if he was the reason Finn stayed on the island. Finn talked a lot about how he loved the sea, and his routine, and the simplicity of his life, but Finn had a spark in him too. Despite his efforts to convince himself, and the island, otherwise, Finn was more than just a fisherman. There was a burst of life in Finn, just as there was a darkness in Jon. He felt a twinge of guilt, recognizing his role in Finn’s decision to never cultivate that part of himself. Finn is a man grown and old enough to decide his own future, he told himself, unconvincingly. If he wants to leave, he can leave.