by Cassia Leo
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; he had already 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 family) to make this easier for her, but the crowd seemed endless and not even a loud shirt stood out.
Ana squeezed her toes tightly into her shoes, 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 what 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. It was the years of therapy, and her father’s failed attempts to understand, which 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 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.
***
28- NICOLAS
Adrienne called him a couple times to see if he knew anything of Ana’s whereabouts, 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 would always be broken. Nicolas and Oz had an unspoken, shared fear that certain stressors would break her again, and 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 gone 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 preferable 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 fine, and over at the neighbor’s house or some shit, but his story was really fucking weird, Ozzy, like he was hiding something.”
Oz leaned over his beer so Nicolas could not see his expression. Nicolas half-expected Oz to try offering a reasonable explanation for 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 the same question every day for a week, Ozzy. So far none of the answers are working out for me.”
“Have you thought of going up there?” Oz’s eyes were wild again suddenly, the way they had been the last time they met.
Nicolas snorted. “Fuck yes, I have. You know I have. I can get a flight into Boston or Portland, but the island is shut down. None of the ferries are running, and I can’t find someone who will charter me over.”
“Well, that has to change soon, right? People can’t be stuck on an island forever without someone helping out,” Oz said confidently. When Nicolas looked up at him, Oz dropped his eyes, looking back down at his drink.
“You’d think Ozzy, but you’d be wrong. One of the guys I talked to said there are winters where the ferries don’t run at all after the first storm hits. They prepare for this shit,” he ranted, knocking his fist on the bar. “You know, it’s times like this that make me consider investing in a private plane.”
Oz gave him a half-hearted smile. “Right, because if you had one, you’d know exactly what to do with it.”
“That’s what a fucking pilot is for, Ozzy.”
Nicolas felt better after talking to Oz, even though he was no closer to figuring out what he wanted to do. Subsequent calls to Alex Whitman went unreturned. He knew he should go up there anyway and try to throw his weight around. Even if he didn’t find a way to Summer Island, he would at least feel useless than he felt sitting around here scratching his ass.
As if reading his mind, Oz ventured, with a touch of nervousness in his voice, “If you want, we could go up there. You and me, I mean.”
“What about Adrienne?” The rest of the question was left unspoken.
“She will be fine for a few days,” Oz said, sounding more as if he was trying to convince himself.
“Hey, you need a few days off. I’m not judging!” Nicolas threw his hands up with a laugh.
Oz rolled his eyes, but then dropped them again and said nothing. Nicolas had touched a nerve, but this time he didn’t think troubles with Adrienne were what was on his friend’s mind. Oz had been acting weird for a while. Since Ana had left, really. Despite his overriding concern for Ana, Nicolas could not deny his interest in figuring out what was going on with Oz. Especially now when, of all things, Oz offered to join him.
“If I can help out at all, even if only by being your incredibly handsome and charming wingman, then that’s more useful than I’ve felt at home lately,” Oz answered, still inspecting his beer.
“Let me think about it,” Nicolas said, but he had already thought about it and decided. Though he was still concerned for her safety, a small part of him had begun to wonder if her elusiveness was not personal. If she wasn’t trying to send him a message, of sorts. If that were to happen—if he were to show up, only to find she had been intention
ally avoiding him—then, selfishly, he wanted Oz there to soften the blow.
You know Ana. She’s always preferred to be alone, Adrienne had said to Nicolas, when he was the one who was supposed to be reassuring her.
Yes, but she’s always made an exception for me, Nicolas thought, but did not say, to his sister. They had faced everything together, hand in hand, presenting a united front against the world. They had never needed anything but each other, and she had never once shown any indication this bothered her.
No, Nicolas concluded, something is definitely wrong. She would never shut me out.
Nicolas decided they would need to leave right away. He would have his assistant make the arrangements. In the meantime, there was someone he needed to visit first.
