“How do you make a guy with one arm fall out of a tree?” asks Rich.
We look at him, unsure of what to say.
“Wave,” he says, grinning at us all. The room is deathly quiet. “What, too soon?” he asks.
Abigail smirks and the rest of us break into peals of laughter. The release feels good and I grin at Rich.
After the laughter dies down, Morris passes around more wine. Philip takes a long drink and raises his glass. “Marissa was so brave. She freed us all that night. Elder Kennedy and Elder Spool would have thrown us all in the pit.”
“To Marissa!” we all say, lifting our glasses.
Carl looks down at his plate. His father was killed by Marissa. There’s been so much death. My mother notices Carl and she puts her arm around him quickly. She whispers something to him and he smiles.
“We think about her every day,” says Marissa’s mother.
“I think about her, too,” says Abigail’s father. “I think about Marissa and my wife and Sally every day.”
At the mention of Sally’s name, her small daughters begin to cry. Their father draws them on to his lap.
“We made a memorial,” says Prue shyly. “Would you like to see?”
We follow her outside to a small garden surrounded on three sides by a rock wall. Wildflowers have been collected from the grasslands next to the winery and they’ve been planted in a circle around five stones. I drop to one knee and trace the names chiseled into the surface of the stones.
“George and Isabella,” I read. “These are the only names I don’t know. Who are they?”
I look up and see Delphine with tears streaming down her face. Morris wraps his arm around her shoulder. I know now. The stones are for her parents.
Abigail drops next to me and places her hand on her mother’s stone. We look at each other across the stone—the final reminder of a life lost, but not forgotten.
The sorrow of all that we have lost wells inside me. “I’m so sorry, Abigail,” I whisper, my words carried on the breeze.
I stand and look at Rich, at the burned out surrounds of the winery—the Grace’s home only partly rebuilt after being destroyed by Yanx’s army—and the weight of our loss is heavy.
Delphine takes my hand and squeezes it. It may be my imagination, but it’s as though everyone is acutely aware of her touching me. I don’t look at Abigail or Birch. Delphine squeezes my hand one more time and starts typing in her tablet. She passes it to me and I read it aloud for her.
It’s not over yet. We still need to go back to the island. My parents would have wanted me to go.
Everyone falls silent. Delphine taps on her tablet again.
Mary confirmed to me that the Greenland dam could breach at any time. I want to warn them. It’s what started this whole thing. We have to finish it.
“Why should we warn them?” asks Philip. “Look how many we’ve lost. Do you think any of them are thinking about Marissa, or Sally?” Grief has carved his face in deep lines.
“None of them died for nothing,” says Rich quietly. “All of this has always been about the truth. About discovering the world that the elders wanted to keep from us. That included saving the people on the station. That included getting rid of the fuel and spreading access to the Collection. We all knew the risks. But it was worth it.”
“Rich is right,” I say. Everyone looks at me expectantly. “Delphine is right.”
I start to pace around the memorial garden. Over the wall I can see a pile of items salvaged from the fire. Prue and Morris have lined the objects, still tinged with black, against the wall of their new home. An outdoor log stove has been built against the same wall but the metal grill is cold. They won’t light it until the cool of evening settles over us. The heat would be overbearing this time of day.
I think briefly about our ancestors lighting a fire under the planet until they destroyed themselves. Many innocent people must have died when the climate horrors began. “We need to go back. We must expose the elders so the remaining islanders are free to decide if they want to stay.”
My mother nods, “I agree, Chris. They need to know what caused the planet to warm. They need to know that the floods were because of the melting polar ice and not a punishment from the Gods.”
Delphine stands too. The energy in the memorial garden is building. She passes her tablet to me and I read to the group.
They are worried that the floods will come if they don’t comply with the divine prescriptions. We need to show them that it’s nothing to do with the divine prescriptions, or the Book, or the sacrifice. They are at serious risk, no matter how pious their lives.
“How will we get to the island?” asks Rich. He takes the container holding pain-relieving medicine and pops a tablet in his mouth. He swallows it without water and grimaces, closing his eye.
“Are you feeling okay?” my mother and I both ask him at the same time.
“I’m fine,” he replies. But he keeps his eyes shut and leans against the wall behind him.
“He needs to lie down,” I say to my mother.
She nods. “Chris is right. You need to lie down. And you are staying here,” she says to Rich.
“I’m not leaving Chris to do this all by himself,” says Rich adamantly.
“You’ve done enough, brother. Thank you. You risked everything to take Delphine and me to the mainland. You supported me in Washington and ended up… hurt…”
Hurt is an understatement. I look at my maimed brother and wish it were me. I’m the one who deserves to suffer as he has. “I need a moment,” I say. The garden walls are crushing me. Everyone is staring at me and I want to get out of here. The stones, Rich’s injuries, the burned winery… it feels overwhelming.
I wonder down past the cellar where we took refuge from the fire started by Yanx. The grape plants growing over the Grace’s property have mostly been destroyed. I walk down the defunct row of plants, thinking about all that has come to pass.
