Covet

by James, Ella

  Mark and I walk to the dock, and he points out his boat. It’s pretty small, and made of wood. I’m pretty sure it’s the same one I came in on. I watch him crank the motor, and I get a look around the dock, and at the Celia, anchored maybe three hundred yards out. Then I “remember” my forgotten passport.

  “Want to meet me back here in an hour?” I ask.

  “That will work.”

  I walk up the hill, then hurry toward the clinic. I come at it from the residence side and stand with my back against the wall outside the door. I spend a couple minutes listening to the women’s voices as they talk inside while cleaning up our mess. Finley’s at the church, one of them says. I try to make it over there discreetly, but I see some little kid and raise a hand to wave at him, then put my finger to my lips. Don’t tell, buddy.

  I check all the church’s doors, finding there are three but the back two are locked. The church’s big, wooden door—the one on the front—is ajar. My heart pounds as I stand outside it, listening to what’s going on inside for what feels like a long time before I step silently into the back of the main room. That’s when I hear her soft Hail Marys. I can’t see her, so she must be kneeling in the front.

  I start sweating as I spot that fucking Father Russo, dressed in all his priest shit, sitting on the third row from the front. I have to really work hard on my breathing so I don’t lose my shit while I stand behind a partial wall and wait for…something. I’ll know when I see it.

  I try to keep track of the minutes. Five? Seven? Four hundred? Finally, I see her, and again, I go all sweaty. I watch as she approaches Father Fucker. I think she asks if she can use the women’s room. My blood boils that she has to ask.

  He must say “yes.” I watch what hallway she goes down, and then I take a big breath and get going. There’s only one option that I know of: I crawl down the far left aisle, moving fast and hiding behind church pews. My shoulder aches, and my head throbs where Freddy hit me with a metal surgical tray, but I’m still pretty agile. Father Russo seems distracted.

  When I get into the hall, my head spins hard. Women’s room. Fuck, I need the—

  There it is. I open the door…step slowly inside. There are two stalls. As I lean down to look for her feet, I hear a sniffle.

  “Finley?” I hiss. “It’s Declan.”

  Seventeen

  Finley

  I brace for the worst when I hear the door open. Horror after horror, I think, my body trembling. Then I hear him. I hear Declan. He’s here or I’ve gone mad. Either way, I’m weeping as I rush from the stall.

  He catches me and spins me slightly, with one arm around my back. His hand tunnels up through my hair, holding my head as his mouth presses over mine. He kisses me hard, and then I’m gasping. He’s whispering something. My blood is booming in my ears.

  “Hey there, sweet Siren. Are you okay?” He holds me tight enough to hurt, and I can feel the tremor in him as his ribs pump with his quick, quiet breaths.

  I cling to him, my voice cracking on a sob. All I can say is, “Sailor.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.” We’re leaned against the wall. I’m wrapped in his arms, scarcely standing on my weak legs as he holds me to him, his lips against my hair as he says, “Listen to me, Siren. He’s still out there and we’ve gotta go. Are you hurt anywhere?” His hands stroke down my back and sides as he blinks down at me with warm, gentle eyes.

  I shake my head as tears spill down my cheeks. It’s not true, though. The answer is “my heart,” but it feels better now.

  “Okay—we’re gonna have to find a different door. Is there a side door you could show me?”

  “I can’t leave with you! They won’t let me!” A sob punches from my throat before his mouth seals over mine again.

  “I know.” He holds me tightly. “I know you can’t without spousal consent. Somebody told me. Do you want to, though? You want to leave with me, Finny? I think I can get that ship to leave if we go right now, get some lead time.”

  “Yes. Yes, please! Don’t leave me here, please!”

  “Okay, baby. Where’s that other door? You gotta show me where the other door is.”

  “The side door.”

  We steal through the darkened hall and past the lesson rooms and turn right. And there’s the door. He pushes it open, and I rush into the frigid night, and then we’re running through the semi-frozen dew that sparkles like diamonds in the grass. We’re running so quickly, Declan’s strong hands dragging me, and I suppose I’m too slow because then he’s thrown me over his shoulder. With each bouncing step, his shoulder jabs me in the belly, so I shut my eyes. I can’t see the places as we pass. I can’t say goodbye. Perhaps it’s better that way.