***
29- ALEX
Alex could make excuses all day about the weather outside, but as long as he was in his house doing nothing, he was as guilty as the St. Andrews boys. Who knows what they’ve done to her due to my inaction, he thought with a shudder.
“We’re gonna see dat boy on the news one day,” Alex’s mother had said about Jon, years ago. She shook her head, as if there were some things in life that couldn’t be helped. “Poor Claire. One child is hell’s spawn, the other a future serial killer.” Angela Whitman was wrong about a lot of things, but Alex had never forgotten those words. And neither brother had ever done a single thing that would change his opinion for the better. True, Jon was kind to animals, and Finn was always the first to help Mrs. Auslander plow her driveway, but Alex knew even bad people were not all bad. Everyone had something nice you could say about them. His mother had taught him that, too. It was why she never left Alex’s father, Bill, even when he beat her so badly she could no longer stand upright.
I couldn’t save you, and I couldn’t save the others, but I will save Ana. Alex’s gut told him there was still time. And if there wasn’t, and, God forbid he came too late... well, he would not let Jon or Finn get away with it. He would not fail like Sheriff Horn undoubtedly would standing in Alex’s long-trodden shoes.
The calls with Nicolas Deschanel were eating at him. There was a change in the man’s voice at the end of their last call, one that made Alex wonder if his lie was really so convincing after all. No matter. He can’t do anything for her. No one is getting on or off this island for a long time.
The Auslanders radioed him earlier that afternoon, telling him Finn had fired up Andrew’s old snowcat and headed north. Where that boy is goin’ is anyone’s guess, Gertrude said, but Alex was sure he knew. The only thing that would get people out of their homes risking their neck on the roads was a lack of resources. Finn was probably heading toward the town’s food storage, which coincidentally connected with Alex’s property. The island was not large by any means, but those vehicles were slow as mud, and not meant for long treks. He estimated Finn would make it there by late afternoon or nightfall, and returning at that time would be hazardous.
It was a given Alex would watch for him. The bigger question looming in his mind was whether or not he would offer Finn his hospitality, and give him a room for the night. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t. He had squandered enough time already, and Finn’s trek toward Alex’s backyard would force Alex into action.
Alex sat upstairs in his study, fidgeting. The window fogged from his hot tea and it made him sleepy. Finn would be here sometime today, and Alex would need to have a plan. And what if Finn wouldn’t make eye contact when he asked if he had seen the girl. Or if Alex shuffled his feet and lost his words? What would Alex do then? Hold Finn against his will? Call the sheriff? Go out to the house himself, where the crazier brother was still holding poor Ana hostage? What then?
And what if Alex did go with Finn back to the St. Andrews home, attempt to rescue Ana, and she refused his help? She wouldn’t be the first. Alex’s mother had done exactly that, and she learned her lesson the hard way. All those other women, too. He could have helped them, he knew he could have. He would have done anything to save them. But how do you save someone from themselves?
Ana was different. He knew she was; she had to be. There was no doubt in his mind. But then, why was he covered in sweat, pacing endlessly? If it were true, why had he not gone over there immediately, and demanded answers?
No, he told himself. She is the one. She has to be. She’s the one I will finally save…
***
30- AUGUSTUS
Augustus could not decide which emotion was most overwhelming at the moment: anger, frustration, or worry. Anger and frustration were easier. He experienced both on a daily basis at the office. When he was angry, he was, if nothing else, in control. He could decide when he was ready for the anger to subside, and move on. There was no confusion or hesitation, just a realization and a decision, followed by action. This methodical approach to emotions summed up almost everything one needed to know about Augustus Deschanel.
Worry, on the other hand… worry was full of holes; full of unknowns and things Augustus had absolutely no control over. His thoughts would take over, start spiraling in dangerous directions, and then the anger would return, because nothing angered him more than being out of control.
