by Cassia Leo
“She doesn’t,” Nicolas stated confidently.
Augustus shifted in his leather chair, growing frustrated. Nicolas was making it harder to put the worry to bed and he felt that cold, unwanted feeling coming back; the control receding. “I know,” he started, slowly, methodically, “how close you two are. I know—”
“With all due respect sir, no. You don’t.” Level, intense gaze.
“—and I know your imagination is getting the better of you.” I have to believe that, because the alternative…
Nicolas stood up and carelessly wiped his hands down his wrinkled shirt. “I wasn’t looking for your permission. I thought you might like to know.”
Leave it alone Nicolas, he wanted to beg. Ana, please call.
“I think if we give it some time…”
Nicolas moved to strike the desk but stopped himself, instead gripping his short, spiky dark hair in frustration, as if ready to rip it out. “Time? Uncle Augustus… it has been over a week since anyone in the family has heard from your daughter. We have a man saying she is fine and having the time of her life, but he doesn’t know that we know Ana, who she is and how she acts. She is quiet, but she is ours, and she would never, ever, ever let us suffer like this needlessly. She is not cruel.” He moved to the door. “I know you don’t want to face this. Do you think I do? Without her…” his voice trailed off, and Nicolas took a deep breath to control the emotions threatening to take over. “I can feel it in my bones. She needs me.”
Yes. Augustus had felt it too, but ignored the nagging sense. Addressing it meant admitting he may have sent his daughter into danger and he could not—would not—believe something could ever happen to her.
Defeated, he reached into his desk and pulled out a credit card. He handed it to Nicolas. “Take this, then.”
Nicolas waved it away. “I have my own money. Thank you, though.”
Augustus stood up and opened Nic’s hand, placed the card inside, and closed it again. “I’m not asking. If I can’t go, then I can at least feel like I am doing something to help.”
Nicolas nodded, looking at the card, or his feet, Augustus couldn’t tell. “I’ll call when I get there.”
“Yes. And as soon as you know anything.” He lowered his head so he could meet his nephew’s eyes. “Anything, Nicolas. No matter what.”
“I will,” he said and left.
Augustus stood in the center of his office, feeling the blood drain from his face. He was now acutely aware of which emotion had won the battle.
***
31- JONATHAN
It was nearing nightfall, and Finn was not back. Jon hadn’t expected him to be back this early, but it was no less disconcerting being unable to reach him, or know how he was faring with that damned snow contraption.
Jon remembered when his father had brought it home. It was the day Finn got suspended from high school for getting into a fight, defending Jon.
Their father had been so excited over the blasted thing. The model was built in the ‘70s, for military search and rescue operations, and was over six tons of heavy steel and rubber. Dan Gundersson had traded it as payment for his long-running medical tab, and Jon’s father didn’t care that he would never use it on this small island, or that it was ridiculous and impractical. “Dad, the island is only two miles long,” Jon had said.
Andrew St. Andrews had given him the signature eyebrow raise. Not the quick rise and fall of amusement, but the other one. The disapproving one. “Your brother will understand.”
Of course Finn would understand. Finn was good with his hands, was more masculine. What was masculinity, really though? A way to measure a set of interests, and abilities? Jon had always felt masculinity was less about ability and more about confidence, but saying so would probably result in his father calling him soft. He could handle people calling him different, reclusive, odd… but his father’s thundering voice, the word soft… nothing else hurt him like that.
But then their father had received that call from the school. Andrew St. Andrews had spent more time than he would have liked there, usually meeting with Finn’s teachers about his failing grades. Their father had chalked it up to Finn’s lack of focus on his education, but Jon knew it was quite the opposite. No teacher had bothered to challenge Finn enough to keep his grades up, or keep him focused on his studies. On the mainland, Finn might have been put in advanced placement classes, but the small school on the island had nothing like that. Finn had been forced into special classes when his poor grades were mistaken for a learning disorder. Jon was furious at their neglect, but Finn had shrugged and said it didn’t matter anyway. But it did matter, and even Jon could see that.
If it was not Finn’s grades, it was his temper. Such was the case the day the snowcat joined the family. “I see. I’m coming,” Andrew had said to the caller, and left the house without another word, the snowcat forgotten. It stayed there in the put away until Finn dusted it off to find food.
“Stop fighting my battles, I don’t need you to,” Jon had said that night as Finn stood at the edge of the porch, his eyes focused on the sea. Finn would be unable to sit that night, and maybe tomorrow. The birch tree lashings grew more difficult as they grew older.
Finn laughed, smirking. “I’m not doing it for you,” he said proudly. “If I walk away from a fight, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“And if you don’t walk away, one day you might get seriously hurt,” Jon pointed out. Finn had been getting in fights since he was old enough to put his fists up. This wasn’t the first time he had done it to defend Jon. “What happens when you’re older, and you’re in a bar, and this time there’s no principal to jump in and suspend you both?”
“My ass hurts enough already. I don’t need two dads,” Finn spat.
When their father died years later, Jon assumed their father’s role as Finn’s protector and teacher, even though by that point Finn had been on his own long enough to graduate college and start his fishing business.