I’m lost in my own thoughts when I hear a voice.
“Are you okay?”
I turn to see Birch. She wraps her arms around me and kisses me deeply on the mouth.
“I’m just thinking about the island, about how we will convince those left there that the elders misled us all.”
Birch pauses and takes in the rows of scorched plants. Her next question takes me by surprise. “Are you in love with her?”
“Who?”
“You know who. Delphine.”
“Love is complicated,” I say. “I do love her, I suppose.”
I summon Delphine’s face. It’s easy for me. I know it so well. Birch is looking at me curiously, watching my face as I process my thoughts.
“I followed her here,” I tell Birch. “I put my family at risk and it wasn’t some noble quest for the truth. At first, I just wanted Delphine and I wanted something different to every other day, which was always the same back on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I get that,” she says. She steps back from me and wraps her light brown hair—so like Ada’s—into a loose knot on top of her head. The sun lends her tanned skin a luminous glow. She smiles tightly and waits for me to continue.
“It became much more than that. I actually wanted to do the right thing, to work out what was underneath all the layers obscuring the truth,” I add after a few moments. “Delphine is with Abigail now anyway, so how I feel is pretty irrelevant—”
“It’s not irrelevant to me,” says Birch.
The wind picks up and I feel its silver whisper.
“Of course,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that Delphine and I are not an issue. It’s not something you have to worry about.”
Birch laughs and in that instant—the golden sun lighting the pale freckles on her nose and her head thrown back—I realize how little I know about this woman. I can’t help but feel as though I’ve underestimated her. “I’m not worried, Chris,” she tells me.
Birch reaches up on her toes
and kisses me once more. I can feel the heat in her kiss, the wanting in her body.
“There’s still more to this story, the one between you and me,” she says. Her eyes glint wickedly for a moment. “But for now, let’s focus on Martha’s Vineyard. We need to help your people.”
“Thank you,” I reply. And I really mean it.
We walk back hand-in-hand through the destroyed winery. Here and there I see new green shoots emerging from the blackened ground, the beginning of a new start.
When we arrive back at the garden, the others are already planning the trip back to the island.
“I sent Millie to our neighbor’s place,” says Morris. “They have a block of land close to the beach and a boat you can use. They are good people. They will happily let you use the boat. Just bring it back or I’ll be paying my weight in gold to compensate them for it.”
“Who is going to the island?” I ask.
“Philip, Abigail, Delphine, Carl, you and me,” replies my mother.
“I’m coming too,” says Birch. “I’m seeing this through to the end.”
My mother smiles at her warmly, and says, “Thank you, Birch.”
We hear a horse approaching and the dogs begin to bark. “That’ll be Millie,” says Morris. Millie rounds the corner of the house and jumps out of the saddle. She leads the horse the last couple of chains.
“What did they say?” asks Morris.
“It’s fine for them to take the boat. He wants to know if they should be moving to higher land.”
We all look to Delphine, who taps out a quick note. Abigail reads it for her.
When we return, I’ll look at his place, work out how high above sea level he is, how far from the coast. We will be able to look at all of your neighbors to make sure they are safe. It will be the first thing we do when we return.
Morris wipes his eyes roughly. “You’re so like your mother and father. They would have been immensely proud, darling.” Delphine smiles back at him sweetly.
It doesn’t take us long to prepare for the boat trip back to Martha’s Vineyard. “I don’t plan to be there long,” says Carl. “We do what we need to do, and then leave.”
“I agree,” I say. “We need to finish this once and for all and then get on with our lives.”
Mother looks at me. So much remains unspoken between us. We both know we are about to see my father for the first time since we left the island. The thought causes my stomach to knot uneasily.
We place only a small quantity of food and fresh water in our packs. My mother adds a small bag of medical supplies and Philip takes the lamp that we scavenged from the vehicle. A quiet determination has settled over our small group as we each select a weapon.
“This is it,” I whisper to Abigail. “Our final battle. I always knew we would go back. There was too much left unresolved.”
“You’re so dramatic, Chris,” jokes Abigail. But I can see the resolve in her eyes.
Delphine leaves her tablet with Morris for safe keeping with detailed instructions on how to access the information in the Collection. “If we don’t come back, you must be sure to share the Collection widely,” I say to him.
“You’ll be back, son,” replies Morris.
I hope he’s right. I run my hand over the small item in my pocket given to me by Ben. I’m not sure why I don’t tell the others about it. Perhaps I don’t want to fill them with false hope.
Once we are ready, we walk as a group to Morris and Prue’s neighbor. When we reach his property, we are faced with a palisade similar to the one that surrounds the Grace property. There is a pack of fierce, growling dogs on the other side.
The neighbor is a tall, barrel-chested man with gang-markings on his arms. He and Patrick size each other up before giving each other a complicated handshake that ends in a hug and lots of backslapping.
“So you got out, too?” asks Patrick. “I was beginning to think I was the only one.”
“It’s the best thing I ever did,” replies the man. “Now, let’s get you this boat.”
