Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  When Alex Whitman called the first time, Jon didn’t answer because he was indisposed. Then, Gertrude the Gossip called less than an hour later, and he knew something was up. When Alex called a second time, Jon’s avoidance of the call was deliberate, and that was when the sinking feeling started to set in.

  It was pointless to tell Finn. He’d laugh and tell Jon he was being paranoid. His brother, who in one breath could be understanding about the distrustful nature of people, in another would tell Jon off for being too distrustful himself. Not distrustful... realistic.

  Then, on the third and final night of the big storm, the phone lines did finally go down. Jon did not feel nearly as relieved as he might have expected. Although he would not have to agonize over the calls from Alex and the Auslanders, Jon and Finn’s only tie to the outside world had been abruptly severed. By the end of the week—with Ana still unconscious—Jon found himself wishing he had reached out for help when he had the chance.

  There was also the matter of Ana’s head injury. It was not only healing well, it was almost completely gone. Jon’s first reaction was to look at the other side of her head, to see if he was mistaken on the wound location. But no, it was there, in the correct place. But... healed. It had the pinkish look of a forming scar.

  He asked Finn for a second opinion.

  “Look at the cut on her head. Tell me what you see.” Jon had nodded toward her, with his arms crossed.

  “What am I looking for, exactly?” Finn gave him a quizzical look.

  “Her wound! Describe it.”

  Finn had eyed him oddly, and Jon could almost read his little brother’s thoughts. He thinks I’ve gone off the deep end. That I haven’t had enough sleep.

  “Ooookay,” Finn said and leaned over her. “Am I supposed to tell you the colors... or compare it to a shape... or?”

  “Just tell me how it looks compared to when we brought her here!” Jon snapped.

  “Oh! It looks great,” Finn praised and smiled at him. “You did good Jon, it’s almost like the gash was never there.”

  “Thanks,” Jon replied, and dismissed him. Almost like the gash was never there. Yes, that was the problem. Lacerations did not heal that fast. With a cut as deep as hers, they should be changing the bandages for a few more weeks. Even in ideal conditions, the healing she had displayed over a week should take a year, at least.

  He had no medical explanation, and no one to call, or ask. When he checked the old medical books in the library, there were examples of people healing quickly, but not at freakish rates like this. If she was miraculously regenerating this fast, why was she not awake?

  The color in her face had returned. She was even a bit flushed, and appeared to be napping when you looked at her. If only everyone could be this quiet around him!

  Jon often found himself wandering to the study, where Mr. Jenkins and Cocoa were convalescing. Both had healed well, but with the roads closed, they remained under Jon’s care. Angus, their old Saint Bernard, was Finn’s dog, but these two furry patients—much like any of the animals Jon brought home to watch over—felt like an extension of Jon himself. He curled up on the carpet next to Mr. Jenkins and let his head come to a light rest on the dog’s chest, listening for the soothing sounds of a regular heartbeat. The dog gave a light, relaxed shudder, as all animals did when they detected Jon’s comforting presence.

  The easy part for Jon came in saving their lives. The challenge was in returning them to their owners, and saying goodbye.

  Except, Cocoa’s owner was here, Jon realized. Surprised he hadn’t thought of it sooner, he lifted the brown tabby and carried her gently into the room where Ana was resting. As soon as Jon set her down on the bed, Cocoa instantly nuzzled under Ana’s hand, purring, looking for affection.

  Finn looked at him with an expression Jon read as shock mixed with happiness.

  Later that evening, Finn came to him and said he needed to try and recover some of the catch he’d stored.

  “Impossible,” Jon countered. “There is two feet of snow outside. Our snow thrower can’t handle that. Hell, neither could our small plow. We’re going to have to wait.”

  “No,” Finn responded. “Difficult is all. We are going to need the lobster because we won’t have enough food for two of us, let alone three.”

  “All right,” Jon conceded, heading for his jacket. “You’re the expert.”

  “No. Only one of us can work on it. Someone needs to stay with Ana.”

  Great, Jon thought. I do so love laboring in the cold. “Where’s the key to the plow then?”

  Finn shook his head as he maneuvered into his winter gear. “It’s quicker if I do it, because I know exactly where to plow, and what to do. Your delicate lady fingers won’t last as long anyway,” he quipped.

  “Then who is going to stay with Ana?” Jon asked, ignoring the jab.

  “You, obviously,” Finn said, and then was out the door, the screen banging behind him, before Jon could say anything else.

  ***

  24- ANA

  Cold snow... warm hands... ice against her face, warmth consuming her body… throbbing in her temple, the amplification of her heartbeat with every breath... pulsing... it was if her head was literally going to explode...

  “… I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…”

  ... not her thoughts, or her words... someone else’s...

  “… to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary...”

  “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.

  ***

  25- 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 how he liked it.

  Angus. That had been a defining moment for Finn, when Angus 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, pee on someone’s foot if they lingered too long to talk, and 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 h
im.

  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 tales from 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 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 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 visitors normally missed; take her to the old mill and the granary, and the forgotten lake. 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 to 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, 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?

  ***

  26- JONATHAN

  Day eight of Ana’s long rest came and went without ceremony, but the elapsed time was not lost on Jon. The longer the girl remained in her deep sleep, the potential for things to go wrong 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.

  He was in a constant state of anxiousness, between Ana’s continued sleep, her miraculous and medically impossible healing, and the growing concerns regarding fellow residents. Constantly restless and feeling helpless, not knowing when she would wake up and if she did, would she 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. 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.

  Finn spent the entire day prior plowing. 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 comfort 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? 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 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 him 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 protested, only half-lying.

  “And you’re scared as shit to crash in one. You’ve never manned Forbia. You don’t run the plow. I’m not saying you’re a p
ussy 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.

  ***

  27- ANA

  College graduation. Everyone was there: her family, fellow students from the past four years, good and bad; her friends and 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 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.