The Keeper of Dawn

by Hickman, J. B.

  “Shit!”

  “Relax,” Derek said. “We’re still good.”

  I stared in disbelief as Mr. Lawson, with one hand curled around his chin, the fingers stroking his dark mustache, spoke as if recalling a candid anecdote, and when Holly interrupted with a comment of her own, he tilted his head back and laughed. He then led the girls back into his office, closing the door behind them.

  “That’s not good,” Derek said.

  “No shit. What do we do now?”

  “What can we do? Did you see him laugh? I’ve never even seen him crack a smile.”

  “What questions are they going to ask?”

  Derek looked at me blankly. “We never really got past the tape recorder.”

  “Great.”

  Resigned that our fate now lay in the girls’ ability to lie to the dean of Wellington, we passed the time by flipping through some yearbooks, though our eyes rarely left the hallway behind the secretary’s desk. Except for the reporters, the lobby was uncharacteristically empty. The entryway had been left open, allowing sounds of the approaching storm to enter the room. Flashes of lightning lit up the windows, followed by the heavy rumble of thunder.

  As the storm rolled across the island, my thoughts kept returning to the girls. Though we had just met, I had already acquired a responsibility for them. They didn’t belong here, and if nothing else, I had to make sure that they made it off the island.

  “What’s taking them so long?” Derek asked after what felt like an eternity. He tossed his yearbook aside. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Be patient,” I said, though I shared his anxiety.

  When the secretary—Mrs. Lawrence—emerged from her office and looked in our direction, my stomach shriveled into a knot. Derek picked the yearbook back up and held it in front of his face, but it was too late—she had already seen us. Only then did I remember that Kate’s tequila-soaked backpack lay beside me on the sofa. We were in the process of breaking so many rules that the thought of getting caught possessing alcohol hadn’t crossed my mind.

  “Jacob, why there you are,” Mrs. Lawrence said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “You have?”

  “You’re quite popular today. Someone’s been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon. I swear, they must’ve called every half-hour.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But I can’t get him to leave a message. Not even a name. It sure must be important though. Why don’t you go wait by the phones and when he calls back, I’ll patch him through to booth six.” She paused, sniffing the air. “Say, do you boys smell something? There’s a peculiar odor over here.”

  “Uh, I think it’s the leather in the sofa,” Derek said.

  “Yeah, English leather always smells like that,” I said, backing away with the backpack slung over my shoulder. “Booth six did you say?”

  I waited by the phones. Dinner was being served in the cafeteria, the smell of food reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch. Though curious as to who had been trying to reach me, my thoughts rarely strayed from Mr. Lawson’s office. The first person who came to mind was Father, but I couldn’t imagine him calling more than once, even in an emergency.

  I was contemplating on whether to return to the lobby when the phone rang, which was followed by a crash of thunder.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake! Finally.”

  It was David.

  “David! Hey. How’s it going?”

  “You’re a tough guy to get a hold of.”

  “I know. Today’s been kind of hectic.”

  “I’m not breaking up your Saturday night date or anything, am I?”

  “I wish. Where are you?”

  “Tanzania, at the moment.” There was a short pause. “Hey, have you talked to Mother?”

  “No,” I said, thinking David didn’t sound much like himself. We must have had a bad connection. “Wait, actually, yeah. A few days ago. I think on Tuesday,” I said, recalling our conversation in the infirmary. “Why? What’s going on?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Well, I’ve got some … I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Had David said this at any other time, I would have assumed he was going to say what I had so often hoped to hear: I’m coming home. But now, either from his distant tone, or knowing how persistently he had tried to reach me, no such prediction came to mind.

  What followed was a cough, like someone’s voice breaking, or maybe static, I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he sounded far away, farther away than home—which was where I always imagined him to be—farther away even than Tanzania itself.

  “God, I hate to be the one to tell you this.” There was another pause. “Jake, it’s Grandpa … He died Wednesday morning.”

  CHAPTER 20: UPON DARK WINGS

  It was as if all the life had gone out of me. My eyes shifted about the room, searching for something to latch onto, an anchor to hold me down. The plastic ficus sprouting from the corner; the cafeteria menu mounted in its locked display case like someone might steal it. Finding nothing, I came to stare at my hand clutching the metal coils of the phone cord.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. God, I’m sorry.”

  David’s voice came to me through a haze. My hand squeezed the phone cord as if I could strangle his words. I wished he would stop talking. I wished he had never called. My eyes began to sting and I remembered to blink them.

  “Jake? Hey, you still there?”

  “How …”

  “It was a heart attack. He …” David cleared his throat. “He died on the way to the hospital. I would have called sooner, but I just found out yesterday. The visitation was tonight, or I guess is tonight. God, I barely even know what day it is.”

  “The funeral. When is the funeral?”

  “Tomorrow, at eleven.”

  Why didn’t she tell me? I didn’t realize I had asked the question aloud until David replied.

  “She said you’d been through so much that she was going to wait. You know how she gets. But I figured you’d want to know. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. I … I can’t make it back. I want to. Believe me, I want to. But it’s impossible to get out of here on such short notice.”