Over a week was a long time not to hear from his daughter. She could be peculiar at times, but she was always good to her family. This was the girl who had technically lived on campus but stayed at home most nights, even after she joined her sorority. The child who used to fall asleep in his study because she’d rather be close to him even if he was working. The young lady who had called him when her boyfriend had become too friendly. She didn’t call Nicolas, she called Daddy. She was introspective, and maybe even challenging at times, but she was deeply connected to her father.
She was either being uncharacteristically selfish or something was wrong. Believing she was being selfish was easier. Anger was controllable, and temporary. At the end of it, he could yell at her, shame her, and even threaten to disown her, but there was a start and end, both of which he could control. If something was wrong, then sitting in an empty skyscraper in the Central Business District of New Orleans made him about as useful as that intern he fired today.
“If you are fine and just being a brat, I am going to kill you,” he muttered as he picked up the phone once again. He sighed as he set it down, without reaching her.
“I thought you might still be here, Uncle Augustus,” came a startling voice from the doorway. It was past eight and the building was nearly empty. He was used to being the last one to leave. “Sorry if I bothered you.”
“No, Nicolas, it’s fine,” he said, and scattered papers around his desk, embarrassed to be caught lost in his thoughts. “Did you need something?”
Nicolas sat down without being invited to, but this did not surprise Augustus.
“I’m going to Maine,” he said, right to the point. “I can’t say for certain, but something feels wrong and I can’t sit back here like a fucking lame duck.” He winced. “Pardon my language, Uncle.”
Augustus pursed his lips together. This changed things, but he still felt as if he should stay composed. “So you have not heard from her either.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t know why he hadn’t called Nicolas sooner. There was a small, insecure part of him which believed maybe she was calling everyone but him. It was the same reason he didn’t call the overseer, he supposed.
“Neither has Adrienne, and, I am guessing from your reaction, you haven’t either.” Nicolas had already known that though, or he wouldn’t be here, telling him his plans. “I’ve booked my flight, and I’m leaving in a few hours. The hard part is getting to the island. It’s closed and they have no estimate on when the ferries will run again. I am planning to go anyway, wave around the family credit card, and see how far it gets me.”
Augustus nodded, though he was already aware of the island situation. He had his secretary make some phone calls. Thinking about surprising my daughter, he had said. Purely informational calls. No reason to get worked up over nothing, and he was
still convinced there was an explanation for her silence.
“Perhaps the phone lines are down,” Augustus said in a controlled voice. “If the island is shut down, it would be surprising if the phone lines weren’t also incapacitated.”
Nicolas shook his head and sunk back in his chair like a wayward teenager. “No. I talked to the overseer. He said the phone lines were fine, as of a few days ago.”
“What else did he say?” Augustus bristled, annoyed Nicolas had more information than he did.
“That she was fine, and hanging out at her neighbor’s house. I asked why she hadn’t called if she was fine, and he gave me some bullshit excuse about long distance calls being expensive, but this isn’t 1980. So I asked him to talk to her and tell her that if the neighbors were so cheap then she can call collect.” Nicolas sat up. “But that was almost a week ago, and do you think she’s called?” Nicolas went on, “I looked up the neighbors’ number, and tried to call myself. There’s been no answer for days.”
Augustus felt better already. If the overseer said she was fine… “Let her be. She will call when things clear up. It is thoughtful of you to worry, but you have your answer.” See? Control. Resolution. Back in the comfort zone.
Nicolas laughed. His face flushed crimson, and he narrowed his eyes. “No, she is not fine, Uncle, and I knew it before I even talked to that idiot. I don’t trust him.”
“What reason would he have for lying, Nicolas?”
“I don’t care to psychoanalyze him, and I don’t need to, because I know Ana. I know she would have called. She would have known that I’d be pulling my hair out with worry, and so would you, and Adrienne. The only thing Ana hates more than her own pain is being the cause of others’.”
“Ana went to Maine to be alone. Has it occurred to you she might want space?”
