“Does it help her?”
“Yes, it helps her.” Lying.
Later. “The storm is over.”
Later still. “A week. It has been a week.”
“I can’t…”
Images of black and grey cells blooming into pink and white, healing, multiplying. Yes, sleep Ana. Heal.
Soft fur against her arm…a gentle purr. Warm cotton...warm breath on her neck...hands twined in hands. Familiarity. Warmth. Confusion. Safety.
Deeper, deeper. Sleep. Heal.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Finnegan
When was the last time Finn used the word love?
He loved conquering the sea. He loved the little island where he had been born and raised. He loved the taste of coffee from Tim Horton’s. He loved a lobster roll (when he was the one making it). He loved his brother Jon. Had loved both of their parents. When had he last said it, though?
Yesterday. To her. Well, kind of. To her sleeping body, he had said it, with no response other than the same light breathing he’d heard for a week. Was he a fool? He had feelings for a girl who wasn’t even awake.
Being in love was unappealing to Finn, on many levels. He had his life all figured out. His days were his own. He chose his commitments. He did not have to compromise. He never had to think about whether or not his decisions would affect others, or make promises to change who he was. Jon had no expectations of him whatsoever. His dog, Angus, only required Finn to feed him twice a day, and give him the occasional dose of affection. Finn had a low maintenance lifestyle, filled with the few things he cared about, and that was just how he liked it.
Angus. That had been a defining moment for Finn, when Angus had warmed up to Ana. Angus was the nicest dog in the world…to Finn and Jon. To everyone else, he was Cujo’s bigger, uglier cousin. He would bark at everyone when he was taken for walks, would pee on someone’s foot if they lingered too long to talk, and would growl like a wild predator if someone came to the door. In reality, Angus was the gentlest dog on the whole island, and everyone knew it, except Angus, who thought everyone was actually terrified of him.
After the first night, Finn went down to get something to eat and when he came back, Angus had wiggled his oversized body under the covers and was cuddling with her. Cuddling! His head rested on her chest, and his eyes dared Finn to move him.
Angus ultimately did relent in giving Finn his spot back, opting to curl up at the foot of the bed, on the floor, guarding. Each time Ana stirred, which was often, his ears would perk up hopefully. Angus continued his patient vigil despite nothing ever happening.
Finn had talked to her, read to her, even sang to her (only when he was sure Jon was sound asleep), and told her stories. Lots of stories. He told her embarrassing stories form his youth. He talked about Jon...his father’s practice...his mother’s patient instruction...the people they grew up around. He talked about his books.
Sometimes, forgetting that their conversations weren’t interactive, he’d laugh at parts of the story where she should be laughing, or pause for reactions. When he realized a response wasn’t coming, he’d just chuckle and keep going.
He even told her about his “first” (Andrea McElroy; sister to Jackson McElroy, the co-owner of Mr. Jenkins downstairs). After that rolled off the tongue with relative ease, he actually told her about Tara, his college girlfriend. Tara was the only girl that Finn had ever used the word “love” with, but she was also the one who opened his eyes to what his future love life would be: a series of casual encounters. What was it she had said when they broke up? That Finn going to college for a degree in literature was like putting a pig in a tuxedo. Tara thought he was trying to be something he was not. He never understood this point of view. His mother had taught him that he could be, and have, anything he wanted.
Finn talked a lot about what they would do when she woke up. He was going to take her out on his boat and show her the sea; how to set the traps, buoy the trawl. He wanted to take her all over the island and show her the hidden spots that visitors normally missed; take her to the old mill and the granary, and the forgotten lake just beyond. Up to the old, haunted lighthouse. He would make plans, saying, “And then on Friday we can…” as if stating it out loud would make it happen; would make it real.
And what if she woke up and wanted nothing to do with him? He didn’t allow that passing thought occupy his mind for more than a heartbeat.
Finn continued to plow the path. Scoop, lift, backup, dump, down again, scoop, lift, repeat. Even through his protective winter gear, he was chilled to the bone, shivering. Finn knew he would have to do this job in shifts or risk getting sick. The storm was over, and the air was still, but it was a biting cold. The snow had a thin layer of ice on top from the freezing rain that came at the tail end of the storm.
He wondered if Ana had family they should call. He had mentioned it to Jon, but his brother had rejected the idea, reminding him that until Ana woke up, they would have no way of getting that contact information.
Jon had been very attentive to her medical needs, and was diligent about keeping her fed, hydrated, and her wound dressed, even if he was unnecessarily methodical and cold about it. Finn laughed to himself, imagining his brother, upstairs, awkwardly staring at the wall while sitting by her side.
Off to the East, past Ana’s house, Finn could see the Auslander home, and what looked like Hans standing on the porch, looking his way. Although the house was a good quarter mile away, the view was clear, and Finn waved. Hans did not wave back, but continued looking in Finn’s general direction.
“Such odd people,” he muttered to himself.
He didn’t think about it for long. His mind kept wandering back to Ana. When would she wake up? When she did, what would happen?
