The Storm and the Darkness

by Sarah M. Cradit

  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 has 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 fear 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 saw from the moment she walked into his office that she was different. Different like he was different. People looking in on that 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 it. 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 deep down believed she could change him for the better. Shannon believed Jon would outgrow it, and that, through her acceptance of him, he would grow and blossom, 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 memories 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 was 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 in that, 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 be back 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 just 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 sounds 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.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Finnegan

  Finn shivered violently, the cold penetrating him to his core. He had never longed for the crackling heat of the fireplace as much as now.

  He knew cold; he’d been raised in it. He’d 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 as well, but if someone put a hammer in his hand and wood at his feet, he couldn’t be confident that 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 but its own.

  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 had predicted, and this was why they had voted on 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 to Finn either. Had he not been the one who had 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 that 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, and as a result, Finn had started his trek much later than he wanted to. Darkness would be descending soon.

  The snowcat did not move very fast. Compounding the lack of speed was the necessity of restarting each time it died, his heart racing each attempt, fearing it had finally given up and quit for good. There were so many instruments and gadgets that 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 Jon kept a rollout bed in the back, for those long nights at the office. 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 the food on the return trip. He first saw the ’76 station; the orange ball to
wering 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 outline of 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 his whole life 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 that 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 were here. He knew she would see everything he saw in Ana, and appreciate those qualities he was growing to love about her. 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 herself. Finn had 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 the 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.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Oz

  Oz zipped close his small suitcase, only giving a passing, distracted thought 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, that 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 so sure he would have been angry so much as jealous or feeling left out. Maybe angry for Adrienne...

  Adrienne and the children had already left for Oz’s parents’ house, where they would be staying while Oz was gone. Oz was still, after all these years, afraid to leave Adrienne alone. It was just as well they were already gone, because he was consumed with his thoughts.

  What if something did happen to her? It’s possible Nicolas isn’t overreacting...he is right that Ana would not be this inconsiderate...so what if she is hurt? Missing? Dead? It would be my fault...

  Of course it was his fault. He could have stopped her; should have stopped her. She left not just because of Oz but for him, and he hadn’t even thanked her for this act of selflessness. Because all I could think about was what Adrienne would do if she found out...what it would do to her, and to me, and our family.

  As a teenager, Oz had believed what he was feeling for Ana Deschanel was love. Maybe it was, but he never once regretted leaving her. It was two completely chaotic, passionate, crazy months, starting the night of their junior prom. It finally came to a boiling point where he could no longer take her long silences or her lack of care for anything. He might have really loved her if he thought she was capable of loving him back.

  Oz never even considered that there might be unresolved feelings or things left unsaid over the years. After the breakup things had been awkward at first, but then she had, frustratingly, pretended like nothing ever happened so he did the same. The close friendship they cherished before their relationship never returned, but they could hang out comfortably again, at least if Nicolas were around. Things didn’t exactly go back to normal, but they went back to something close to it.

  Until that night two months ago at Full Moon Bay, in Treme. There had been a hazy thickness in the air between them that had nothing to do with the shock of seeing each other in a seedier area of town, so far from their normal hangouts. The fear and intensity–and shame? guilt?–in her eyes that night, when their eyes locked as he walked through the door, was the most intense emotion Oz could ever recall seeing from her. The look on his face was not much different.

  “I always knew you were a stalker,” she said coolly as he slid back the old wooden chair and sat down across from her. The music was the usual muffled, static-filled jazz on cheap speakers. The bar was full and no one took any notice of Oz when he came in. This was just as he liked it. One look at Ana confirmed she came here for the same anonymous experience.

  “Waiting for someone?”

  Her eyes were still wide as she followed his movement, but she had managed to hide most of the emotion that had initially betrayed her. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Which means?”

  Ana didn’t answer him. “It’s a bit past your bedtime, no?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew she was referring to Adrienne and the kids.

  He decided not to answer her question, either. “How about I buy the first round?”

  She shrugged, acting indifferent. “If you want.”

  He bought more than just the first round. They traded off for the next couple of hours, until he lost count of how many drinks they had consumed, and whether or not they were even on paying the tabs. He didn’t care, either, because he was so caught up in their conversation–maybe the longest conversation he had ever h
ad with Ana–he didn’t even notice the time was slowly slipping away. Ana was relaxed and carefree, and he started see the side of her that, years ago, he had accused her of not having. Her small laugh involved throwing her head back and her whole body shaking. When he would say something she found particularly amusing, she actually took to pounding her palms on the table. He enjoyed this so much that he searched his brain for any jokes or funny stories he could remember, just to see her do it. And in perfect harmony, he had laughed with her so hard that his sides hurt.

  At some point, Ana watched a man walk through the door, and despite Oz’s attempts to keep her engaged in a charming story he was telling, the conversation took a more serious turn. She was not laughing anymore, her eyes fixed on the man as he walked to the bar and ordered a drink.

  “I’ve slept with him,” she said, her voice hollow, all the laughter gone. She looked around the room and nodded at another man and said, “Him too.”

  Oz did not know how he was supposed to react to that. He didn’t know whether she was bragging, just stating plain facts, both, or neither. He could never tell with Anasofiya what her intentions were. He only recognized that the relaxed, playful Ana from earlier in the night was gone. Moments before that, Oz had been almost dizzy with drink, but now he felt painfully sober.

  “I don’t know their names,” she continued. She scrunched her mouth up and said, “Well, I do know his.” She nodded at one of the three men. “Josh...something or other.”

  “I don’t understand,” Oz said. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Her face was impassive, but her eyes were heavy and dark. “You asked me if I was meeting someone here. I was. I was waiting for another one of them,” she nodded again toward the different men she had slept with, “to show up. A new one...a different one.”

  He still didn’t grasp her meaning, but he knew she was crossing that invisible boundary in her mind, which kept her from opening up to others. He didn’t want to do anything to upset this stream of consciousness, and he realized he wanted to understand.