On Hurricane Island

by Ellen Meeropol

  And then she can’t think about anything except what’s happening in front of them—Bert’s boat swells up onto a mountain of water and hovers. A moment later, Bert and his boat drop away and disappear over the edge of the barely visible world.

  “Maybe we should reconsider …” Gandalf says but it is too late.

  Already they’re sucked by the storm-swollen tide towards the dark tunnel cut through forest and rock. Riding the mammoth bulge of water, they rise and rush through the narrow outlet. Slapped by branches and sprayed by sea fury, they are delivered into the salty-wet wind of the bay.

  Furious waves pelt the boat, and Austin tightens her grip on the wheel. She half-sees Gandalf grab hold of an empty sleeve flailing in the wind and pull it close, wrapping the slicker tighter around her body. Then the next wave hits the boat head on and shatters over them. Gandalf leans closer to Austin and hangs onto her arm. They follow Bert’s boat along the dark outline of Hurricane’s coast, through the final shudders of the storm.

  By the time the two boats reach the protected waters of the Sound, there are lights in buildings along Main Street.

  “Power is back,” Gandalf says. “Maybe the phone service is restored too.”

  She’s probably thinking about calling Jess. Once Gandalf gets home to Jess, she’ll most likely forget she invited Austin to visit.

  The boats enter the harbor and turn in to shore beyond the town pier, at her grandparents’ place. They tie up on either side of the small wooden dock. Two silhouettes stand at the cusp of rocky shoreline and angry water.

  The taller shape steps forward. Sheriff Reuben helps Henry, Catherine, and Norah onto the dock. The second person is shrouded by an oversized slicker with the hood up even though the rain has passed into drizzle. As if she already knows what happened, she doesn’t move from the rocks.

  “Is that your Gran?” Gandalf asks.

  Austin tries to speak. She wants Gandalf to understand everything she’s feeling. But it’s no use because she’s already weeping, and she doesn’t understand it herself, except that Pops is gone, and it’s all her fault. She climbs out of his boat and walks up his dock and onto the jumbled rocks of his yard into Gran’s arms. A dozen seagulls circle and squawk their complaints.

  “Pops is gone.” Austin sobs into Gran’s neck. “Dead.”

  Gran leans back to stare into Austin’s face. “What happened?”

  “He was shot. Trying to get me out of there. And it happened so fast—there was no time to say goodbye. To tell him how much I love him.”

  Gran cups Austin’s face between her hands. “Don’t you think he knows that?” she sobs.

  “But it’s my fault. He was trying to rescue me.”

  “Looks like he succeeded.”

  The two women rock sideways, back and forth in the ancient dance of comfort. Gran’s tears are warm on her neck, soaking her hair. Austin wants to tell her how grateful she is that they rescued her childhood. She wants to ask how they can live without Pops’s seagull talk and his Weather Channel commentary and his Fig Newtons.

  And the letters. She wants to talk with Gran about the letters, about what happened to Margaret and why she disappeared, and who Angelina really is, and the Italian branch of their family.

  “Pops told me about the packet of letters from Margaret. I found them, Gran. I took them and read them.”

  “I know.” Gran smoothes a strand of wet hair from Austin’s forehead and tucks it behind her ear.

  She wants to talk with Gran—if only she could tell Pops too—about the bombing and Angelo not letting the bad guys win, even if some people thought that Margaret’s own father was a bad guy.

  “Can we talk about them?”

  “I can’t.”

  “I don’t get it,” Austin says. Then she remembers that Gran read the letters too and she knows what happened. Maybe she’s ashamed, and that’s why she hates Hurricane so much. It’s so complicated, but maybe Gran will feel differently if she sees the initials, the carving, all whole again. And Pops can help sort it all out, but no. He can’t. Not ever. And it’s no use trying to figure it out now because the ache is so big it fills her chest and squeezes the words. She squeezes her eyes shut and tucks her face in Gran’s hair.

  “Someday,” Gran says. “Someday we’ll talk about them. I promise.”