Chapter Twenty-Six: Jonathan
Day eight of Ana’s long rest came and went without ceremony, but the elapsed time was not lost on Jon at all. The longer the girl remained in her deep sleep, the potential for things to go wrong only increased.
Though the phone lines had been down for days, it would not be long before Whitman could get his truck across the island. The only reason Jon thought the Auslanders hadn’t found a way over, was their lack of mobility in their older years. Alex had been taking care of their errands for several years now, and they hardly ever left the house except for town events. Gertrude only allowed Alex to help begrudgingly. Grocery shopping was a chance to chat with the other busybodies about the latest town gossip. She may have given up weekly marketing, but she’d never give up the chance to socialize in larger settings. Even so, she and Hans hardly got out of their chairs regardless of where they were.
Jon wondered how much her desire to be nosy and “helpful,” could or would overcome her better sense. Finn seemed to think there was another storm coming, and for the first time in his life, Jon welcomed it.
Jon lived in a constant state of anxiousness, between Ana’s continued sleep, her miraculous and medically impossible healing, and the growing concerns regarding fellow residents. He was constantly restless and helpless, not knowing when she would wake up and if she did, if she would even be all right. And the dread at every sound the house made…wondering if someone was on their porch, be it Alex or Gertrude, or Sheriff Horn...
He couldn’t resist the urge to continue studying her wound. Even the pink scar tissue was fading, and if he could believe what he was seeing, she might not even have a scar in a few days. I am losing my mind. Finn doesn’t see it, so I must be going crazy. There’s no other explanation, because it’s medically impossible.
Another thing was plaguing Jon: their lack of resources.
Finn spent the entire day prior plowing his way to the boathouse. Unfortunately, his efforts were for nothing, as he discovered the storm had blown the doors down, and spilled the tanks. Most of the lobster had perished, rendering them inedible.
“Weeks of fishing, gone.” Finn was angry, and in one of his rare melancholy moods.
Jon had no words of comfo
rt for him, but he silently mourned for Finn’s wasted efforts. “How many days of food do we have left?”
Finn ran his hands through his hair, blowing out a deep breath. “A week, maybe? A little more? The roads might open up in a few days, but I think the next storm coming in is going to close them back down again.”
“But we have the canned food, right?” Jon pressed.
“I took most of it over to Gertrude and Hans last two weeks ago, remember?” Jon did remember. Finn had done it out of kindness, when Alex had been remiss in his grocery duties.
“Yes, but you were supposed to replace it.”
Finn sighed, shifting in shame at his obvious and unforgivable miss. “I meant to, but time got away from me.”
“Seriously, Finn?” Jon stopped, forcing himself not to chastise Finn any further. Recent days had been taxing on them both. “So what are our options?” He asked, realizing he already knew.
“Get across town somehow to the food storage…”
On the other side of the island. “Christ.”
“Well, there’s Dad’s old snowcat…”
Jon laughed. “That old beast has been sitting out in the driveway for a decade. Dad never even bothered to cover it.”
“I know…and I have no idea how to use it. I mean, the damned thing is for commercial use for god’s sake. Dad said people go through months of training to operate equipment that large…” Finn’s voice trailed off. “But it can’t be that hard, right? And it’s unlikely there will be anyone else on the roads.”
Jon paused, honestly speechless. When had this situation gotten to the point where he would allow his little brother to risk his neck going across town in an oversized vehicle that no one knew how to drive, and hadn’t been started in over a decade? Why had he not used the phone to call for help, when it was still an option? How had they let it get this far?
He could see Finn sharing the same thought process. Before Finn could speak, Jon said, “I’ll go.”
Finn laughed. “No way. You might break a nail.”
“Hilarious. But either way I won’t have you risking your neck.”
“The only neck that might be risked is yours. You won’t even get on the quads in the summer.”
“That’s different. It’s because I don’t actually enjoy riding them,” Jon said, only half-lying.
“And you’re scared as shit to crash in one. You’ve never sailed Forbia. You don’t run the plow. I’m not saying you’re a pussy Jon, but….you’re kind of a pussy.”
“You are no more qualified than I am to drive it,” was the best Jon could come up with.
“And you’re no more qualified to fly a plane than I am, but who would you rather trust your life to if the pilot suddenly died?”
“Fuzzy logic, at best. Besides, it might take a while, and if Ana wakes up, she’s going to want you there.”
“You can be there, right? You did it before with no problem,” Finn teased, both of them remembering Jon’s discomfort. He had sat there, hands in his lap, staring at various things in the room off and on for hours. He would get up for a drink, come back, fidget some more. Jon supposed talking to her would have been a better way to pass the time, but he could think of absolutely nothing to say. His awkwardness apparently extended even to unconscious women. And yes…maybe that was also a part of why he offered to go.
Before he could say anything, Finn was already out the door, apparently off to see if he could get the snowcat fueled and fired up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Ana
College graduation. Everyone was there; her family, her fellow students from the past four years, good and bad; her friends; her sorority sisters. Everyone who was anyone in her life was packed into the crowded stadium.