  I feel when we reach the hill. The hill I walked up to look down and see him arriving. It’s the last path that I walked with Mummy. When we reach the downslope where the grass rolls down to the dock, he sets me on my feet and grabs my hand, and we run down the path together. That’s when raindrops start to hit me in the face.

  “The queen pulls back up to the dock, and Prince Declan hops in, and he and the princess exchange smiles as best friends do. She says, ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ and he says, ‘Oh, of course. I would never dream of missing rainbow glitter dolphins on your birthday.’”

  Pain or something like it swells in my chest, but we’re moving so quickly. I think of the coming ocean. I can see my mother’s yellow flower halo. If I start to drown, can he save me? I’m aware as we approach the dock that the sea is choppy—like it was that day. Fear fills my lungs, spins my head. Declan’s strong hand squeezes mine.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you. You trust me, Siren?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve spent a ton of time out on the ocean. And this ship’s expecting me. Money can’t buy everything, but I think it can buy a speedy departure for me and a plus one. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Please!”

  My legs shake awfully as we step into the boat. We’re moving quickly, but he takes a moment to kneel in front of me and look into my eyes. “Are you sure?” He takes my hand in his and squeezes. “It’s okay if you’re not. I can stick around here with you. Try to work out something. I won’t leave you, Siren.”

  Tears well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. I nod once. “I’m sure.”

  It’s a fact: nothing will ever be resolved here. Doctor would never absolve me of my vows. He’ll never let me go, and Father Russo told me with his own lips just today that he’ll never annul our charade of a marriage. After my four hours of Hail Marys, he’d been preparing to deliver me to Doctor for a consummation and re-dedication of our vows.

  “I want to go with you, my Sailor. Even if we have to flee.”

  I think of Baby, and I wipe fresh tears to be leaving her behind. Then he’s helping me into a life vest, and I can’t stop my body shaking. It smells the same, the life vest does. I feel nearly just the same: so frightened.

  Rain falls faster as he unties the boat from the dock. My eyes cling to the hill that keeps the dock hidden from the village. Any moment now, someone might come.

  “You okay?”

  When I nod, he pushes the boat away from the dock. We bob a bit, and I hold my head as he starts the motor.

  “Really soon, we’re at the ship, and you can go inside.”

  “Okay,” I say between sobs.

  I feel his foot against mine as the motor whurrs, and then the boat’s front end tips up. I uncover my face and grip my bench. That’s when I see the gold lights spilling down the hill—flashlights.

  I gasp, and Declan glances back. After that, he revs the motor. The boat jolts up on the front end, and then it’s planning off. We’re flying over the dark water. I look back again. The lights are bobbing near the dock now.

  I choke on a sob. “They’re coming!”

  He tries to gun it, but the motor is so old. It’s weak and slow. As the flashlights bob—they’re getting on a boat—and I gasp deep,
salt-water breaths, I wonder if they’re using the island’s emergency vessel. I’ve heard tale of how fast it is.

  I clutch my seat and shut my eyes.

  God please. If you can hear me, please oh please! Help us! I’ll do anything, endure anything, if you can make me safe—please!

  I cross myself, and then the other motor’s hum sends my heart racing. I open my eyes, and my body goes ice cold. They’re perhaps a hundred meters behind. Declan’s face is stoic, but I feel his fear.

  What will we do?

  I turn toward our boat’s front, facing the for a view of the Celia. It’s about the same distance away: perhaps a hundred meters. I can’t stop weeping like a twit. Every bump over the waves throws my body back through time.

  I cannot lose him, too! Please, Mummy!

  “If we can’t leave together, I’m not leaving you,” he shouts over the wind. The rain tosses his words, needles my cheeks and forehead.

  Sailor revs the motor again, and the boat seems to skip over the waves. Perhaps we could reach the ship in time. How long does it take to board? There must be some wait. I’m speculating on the logistics when I glance back up, finding the gold lights behind us have grown larger.