Except this time he had not protected him. He had allowed him to take that thing across town after one of the worst storms Jon had ever seen. Finn always did whatever he pleased, but there was usually a way to stop him, and Jon had only tried half-heartedly this time. He could have tried harder, but he was so scared they would run out of food, and he hadn’t wanted to risk calling anyone when that had been an option. He sometimes hated himself for his fears.
He used his finger to mark his place in the book he was reading, and studied Ana. Without the pressure of conversation, he could finally take her measure. She was really quite striking. Her red hair was long, and a deep auburn mixed with flecks of fire. She had medium cheekbones that gave her face a softness, and her eyebrows were thin but a bit unruly right at the inside edges. Her nose was what they would call a nice Roman nose, but underneath it her angel’s kiss was more deeply grooved than most, and her lips arched up to meet it, soft and inviting. Her face was round, almost heart shaped, and the color in her cheeks from the warmth of room made her seem ethereal.
Jon could see what Finn saw in her physically, but he was unable to grasp the connection otherwise. He noticed from the moment she walked into his office that she was different. Different like he was different. People looking in might have felt their hearts warmed at the thought of two lost souls finding each other, but it didn’t work that way. They were the way they were with everyone, no matter how much that other person might understand.
He wondered if she was pretending to be someone else for Finn. Jon had tried it before, too, thinking maybe if he tried hard enough it would become true at some point. He remembered Shannon, how he had done it for her, and how she had seen right through his attempts. She loved him anyway, she said, a concept that had baffled Jon—how could anyone love someone as difficult and cold as him?—but as it turned out, she had believed she could change him for the better. Shannon believed Jon would outgrow his severe introversion, and that, through her acceptance of him, he would grow and blos
som, becoming whole. But Shannon had been wrong, and the last thing she ever said to him was an accusation for being exactly the person he had always been.
“I am as whole as I will ever be,” he said to her.
“You’re a shell of the man you could be, and you are dead inside,” she spat.
He didn’t blame Shannon for the inevitable end of their relationship. He knew it was his fault. The year they dated, he had been so enraptured with her—her brilliant mind, that long, curly blonde hair—that he threw all caution aside. In the end, he had shrugged her off, in the same way he had shrugged off medical school. They were both gone, but they would always serve as a reminder of why it was better to see the world through realistic eyes, rather than hopeful ones.
That was the last time he tried to connect with someone. It was lonelier this way, but it was so exhausting seeking acceptance, and the reward too small to matter.
Where was Ana in her acceptance of herself? Still holding on to hope that maybe she would grow out of it? Instead of feeling disdain for her, he actually felt a deep kinship, for the first time since meeting her.
His hand brushed hers, letting it come to a temporary rest. When she woke, they could never be friends, never seek to understand each other. Things would go back to the way they were. But for now, in this moment, he could console her with a touch that said: I understand. Me too.
And then Ana Deschanel opened her damn eyes.
For several, awful moments, they stared at each other. Her eyes were wide with panic, and they seemed to almost tremble in their sockets. There were no sounds in the house. He could no longer hear the soft hum of the heater, or even his own heartbeat, which he could definitely feel. He sensed her fear and confusion coming at him in intense waves, and it overwhelmed him. Which one of them dared break the silence?
“You,” she said finally, her voice unsteady and strained.
***
32- FINNEGAN
Finn shivered violently, the cold penetrating him to his core. for the crackling heat of the fireplace had never been so acute.
He knew cold; he’d been raised in it. Learned all the tricks for staying warm. How to be aware of your pulse at all times. Methods to protect your body from frostbite. To wear layers, but make sure you never sweat inside your warm clothes. Ways to insulate your extremities. He knew all of these skills, but being a cautious islander—in a town that was often cut off from the world during storms—he had mostly avoided situations where he would be forced to use this knowledge. He logically knew how to build a house, but if someone put a hammer in his hand and wood at his feet, he couldn’t be confident there’d be a functional house in the end.
Taking the snowcat out was foolish, but it was also their only viable choice if they intended to avoid going hungry. Even if the island’s roads opened, the lone grocery store would be sold out quickly. It was a near certainty that the ferries would not resume with another storm imminent. Mayor Cairne had been trying to get the city of Portland to be more flexible for years—other islands did not suffer the same transportation blackouts, because they were larger and had a louder voice in the matter—but he had never been able to get beyond initial discussions. With a population of only 204, Summer Island was no one’s priority.
Asking others for help was out of the question, too. Other than the Auslanders, there were not any neighbors nearby, and even had there been, they were likely rationing their own resources. The first storm had been stronger than anyone predicted, and this was why they had created the town food storage building in the first place.
And the Auslanders... Jon thought Finn was an idiot, or at least blind. Finn knew the reasons Jon didn’t want to go see them, and Finn more than understood, he agreed. Jon’s quick jump to silence the phone anytime it rang did not go unnoticed. Had he not been the one who worked for years to protect Jon from his own, unfair reputation? He could only imagine what Alex and Gertrude were presuming was happening at the St. Andrews house. He hoped Jon had a plan. For now, all Finn could do was make this beast of a machine run long enough to get to the food storage and back. It had taken him several hours to get it running and stocked with supplies. As a result, Finn had started his trek much later than he wanted to. Darkness would be descending soon.
