by Cassia Leo
He couldn’t help himself from saying, “You’re doing it right now.”
Ana gave that same short laugh, as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Because I hardly know you, and I know that once I tell you how fucked-up I am, I’m not going to know you for much longer.”
Finn shook his head. “We’re all fucked-up, Ana. But go on, so I can prove you wrong.”
Her eyes were glistening, her cheeks a rosy pink, but she was not crying. Her breaths came rapidly. “I don’t have any friends except my cousin, and he’s as messed-up as I am. I haven’t had a boyfriend who lasted longer than three months, and every relationship I’ve ever had ended because of me. It’s always the men telling me that I am too emotionally detached... that I can’t talk about my feelings… that I’m cold and withdrawn...”
Finn was thinking this was probably how his brother Jon felt.
“The emotions are there,” Ana continued, “but I don’t know how to articulate them. It’s like, I open my mouth, and there’s a small hand wrapped around my neck, stopping me from speaking. One time, I had a boyfriend tell me he loved me and all I could do was cough. I mean it, I literally coughed. I couldn’t speak... there were so many things running through my head and all I could do was freaking cough...”
She stood up and poured herself a glass of water. “He said I had ice in my heart. I didn’t know how to disagree with him. I have feelings...” Ana paused and looked down at her water, swirling it around in the glass. “I don’t know how to explain to people what it’s like to be a prisoner of your own thoughts.”
“I’m still here,” Finn said. “You haven’t scared me off yet.”
“I’m not finished,” she replied. He motioned for her to go on.
“So, finally,” Ana continued, “I gave up. I can’t be someone I’m not and I was tired of going through the exact same futile motions with every relationship.” She walked back to the table and sat down, staring out the window, at the ocean, again. “It all started so innocently. A one-night stand isn’t a crime. But afterward, when I was back in my own bed and reflecting on the evening, I felt... relieved. Happy, even. I don’t even remember learning his name, I only remember how much I enjoyed myself... the freedom of release, but without having to explain myself.”
Finn couldn’t help himself from laughing. “So you discovered you like sex. Congratulations, Ana, you’re human!”
“It’s more than that. Maybe if I had stopped there, or only did it occasionally. But I started going out several times a week. Picking up different men every time. When I started recognizing the same men in the same pubs, I changed to a different part of town. Instead of businessmen, now it was cops, and firemen, and construction workers.” She looked up at him. “The worst part is, I can’t even quantify this sick side of me, because at some point I lost count.”
Finn hadn’t been expecting this admission, but he wasn’t put off. “Would you feel better if I told you I lost count at some point too?”
“I’m not joking. I’m not making this up.”
“I know you’re not,” he said. “And I don’t care. Do you see me running out the door in horror? I don’t do relationships, either. Never have.” That wasn’t entirely true. He had before, but he was older now, and knew he had nothing to offer a woman.
Ana stared at length, studying him. “I don’t want to be like this,” she said finally.
Finn was unsure of how to respond. She was obviously torn in half by who she was, and he couldn’t relate. He knew who he was, knew his limitations, and had accepted them long ago.
“Do you know why I never came by to introduce myself?” she asked, eyes fixed on his. “Because, Finn, you remind me of exactly the kind of man I’m trying to stay away from.”
Finn didn’t know what to make of that, either. He wanted to insist he wasn’t like those men, but how could he, without trivializing how she felt? “Maybe I’m a good influence. I mean, you’re here, talking about your feelings, something you claim to be incapable of doing. We could have had sex three times in the two hours we’ve been talking.”
She laughed, caught off guard. “This has been the strangest conversation of my life. Maybe the longest, too.”
“I can honestly say the same,” he concurred with a laugh. “But, for what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” He lowered his voice. “You wanna know why I do it?”
Ana nodded.
Finn pointed at the ocean. “Every day, I get up, get dressed, and go out on the sea. I come home every night and have dinner with my brother. Sometimes I go into town, go drinking, and go… well, you know… but that’s it. I don’t want anything else, and, like you said, I can’t change. There’s no woman out there who’s going to want that for the rest of her life.” He stopped and put his hand over hers. “We all have our reasons.”
After the words were out of his mouth, a very unexpected feeling took over him. As he watched her sad face, the sea, his rituals, and his life became distant and unimportant, and he could see himself wanting more. He felt a flush rise to his face and he took a deep breath, trying to slow his pulse.
Ana opened her mouth, but stopped short of saying anything. Finn saw the thousand thoughts swimming behind her bright blue eyes. They could have an entire conversation with their eyes, and thoughts unspoken.
He was afraid to consider the implications. He wanted to kiss her, but he thought of her confession and was afraid to push her away. You remind me exactly of the kind of man I’m trying to stay away from.
Ana looked past him then and pointed out the window. “Wow!” she almost yelled. “Would you look at that?”
Finn turned and saw the snow coming down, furiously. At a glance, he could see there was already a couple of inches on the ground, and he knew that would grow considerably before morning. He guessed about a foot and a half, if not more, by morning. He wondered again how Ana would do in her first storm.
“Ana, are you going to be okay here by yourself?” he asked, concerned.
“It's just snow, right?” she answered, but looked unsure. He knew even experienced islanders had difficulties in bad storms.
“I really don't want to, but I need to get back to the house. My brother will be home soon, if he isn’t already. We need to move the lobster tanks up to the house or we won't be able to get to them if the snow lasts.” Finn took both of her hands in his, feeling bold. “Come with me. You can even stay a few days if you want, and I can show you how to get around in the bad weather.”
“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 countered. “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. “All right, goodnight Finn.”
He put his hand on the table and leaned 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.”
A nice brush-off, but a brush-off nonetheless. Or was it? 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 cautioned 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.”
***
13- ANA
For the first time in years, Ana felt exhilarated.
Finn. She was used to seeing him daily when he returned from the sea... used to the waves, and shared smiles. Now, she was 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 the dark brown sweater. 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 shared her darkest secret with him. Instead, he admitted he was the same.
Ana could still feel his hands on hers... roughened but at the same time soft like rocks slowly smoothed by the tides. Finn was made for the labor of the sea, but that was not all he was made for.
She recalled how his face fell when she turned him down to go home with him... but Ana had spent the evening explaining herself so surely he understood? Despite that unlikely connection, she was hesitant to get involved with anyone when she had come here to break that destructive 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 she 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 viewed 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. Then, she’d 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 tests 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, taking 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 wasn’t sure why she had told him such personal things tonight. Maybe she 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; like night and day. And yet, it was clear how much Finn loved him. 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 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 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. 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 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 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 exactly like her.
Shortly 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 she had failed her family in not being able to bring them over soon enough. Early in the pregnancy, she decided 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. Augustus worked to start her parents’ immigration process after Catherine passed, but it wasn’t until after the fall of the USSR, in the early 90s, that he was able to bring them over to the U.S. 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 could not confide in her more than she could in anyone else. 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 be another reminder of what life could have been like.
Ana finished with the kitchen. 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 might be. For all Ana knew, they could be keys to his storehouse, or something he might worry 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 coming down relentlessly, resolving it would be easier to go over there now than it would be later. Finn had shown her a kindness tonight and she knew 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 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 there was nothing extraordinary about snow in Maine, and started 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 important to him, he'd come back over and get them. But what if he doesn’t realize until morning, when we are all snowed in?