Ana sat clutching her degree amidst the laughter, applause, anecdotes, and nervous speeches. She could have been giving the valedictorian speech. No one but Nicolas knew that she had intentionally dropped her grade point average by a fraction to avoid standing in front of thousands of people. Her comfort meant more than a silly title.
She fidgeted, as the familiar wave of panic rushed over her. The sounds around her were hardly loud, but in her heart and chest they were deafening. Her head pulsed with every new round of applause; every name called. She was grateful for her chair because the dizziness was rolling in and out, like the flow of an ocean tide. What she wouldn’t give to use her ability to control her anxiety…she could heal anything physical that afflicted her but she could not soothe her own mind.
“Just keep your eyes on me Muffins,” Nicolas had said before the ceremony, using his private nickname for her; it was meant with the irony it suggested. She hadn’t asked him for help; hadn’t said how nervous she was or how she knew she was going to be anxious, he had just known. If they didn’t have two very different sets of parents, she would have sworn they were twins.
She tried to do exactly as he suggested, but she kept losing him in the sea of faces. He had deliberately worn a bright pink shirt (much to the dismay of the rest of the family) to make this easier for her, but the crowd seemed endless and not even a loud shirt could stand out.
She squeezed her toes tightly into her shoes, just one of a half-dozen private ways she controlled her stress. That not bringing relief, she tried thrusting her tongue firmly against the roof of her mouth: inhaling, exhaling. The few times she was called to accept something at the podium were the easiest because it kept her mind focused on controlling each step, one foot in front of the other. When she was idle, it was much harder.
After the ceremony, her family crowded around her with words of encouragement and pride, but it wasn’t until she felt her cousin’s hand slip into hers that her heartbeat slowed some and the normalcy returned. She accepted hugs and returned kisses in a blur of familial comfort, while holding tightly to his hand.
“You are normal,” Nicolas said to her once. “And if you’re not, then we’re all seriously fucked because if everyone else is normal and that’s the standard, we might as well start preparing for the zombie apocalypse.”
“Well, start preparing fucker, because it’s coming,” she had said.
Oftentimes, she had no idea the point he was trying to get across with the things he said. But it didn’t matter, because she laughed; reassuring her, not wit or humor, was Nicolas’ real intention.
Ana was never one to label herself anyway; it was the years of therapy, and her father’s failed attempts to understand, that had done that. She might have allowed a label if any of them had fit, but no one had come close to covering all the corners of her complicated mind. Complicated was not a word she used to flatter herself, and it had little do with the family she came from…she would have always preferred to be simpler, even if Nicolas assured her that people like that were harbingers of doom.
The graduation party was next. Ana mentally steeled herself to exercise yet another social skill she lacked: small talk.
Nicolas gifted her a few moments of sanity by telling the family he would drive her over. In the car, he didn’t bother telling her how nice she looked, or how proud he was. He knew she didn’t need to hear that from him. He said only, “I’m bouncing tonight if the beer sucks.”
He had never failed her. Never let her down, never abandoned her; had always been there in the moments she was most afraid. So why, why was he not there now, when she was in the darkest place she had ever known, why?
Ana opened her eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Nicolas
Nicolas never paid much mind to his own expenses, but he was hard pressed to believe that, in this day and age, there was anywhere in this country still charging for long distance; and anyway he had asked Alex to tell her she could always call collect.
Adrienne called him a couple times to see if he knew anything, but Nicolas told her he wasn’t worried. Ana and Adrienne were very similar creatures, except that Ana had never been through anything life changing and traumatic like Adrienne had. Adrienne was healing, but Adrienne would alwa
ys be broken. Nicolas and Oz had an unspoken, shared fear that certain stressors would break her again, and that this time she would run off for good. He would not trouble her with his concerns…especially considering they were of the potential missing person variety. Too close to home.
Nicolas met Oz for drinks several days after Oz’s peculiar visit. It was Oz’s idea, and despite how things had turned out the last time they hung out, Nicolas was relieved both when Oz suggested it, and also when he acted as though nothing at all had happened. This was just as well for Nicolas, who had bigger things on his mind than his friend’s mood swings.
It didn’t take long before Oz–in his usual quiet diplomatic way–confronted him and asked if something was wrong with Ana. Oz knows me too well.
“I think something…has happened, yes,” Nicolas said cautiously.
Oz eyed him. “Something…has…happened?” He echoed.
“Ah, fuck, I don’t fucking know,” Nicolas said, dropping his guard. “It’s been eight days. We haven’t gone that long without talking in years, and she called me every goddamn day since she got to Maine. That dumb-fuck overseer told me she was just fine, and over at the neighbor’s house or some shit, but his story was just really fucking weird, Ozzy, like he was hiding something.”
Oz leaned over his beer Nicolas so could not see his expression. Nicolas half expected Oz to try offering a reasonable explanation to what was happening, but he seemed to understand that wasn’t what Nicolas was after. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question every day for a week, Ozzy. So far none of the answers are working out for me.”
“Have you thought of just going up there?” Oz’s eyes were wild again suddenly, the way they had been the last time they met.
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