The snowcat didn’t move very fast. Compounding the lack of speed was the necessity of restarting each time it died, his heart racing, fearing it had finally given up and quit for good. There were so many instruments and gadgets Finn was unfamiliar with, and half of the instructions were in some vague, Eastern European language.
He hadn’t figured out what he was going to do when he got to the food storage, but he suspected he would need to find a warm place to rest before dawn broke. Jon’s office was only two blocks away, and Finn knew he kept a rollout bed in the back, for long nights. Or, there’s always Alex Whitman, next door, he thought, and laughed.
The slow drive was agonizing. He passed familiar landmarks at a crawl, acknowledging each time that he could potentially walk there faster if he didn’t need a place to put food for the return trip. He first saw the ’76 station; the orange ball towering in the air with snow draped over the top, making the number look more like 16 than 76. Slowly, the Flanders Grocery parking lot came into view. Eventually he could make out the Civil War fort. It appeared even more derelict covered in snow, as if the brightness highlighted every broken beam and rotting piece of wood.
Finn focused his mind on what he knew was coming next (City hall, the Maritime Museum, Jon’s office) so he could fool himself into feeling as if he were making progress. I only need to get past Jon’s office, and then make a right turn and I’m almost there.
But as daylight waned, and the town streetlights flickered to life, Finn increasingly missed the warmth of his home.
And he missed Ana. He remembered her waving, their familiar ritual, and then imagined her doing it from his porch. Maybe that was jumping too far ahead. They had done little more than have dinner together and kiss… but he never remembered a kiss like that before. Every moment from dinner continued to play through his head like scenes from a movie.
Finn realized—even if she didn’t—that she was so much like Jon. How could he not, when he had grown up with Jon’s darkness? It wasn’t a challenge to him. It was a part of her, like it was a part of Jon. There was so much he wanted to say to her. That he knew, and understood, and it didn’t bother him. He would give her anything, any comfort, acceptance, whatever she needed.
It was a wonder to him Jon didn’t like her more, considering how alike they were, but there were facets of Jon’s mind that would always remain a mystery to Finn.
Finn wished his mother was still living. He knew she would see everything he saw in Ana, and appreciate those qualities he was growing to love. You never fear, my son. God has much in store for my Mighty Poseidon. That was her private nickname for Finn, when everyone else derisively called him Ahab after his horrible boating accident. He hated being called Ahab, and she knew that, so she gave him a nickname he could love. Poseidon, the great god of the sea.
One day you will have a family of your own, she had said.
I don’t need a family. I have you.
There will come a day when you’ll have me only in your heart. When that day comes, God willing, you will have another’s arms to fall into.
I just want to be on the sea, Mama.
And you will, Finnegan, but there is more to life. Your heart is big enough for the entire sea and then some.
He reached past his jacket, to his shirt pocket, his thick glove ungainly but still finding what he was looking for: Ana’s necklace. A small cross with emeralds in the center. She said it had been her mother’s. His hand went to his own neck, and the cross he wore always... his mother’s. This cross was the only jewelry he wore, and hers was the only piece of jewelry she had been wearing too; something else that connected them.
Jon said she shouldn’t be wearing any jewelry while she was asleep, in case she hurt herse
lf. Finn absentmindedly slipped it in his pocket, only remembering its presence now.
Remember how I said one day I will live only in your heart, Poseidon? His mother lay dying before him, fading from cancer.
I’m not ready for that day, Mama. You have to fight back, there has to be something…
No, sweetheart. Her thin, shaking hand had found his and dropped something into it. Her cross. This is yours now, Finnegan James. You wear this and I will always be with you. Someday you will give this to your child and they will know the beauty of love and life and family, as we have.
Finn left his hand over his mother’s cross, remembering her final words to him. “Ana,” he whispered, his breath fogging up the thick window in front of him. He smiled, and felt warmth rush through him for the first time in hours. The trip suddenly didn’t seem so bad. “Ana.”
***
33- OZ
Oz zipped his small suitcase, only giving a passing, distracted thought as to whether or not he had packed appropriately. It was past eleven at night. Nicolas would be by soon to pick him up, and then they would be off to Maine. He hoped their haphazard trip was more adventure, and not a rescue mission.
Oz felt so guilty when Ana left, but after a while that guilt had dissipated and been replaced by overwhelming relief. Unfortunately, relief was supplanted once again by guilt, and the subsequent heaviness on his heart. It came and went this way, in cycles.
He was so close to telling Nicolas the truth that day he showed up at Ophélie. Nicolas had no idea what to do with Oz’s erratic behavior, and so had predictably ignored it. But later in the bar, he had given Oz an especially meaningful look. There was no way Nicolas could know, because if he had known then he would have killed Oz. Or would he? I’m not sure he would have been angry so much as jealous or feeling left out. Maybe angry for Adrienne...