  Stunningly quickly, they’re beside us.

  Declan swerves away. Our boat’s front juts up. I shriek, and his eyes fly to mine as our motor makes a choking sound, and we’re tip-up again. I’m weeping as I grip the bench. My final glimpse of Declan is his face bent in concentration as their flashlights beam over his shoulder.

  And then there’s a massive BOOM! It’s so forceful, so ferociously ear-boxing, I feel as if it knocks me back. In fact, it’s Declan who’s thrown overboard. I watch in horror as he hurdles to the water headfirst, his legs flying up behind him.

  In my bones, I understand the violent boom, its otherworldly echo. I’m a ghost as I step to the boat’s side—terror caged in flesh and bones. At first glimpse, I see nothing but mad white caps. Then I hear his choking. It’s not a human sound, but more a water gurgle.

  I realize in that instant—he’s not wearing a life vest! That’s what jolts my frozen mind. I’ve this notion of the water taking him, and that’s enough to help me clear the boat’s side.

  Gold light spills around me. I see my shadow flick over the water’s surface milliseconds before impact. It’s so cold—so horrid cold—my body and my brain lock for a moment. Then I’m grabbing at the water. My hand swipes his solid body, and I grasp a fistful of his hair.

  “DECLAN!”

  He pushes weakly at me as his gurgled moan rends my soul.

  “Grab onto me!”

  His groans morph into hoarse screams as his face tilts toward the moon. The water’s swallowing him. I can only see his nose and upper lip as I grab for him frantically. My arm finds its away around his neck. I lock my elbow underneath his chin and lean back in my life jacket, pulling him onto me so we bob then sink a bit together. Declan’s hoarse bellows blend with my own sobs.

  I can feel his body shake as his breaths come faster, weaker…

  “Siren.” I’m aware of gold light as their boat idles up beside us, but all I see are his eyes, sagging half shut as he shakes so violently, and I realize the warmth I’m feeling is his spilled blood.

  “I love you, Carnegie! I love you so very, very much!”

  “Love…you.” His teeth are chattering. His fingers grasp weakly at my leg. He’s trembling so hard, near convulsing. “Worth it.” The words give way to a groan that breaks into a whimper. “Siren—”

  That’s the moment I’m plucked from the water. I do my best to hold onto him, but the sea wins—again.

  There’s a splash, and spinning starlight.

  As I feel the boat’s hard surface beneath my back, another BOOM deafens my ears. Something heavy hits me. I smell blood before I’m taken by the darkness, and my last thought is a prayer: save him, not me.

  Eighteen

  Finley

  Eight Days Later

  His headstone means less than nothing to me. It’s a slab of rock from…I don’t know where, in fact. I don’t even know who chose it. Someone fetched it in those days when I was bed-bound, sobbing beneath Anna’s blankets, being spoon-fed soup and forced to swallow sips of water.

  Now I feel as if I’ll soon need my own resting place. I’ve cried so many tears for him—for everything that happened—that I’ve none remaining. I’m not the woman he knew any longer. I’m so very far from her.

  I pull a letter from my pocket. Unfold it. I scan the simple message quickly, although I needn’t do so to remember it. Its words are blazed into my memory. My hands are steady as I shred the letter into pieces. I watch them flutter in our Tristan breeze.

  The sky is gray today, and cloudless. I approve. Let it be winter. It’s winter in my heart, and I don’t want to look at blue skies or wildflowers. One rogue tear stings my left eye. I wipe it before I start across the sloping hillside toward two other headstones.

  These mean even less than his. Neither of them mark a body, for there are no bodies. There never were and never will be. Still, I kneel there by the left one—Mummy’s—and I wipe my damp eyes.

  “I never came here much to speak to you. Didn’t feel I needed this place, I suppose. I know where you are.” I swallow against the sobs that threaten. “When I arrive there, I’ll be near the ocean. And you’re there, right? Mummy, I don’t ever want to leave you…”

  I can’t help my weeping as I recall what I realized that horrid night I lost Declan. As I awakened from fainting, I remembered something new to me: this vision of myself with my chin on the boat’s side. No rain. Pale skies. Therefore it wasn’t that night. I remembered myself floating over glassy waters. And I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to return to the island without Mummy.