  61. HENRY, 2:15 A.M.

  He huddles with Cat and Gandalf under the corrugated metal carport. Norah leans against the wet shingles of the house, her mouth a straight line of pain. No one speaks. They watch Reuben and Bert talk on the dock, then Bert turns his boat towards the town harbor to begin the early ferry run out to Hurricane Island. They try not to look at Nettie and Austin on the rocks, their sorrow barely audible over the screeching lament of the seagulls.

  But Sheriff Reuben must have something more important than private grief in mind, because he joins Nettie and Austin on the rocks, putting an arm around each. Henry can see his mouth moving. Nettie breaks away and hurries into the house, but Reuben and Austin join them in the carport.

  Sheriff Reuben looks at each of them and breaks the silence.

  “The Congresswoman asked me to get you folks to the airport right away. She’s arranged a plane to take you to New York. There’s a press conference tomorrow, and she wants all of you to testify.”

  “What about my family?” Gandalf interrupts. “Jess is on her way up here.”

  The sheriff shakes his head. “You’ll have to ask Evelina about that. You can call her from the plane.”

  “I guess we can’t wait until morning,” Henry says. He doesn’t like the serious way the sheriff looks at them, as if he holds bad news in his jaw. Henry knows unspoken ruin when he sees it and he can guess the rumors the sheriff isn’t sharing. Most likely, the Bureau has already dispatched a team to clean up the mess in Maine.

  Across the Sound, Hurricane Island is shrouded in morning fog and drizzle. After everything that has happened, how can he feel conflicted about the camp closing?

  “How much trouble are we in?” Henry asks.

  The sheriff shrugs. “I’m not sure. But Evelina thinks you’re in a lot of danger. Two federal agents who recently tried to testify about, uh, unconventional interrogation techniques—”

  “Say it,” Norah interrupts. “Torture.”

  “Whatever. Both men met with unfortunate accidents. Fatal ones.”

  The Regional Chief—somehow it doesn’t feel right to call him JR any more—doesn’t mess around, does he? How easy it would be for Henry to suffer a similar accident. There are so many possibilities: brake failure on a twisty road, a barely noticeable nudge on a crowded subway platform, polonium-spiked sushi or a poison syringe in an umbrella tip.

  “The press conference is critical,” Norah says. “We need to educate people, make this a Watergate moment. I’m sure the Center will host it.”

  Henry isn’t sure he wants anything to do with her Center.

  Reuben turns to Norah. “Evelina said your Center was raided late last night. A lawyer, Emma Something, was arrested, charged with giving material aid to terrorists.”

  Norah sways and steadies herself against Gandalf.

  “Isn’t Emma the work friend you told us about?” Gandalf asks.

  Norah nods. “The press conference is even more important now. The government will try to blame everything on Tobias, to spin this as a story about one bad apple.”

  Cat squeezes his hand again. “One bad apple and a whistleblower.”

  “A whistleblower with compelling taped evidence.” Henry opens his jacket to reveal the mini-disk in his pocket.

  “That’s great.” Norah steps forward to high-five Henry and grimaces in pain.

  “Don’t forget Norah is hurt,” Gandalf says. “She needs a doctor.”

  “There are doctors in New York,” Reuben says. “Let’s go.”

  “Good idea,” Henry says. It’s probably healthier for all of them to get off these islands now. Before the Regional Chief sends reinforcements
to arrest them. Or worse.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Austin says, opening the kitchen door. “Got to say goodbye to Gran. And get something.”

  62. GANDALF, 3:08 A.M.

  “Hunker down,” Reuben orders as they arrive at the airport. He points to two dun-colored airplanes. “Those are military. I’m driving onto the tarmac.” Gandalf hears him talking on the phone about take-off clearance and a quick departure.

  The rain has stopped. With her last ounce of energy, Gandalf helps Norah stumble towards the plane.

  “Can you believe this?” Norah asks. “I mean, what fucking just happened? Did we just escape from a secret federal prison, with the help of a sheriff and an FBI agent?”