He asks lots of questions about the sea level rise as we walk and lets out a low whistle as Delphine explains the threat. He grins at her when she offers to come back and examine his property. “Thank you,” he says to her, holding her damaged hand in his own for a moment. “I’d appreciate that.”
The boat is a small sailboat, cleverly constructed from lightweight plastic scavenged off the coast. It rests on a row of logs. The man shows us how to push the boat on the logs, which roll easily towards the ocean, propelling the boat towards the water.
The man holds the gate open for us as we roll the boat through. It takes some getting used to, but soon enough we are able to quickly grab the logs at the back of the boat and replace them at the front. We do this until we reach the sea.
We push the sailboat into the shallows and stand in the water. The waves wash in one after another, splashing me with brine. My throat tightens as we say goodbye to our friends.
“There have been so many goodbyes,” whispers Abigail.
“This will be the last one for a while,” I tell her.
I take hold of Rich’s remaining hand. “Be careful, brother. Heal and rest. I’ll be back to you soon enough.”
“Be careful, Chris. Our father is there. Don’t underestimate him.”
We climb on board and Philip turns the sails so they catch the wind. The blue ocean beckons to us, and beyond the sparkling waters, Martha’s Vineyard sings her siren’s call.
Chapter Nineteen
The six of us sit on one side of the small sailing boat, our knees and shoulders touching and our back to the wind to help keep the boat upright. We try to stay out of Philip’s way while he maneuvers the sail and rigging expertly as the boat sails across the blue-green ocean, silver tipped by the sinking sun.
Delphine joins Philip and he shows her how to work the sail and steer the small boat. She picks it up quickly and he steps back to watch her, patiently giving her pointers and encouragement.
“Can you all sail?” asks Birch, her eyes on Delphine.
“Yes,” I answer. “We are all reasonably proficient, but Philip and Rich are the sailors among us.”
“I’d like to learn to sail,” she says. “This is my first time on a boat like this.”
“I’ll teach you,” I say.
“It feels like we are flying,” laughs Birch, the sea breeze rustling her hair behind her like fine silken reeds. The boat skims its way over the waves, bringing us ever closer to the island.
We continue to chat amongst ourselves like a group of friends on a sunset pleasure cruise, no one yet acknowledging the true purpose of our trip. But our deep denial is shattered when my mother asks, “How much longer will it take us to reach the island?”
Our small group plunges into stony silence. Delphine didn’t hear my mother’s question but notices we have all gone quiet. Delphine turns and stares at us.
Philip coughs to clear his throat and then looks in the direction of the island. “We’ve got a good wind. We should be there in an hour, just as the sun is setting.”
We look at one another a moment longer. “I feel nervous,” says Abigail. “This could go bad very quickly.”
“Me too,” replies Carl, surprisingly vulnerable.
“We have been through so much since this all started. Once this is over, I’m going to hide in Morris’ cellar for six months,” says Abigail.
Delphine gives Abigail a wicked grin, and hands her a note.
I watch Abigail read the note with a smile on her face. “When this is all over, I’m going up into Canada,” I say on a whim.
Mother looks at me and raises her eyebrows. She is about to say something when she’s cut off by Abigail, who stands and points at a small landmass on the horizon. “There it is, There’s the island!”
We fall silent once more as the island comes in to view. One by one we stand up, bracing ourselves against the movement of the boat. We face the island as it grows bigger.
<
br /> “So, we are going to go to Edgartown first?” asks Abigail. I can hear the tremor in her voice.
“Yes, we’ll try there first. They are our friends, our neighbors. If we are going to convince anyone, they should be the first ones that we try,” I reply.
“That makes sense. And if they don’t listen to us?”
“We’ll try the others, and then we will leave.”
“What if they won’t let us leave?”
“It won’t get to that, not this time. We won’t let them capture us. We are stronger than before. The elders have no power over us any more.” I thrust my shoulders back and stand tall, but I can see the lingering doubt on their faces.
Philip adjusts our course and we start to go around the island instead of towards it.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“We’ll wait until the sun is down before going any closer. It will give us the best chance of debarking at the island without being seen.”
“Where will we dock?” asks my mother.
“I was thinking of pulling her up by the West Chop Light. The bay there is rarely used and we can climb up through the forest. It will be difficult in the dark, but Delphine knows the area well.” Philip and Delphine nod at one another. This is a discussion they’ve had before.
Our conversation dwindles as we circle the island from a distance, each of thinking our own private thoughts. Our sailboat is small and in the dusk light, they are unlikely to spot us… not unless someone is watching for us. The thought sends a shiver down my back.
“It’s time,” says Philip finally, as the sun begins to slip below the horizon. The sky is streaked with dramatic splashes of red and orange. The sun, now a mellow ball of deep orange, seems to pause for a moment before dropping out of sight.
We close in on the island with the West Chop Light towering above us. It’s clear that no one has taken up Delphine’s role as harbormaster since our hasty departure. The harbormaster is charged with lighting the fire at the top of the lighthouse. But now the lighthouse is dark.
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