  “I’ll go,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. That’s good. I figured you’d want to. I’m sure Grandpa would want that. It’s at Pine Crest.” He paused. “You remember how to get there?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “Okay, good. I never expected this. Not in a million years. I just talked to him Tuesday. He told me about your visit. In fact, that was practically all he talked about. He went—”

  Out of the corner of my eye, a flash of lightning streaked to the ground. It held there for an instant, etched into my retina, flickering over the dark sky like a serpent’s tongue. There was a dead pause before a thunderclap detonated the silence. The lights flickered and went out. The clamor coming through the cafeteria doors was snuffed out like a candle. When someone knocked over a chair, a chorus of scattered laughter punctuated the air.

  “Hello? David? David! Are you there?”

  The phone was dead. I clicked the receiver. No dial tone.

  “Ahhh!” I cried, slamming the phone down.

  The first discharge of thunder set off a series of what sounded like small explosions. The school and everyone in it had vanished. Someone nearby was crying. The darkness made the noise sound far away, tricking me into believing it was coming from someone else. I cried harder, not caring if anyone overheard. I prayed for the power to come back on. David will know what to do, I kept repeating, like a child whispering a bedside prayer. But the darkness remained. Whether by fate or circumstance, a force beyond my control had stolen something from me, and the more time that passed, the more I became convinced it was gone forever.

  I tried to remember what I had been doing when the heart attack had occurred, but I
kept getting pulled back to all of those Monday afternoons at Brickmore Lane. But then those too were gone, disappearing one by one as if my memories of Grandpa were being locked away. The house at Brickmore Lane was boarded up; I was no longer allowed inside. I had to concentrate. I had to decide what to do. But my mind kept lashing out, assigning blame for his death: my parents for sending me away; David for leaving the country; myself for waiting so long to visit.

  Why hadn’t someone told me sooner?

  That question was all that remained. I clung to it, turned it over in my hands, tried to find a use for it, a way to leverage it to my advantage. And suddenly, everything became clear. Father didn’t want me at the funeral. He had convinced Mother it would be better for my sake if I wasn’t told what had happened until after the fact. They had only told David because they knew he wouldn’t be able to come back in time. No, Father didn’t want me there. Tomorrow he would bury the rift that divided the family when his sons—whom he was convinced his father had driven away from him—didn’t show up.

  I no longer thought of Brickmore Lane. My only concern was leaving Raker Island and arriving at Pine Crest Cemetery by eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.

  I was still holding the phone when the lights came back on. There was no dial tone. I checked the other phones, but they were dead. I was on my own. When the next round of thunder commenced, the lights flickered, and I hurried out of the room.

  It was ten after seven, which meant that the bus had already left. My only hope of leaving tonight was to delay the ferry’s departure. Derek wasn’t in the lobby, which meant that Mr. Lawson’s interview had ended, one way or the other. Pushing the girls from my mind, I proceeded to the administrative office. As I was about to enter, I caught a whiff of liquor from my backpack, and hid it behind one of the sofas.

  Mrs. Lawrence took one look at me and knew right away something was wrong. When I told her what had happened and that I needed to leave the island, she gave me a brief hug, then radioed the pier. While waiting, Mr. Lawson’s voice carried down the hall from his open doorway.

  “All we need is a short clip of the lighthouse, and I guarantee that by this time next week, every parent in the northeast will want to send their son here. And we’ve got more than enough room for them. There’s no end to this hotel. Remind me to give you a tour first thing in the morning. We only have a third of the rooms renovated. Only a third. Trust me on this, Peter. This is exactly the boost we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Hi, Darryl,” Mrs. Lawrence said into the walkie-talkie. “Just wanted to see if the ferry had left yet. Oh it has. All right. Wasn’t sure if it would go out in this storm or not. I know, me too. Hope we don’t have to go by candlelight. Same to you.”

  Despite Mrs. Lawrence’s sympathetic words, it was difficult not to feel that any chance of going home that night had been eliminated. When a thinly-bearded, gaunt man with dime-store glasses, whom I took to be Peter, passed me on his way out, Mrs. Lawrence led me back to Mr. Lawson’s office. When Mrs. Lawrence explained that my grandfather had passed away, he expressed his condolences.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said as Mrs. Lawrence shut the door behind her. “How can I be of assistance?”

  “I have to get back to New York. The funeral’s tomorrow, at eleven.”

  “Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning,” he mused. “That’s not much time. The Sunday ferry doesn’t depart until eight-thirty. That won’t get you into Miskapaug until just after nine. Eleven o’clock,” he repeated, his fingers rapping the desktop. “Even if you were to drive to Providence and catch the first available flight, which wouldn’t save you much time, you still wouldn’t make it. Why such short notice, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I refrained from mentioning that I did mind him asking. “It’s … a long story. My family was trying to reach me all day. Look, I really need to be there. I have to leave tonight.”

  “Tonight?” His eyebrows rose. “No. No, I’m afraid not. Not tonight. Not with this storm. The phones are down, so even if the ferry could make an extra trip back, I can’t get a hold of them. I’m sorry. The best I can do is have you out first thing in the morning. That way you can at least be with your family after the funeral.”