  “You tell me. You’re the political one.” Gandalf steps in a puddle, and the cold rainwater splashes onto her sweatpants. The ugly gray sweatpants she put on so many hours ago in the supply room. How many more hours before she can soak in her own deep bathtub, wear her own clothes?

  The propellers are already spinning as they clamber up the portable metal steps. Someone slams the door and pulls the stairs away as they fasten seat belts. Henry sits with the pilot, Catherine and Norah behind him, Austin and Gandalf in back.

  “I feel so bad leaving Gran,” Austin says over the increasing engine noise.

  “She wouldn’t come?”

  “Says she has to make arrangements for Pops.” Austin buries her face in a green wool shirt cradled in her arms. “I should be with her.”

  “You can’t,” Gandalf says. “It is not safe for you here.”

  The plane rises steeply into the morning sky. The three women lean together and press their faces against the scratched plastic windows. Gandalf looks at the three islands clustered in the empty bay. “What a location,” she says. “Perfect to catch every storm coming up the coast.”

  Austin’s face crumbles. “That’s what Pops always said. He loved these islands.” She points at the shrinking shapes. “That’s Lily Haven to the north and Storm Harbor below. Hurricane is the runt to the east. If you squint, she looks like a girl running away from her sisters, hair blowing in the wind.”

  “I think she is running towards them,” Gandalf says. Like us, she thinks.

  Catherine passes back a canvas bag. “This is from Evelina.”

  Inside, along with granola bars and apples and juice boxes, pens and yellow pads, are cell phone chargers. Gandalf plugs her phone into the outlet on the armrest and turns it on. Scrolling through her inbox, she finds the most recent message from Jess.

  Just got a call from the Congresswoman. She says you’re coming home. See you at JFK. I miss you, sweetheart.

  On my way, Gandalf writes back. I love you.

  She opens one other message. Hello, Gee, Ahmed writes, Thanks for your message. It is good to hear from you. Sorry I can’t help with your problem. Cassidy sends his love to Sundance.

  Relief sends a wave of warmth to her chest. Or maybe it’s from Jess’s message. Whatever the reason, Gandalf takes off the oilcloth jacket and one layer of fleece. Leaning back into the seat, she fingers the gold wizard charm around her neck. She does not believe in wizards or any other superstition, but the piece of precious metal signifies something about her and Jess, something new. Pushing into the sky in a fragile metal cylinder, time stands still, and she is calm, and almost warm, in a moment that she does not want to leave. A moment of feeling stretched, yet torn apart. She hungers for this misbegotten adventure to be over and yearns for the return of her life with Jess. But now she also has Austin and Norah, and she can’t go back to the way it was before. She brings the gold charm to her lips. Maybe it offers a reprieve, a new beginning.

  “Listen up,” Henry says from the front of the plane. “I just spoke with Evelina. The press conference is tomorrow afternoon in New York. Since Norah and Gandalf are his constituents, her bigwig friend on the Homeland Security subcommittee agreed to hold it in his district office in Brooklyn. Evelina wants us each to write a statement to read. She asks us to write down everything that happened, the whole and honest truth. Right now, she says, while it’s fresh in our minds.”

  “The whole truth?” Austin murmurs. “Which one? The truth is different from what I thought four days ago.”

  Gandalf closes her eyes. Can she bear to relive publicly everything that happened? Starting with the white room and blue eyes? And does the whole truth mean the other thing, that she has never told Jess. The thing she hardly ever even thought about until Ferret made her remember. Because honestly it is nothing; just the fumbling sort of non-event that started at a party when people are lubricated by too many margaritas and the exhilaration of talking mathematics late into the night. It only lasted the week of the symposium, and Ahmed knew it meant nothing. Still, it was cheating, and she has been dishonest. She will make that right with Jess. And she will start right now, before she can change her mind.

  “Speaking of the truth,” Gandalf whispers, leaning close to Austin. “You told me your secret. I have one too. I lied during the interrogation.”

  “You did?” Austin stares at her. “About what?”

  This is a mistake, Gandalf thinks, but then she looks at Austin’s face. It is dear and surprised and so young.