  When Charles Carnegie arrived here before dawn this morning, and I looked upon his face, I remembered those old feelings with even greater clarity. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t seen him in the flesh since that time. But seeing him made me remember.

  I don’t want to be here. I won’t tell our secrets. A mighty promise from a small girl. And one I kept it for so long—never speaking—for Mummy.

  I stroke my palm over her grass one last time before standing. I cast my gaze to the man standing over by the gate. His head is down. I believe he doesn’t want to make me feel as if I’m running short on time.

  I walk to Gammy next. Despite how much I abhor weeping, I can’t stop my tears. I sink down to my knees and hold my face as helpless sobs rack me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouth.

  “Never settle for an unkind man. That is the only thing I ask of you.”

  “I’m sorry, Gammy! Now I have to go, and I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want to leave our Hobbit house.” I wipe my eyes and nose. “But…that’s not true.” Perhaps I’m really weeping because it’s not true. I do want to leave our island. I must.

  “Gammy, I wish you were with me. I know you’re elsewhere now, but I so hate to leave you and your sea glass.” I touch a bit of what adorns her stone. That’s when I hear the footsteps behind me. I turn slowly and smile at wee Baby. She’s standing with her head raised, as if she’s posed for Gammy’s inspection.

  “Come here, wee rascallian.” She bounds over to me, and I hug her warm body. “Are you ready, darling dearest?”

  I cling to her, breathing deeply until I feel I can trust my eyes. Then I walk toward Charles, taking my time as I allow my gaze to explore the island from one of its highest slopes. I try to memorize each note of the scent here: the slight sweetness of the grass; the brisk, salty air; the smell of wet rock.

  I look down at the village, with its colorful tin roofs. This is my home. I was born here on these rocky shores. No matter where I go, a part of me will always remain. I wipe a few stray tears. And then I’m near enough that his gaze touches my face. His mouth tilts slightly at the corners, making my heart ache as it reminds me of Declan’s.

  Charles’s hair is pep
pered with gray and his face is leaner, slightly less feline than my Sailor’s. But he’s a handsome man. He’s still broad about the shoulders, and he shares his son’s kind eyes.

  I imagine him before grief and worry etched their mark upon his heart, and I imagine my sweet Mum at his side. Then I force myself to quit. It makes me too sad.

  I try to offer him a small smile.

  He returns it. “Ready?”

  I nod.

  We walk the winding dirt trail to the village slowly. Baby runs out front. When we reach the lanes, I find each porch and lawn are empty. I take my time memorizing details: Mr. Button’s purple porch, Bill and Sarah Green’s collection of six rocking chairs, the mermaid bench on Holly’s porch—carved by her father. Then we’re near the café. I think perhaps all the island’s shown up for my farewell.

  Inside, Charles and I are met with a crowd and a feast. I can’t eat a single bite.

  I step into the kitchen, and Mrs. Alice hugs me tightly. I break down, and she takes me outside through the kitchen door, into the foggy morning.

  “Let me tell you something, my dear. Something I don’t believe you know about me.”

  “What?” I whisper.

  Her eyes twinkle. “This old lady, lifelong Tristanian, wanted to stay back in England. More than anything.” She smiles gently. “Oh, yes. I was listening to Elvis Presley on the neighbor lady’s records. I’d walk down the way and get a cut of steak from the butcher. All that was lovely. But my Harold didn’t care for it. So we came back here to the island.” She looks wistful.

  My throat knots, so tightly I can’t speak. I swallow hard.

  “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

  “I’ve had a lovely life here. I’ll be buried by my Harold, glad to have these bitter winds whistle over my headstone. But…” She lifts her eyebrows. “But.” She hugs me once more. “There’s so much for you to see, my dear. Your grandmother would be dizzy with pride. I’ll tell you a secret.”