  “Well, can I talk with Mr. Hearst?”

  “I’m sorry, but the headmaster is away for the weekend.”

  “There has to be a way,” I said, sinking into the chair.

  “I can assure you, young man, short of an act of God, there is no way to get off this island tonight.”

  Returning to my room, my thoughts kept circling back to Mr. Lawson. Beneath his sympathies, his expression conveyed that this sort of thing was to be expected—however unfortunate, grandparents die. Grow up, kid, I heard him say. It’s not like it’s your mother or father. I suddenly had the urge to reach across the desk and hit him. I told myself that if I were still in his office, that’s exactly what I would do.

  How many times had I wanted to go home? Now that I actually needed to leave, there was no way off the island. Everything—my father, Wellington, even the weather—seemed to be against me. Instead of being just off the coast, I felt shipwrecked at some uncharted latitude. There had to be a way. I considered going to Mr. O’Leary, but if there was any possibility of leaving tonight, it would involve breaking the rules.

  I pushed the curtains aside and looked across the courtyard. Before I could talk myself out of it, I left the room and made my way toward Kirkland Hall. No one answered when I knocked on the prefect’s door. I knocked a second time, and then a third.

  “Go away,” I heard Chris say.

  “It’s me—Jake.”

  “Not a good time,” he said, which was followed by the incriminating sound of a girl giggling.

  “It’s an emergency.”

  What followed was the creaking of a bed, some muttered cursing, and then Chris threw open the door. He was in his underwear, his hair a tousled mess. “Jake, I love ya like a brother, but somebody better be dead.”

  “Somebody is,” I said, stepping into the room.

  * * * * *

  It felt good to talk about it. Allison sat on the upper bunk with the sheets wrapped around her bare shoulders, not at all upset over the intrusion. Kate was in the lower bunk and had been reading a magazine with headphones on to help her ignore whatever might be going on overhead. Though the girls hardly knew me, I couldn’t have asked for better listeners.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Kate kept telling me in a way that trivialized my obsession with leaving the island, reminding me, however briefly, that a loved one had died.

  While the girls lent a sympathetic ear, Chris brooded in the corner, not over the interruption, but about the logistics of getting me home. I had seen him like this before. It was how he looked when something was just out of reach. Whatever mechanism that had devised our previous expeditions was operating at full steam. He didn’t offer a single condolence; only a stressed, intense glare from the corner of the room.

  “Just sit tight,” he told me. “If you want to be at your grandpa’s funeral, then you’ll be at his funeral. That sort of thing is important. We’ll get you out of here. I’m just not sure how. I’m going over to rally the troops,” he said, throwing on some clothes.

  I stepped out of the room to let Allison get dressed. Chris returned a moment later with Derek and Roland. Their grins told me that Chris hadn’t clued them in to what had happened.

  “Jake!” Roland said, his breath smelling of alcohol. “Where’ve you been?” He leaned toward me and whispered, “Kate’s been asking about you. She’s got a thing for the tall, dark and handsome type, if you know what I mean.”

  “Roland—” Chris warned.

  “I admit I was a little nervous at first, but once the power went off—”

  “Roland!” Chris shouted. “I never thought I’d say this, but control your hormones, man! Jake’s grandpa just died, and we have to figure a way to get him out of here so he can go to the funeral.”
>
  Roland stared at Chris with glassy eyes.

  “God, I’m … I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You didn’t know.” I let out a weak laugh. “Talk about bad timing, huh?”

  “You sure you can’t make it if you leave first thing in the morning?” Chris asked.

  “I’d miss it even if I flew back from Providence.”

  “Is this the same grandpa you saw in Brooklyn?” Roland asked.

  When I told him that it was, the room went quiet. In the corner, a brown hamster spun in its wheel.

  “I know this doesn’t make it any easier, but at least you got to see him one last time,” Allison said after a moment.

  Perched on the top bunk, I could only see her face and her bare feet dangling over the side. Derek was seated beside Kate in the lower bunk with his chin in one hand. Chris was chewing the knuckles of his fist as if biting into an apple. He looked on the verge of saying something, and this uncharacteristic silence focused everyone’s attention on him.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Derek stood up, nearly hitting his head on the top bunk. “Why don’t we give Sandy a call?” He turned to Kate. “She can come out in the boat and pick Jake up.”

  “The phones are down,” I said.

  “They were down,” Derek said. “Maybe they’re back up.”

  “Even if they are, there’s no way she’d come out in this storm,” Kate said. “The Coast Guard would probably have to rescue her.”

  Chris turned to her. “Wait, wait, wait. That’s perfect.”

  Kate gave him a strange look. “What’s perfect?”

  “The Coast Guard …” Chris whispered, staring at the empty space in front of him.

  “Absolutely not, Chris Forsythe!” Roland said, standing up. “It’s completely and totally out of the question.”

  The corner of Chris’ mouth curved into a devious grin.

  “I won’t allow you to do it.”

  “I don’t remember asking for your permission.”