  “About not having a personal relationship with Ahmed. I had a brief thing with him once, for a few days at a conference.”

  “Oh.” Austin looks embarrassed. “That’s between you and Jess, you know. You didn’t lie about him being a terrorist, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Austin shrugs. “That’s the story here, isn’t it? Hurricane Island and torture.”

  Gandalf could hug Austin. Oh, yes, she does want to tell this story. She takes a pen and yellow pad from Evelina’s bag.

  MONDAY

  SEPTEMBER 12

  Henry sops up the last of the yolk with a crust of rye toast and smiles at Cat. Eating a very late, room service breakfast in a nondescript mid-town hotel is worlds away from storm-ravaged islands and cold torture. It probably wasn’t necessary last night to register under a false name and have Cat pay with cash, but he can’t help it. Even well rested, his brain cycles round and round between hotel surveillance cameras and facial recognition software, heart-racing images of ex-federal agents dying in mysterious and unexplained circumstances, and the memory of his daughter’s shameful accusations.

  His thoughts must show on his face.

  “You nervous?” Cat puts down her newspaper and pours more coffee.

  “A little.” He checks his watch. Two hours until the press conference. He points to the newspaper. “Anything bad happen on the anniversary yesterday? Any acts of terrorism?”

  Cat shakes her head. “Not according to the Times.”

  Damn JR and all his hype about high-profile detainees. None of this would have happened if the Regional Director hadn’t been so paranoid. He might still have his job.

  No, this was coming down the pike anyway. And he probably made it worse for himself early this morning when he went down to the lobby and logged on remotely to his work computer. It was amazing that he remembered all Tobias’s passwords, and that the system didn’t lock him out. But he did, and, it didn’t, and he wrote a scathing press release about the use of cold torture on civilians and sent it out to his distribution list.

  He raises his cup to Cat, in salute. Things between them aren’t resolved, not by a long shot, but after last night maybe they’ve got a future. Barring poisoned umbrella tips.

  In two hours he’ll gather in Brooklyn with Gandalf and Austin and Norah. Melissa will be there too, and he’ll try to be civil to Evelina because she really came through, big-time. He’ll tell the press his story, about the torture of civilians, specifically about how they interrogated Professor Gandalf Cohen. He’ll show the DVD and publically resign from the Bureau. Then he’ll schedule those cardiac tests, meet with the lawyers from Norah’s Center, and start looking for another job in which he can serve his country and keep it free.

&
nbsp; “I’ll wash up.” Austin carries the lunch dishes into the kitchen. She likes being in Jess and Gandalf’s apartment and wants to be a good guest. When they arrived at JFK yesterday, Henry warned them that staying at a known address wasn’t safe. Said they should get a hotel room under a fake name, like he and Cat were planning. But Gandalf insisted on coming home, and the three of them wanted to stay together. Norah’s ex brought her kids for a visit yesterday afternoon, but then Norah insisted he take them to a friend’s house and keep away from the press conference.

  Her twins are great—smart and funny—and Austin can’t believe how Norah goes all maternal when they show up, much less strident and bossy. Austin turns Norah’s offer of an afterschool babysitting job over and over in her brain, examining it from every angle. She might just do that, after this mess is over. Because after she spends some time with Gran, she’s going to move to New York, stay here with Gandalf and Jess and find a job. Maybe even go to Italy and look for her relatives, the descendants of Margaret and Angelo. Pops would laugh, and point out that she was running away from family to look for family. But he would approve.

  Gandalf pokes her head into the kitchen. “Leave the dishes,” she says. “We need to leave soon.”

  “I’ll be ready in a minute,” Austin says. “Got to call Gran.”

  “I’m sure she’s safe,” Gandalf says. “They have Tobias locked up in a secure hospital ward, with a brain injury.”

  “She’s staying with Cyrus and Jeannette for a few days.” Austin touches Gandalf’s arm. “But I’ve got to check on her.”

  Tobias rings for the nurse. He demands his phone, again.

  “Against the rules,” she says, again.

  “Then take these off.” He tugs his wrist restraints against the bedrail.