by Linko, Gina
The white waves crashed into the rocks, and as I approached him, I could feel the freezing cold drops of the lake water splash me in the face, on my hands.
The lighthouse continued its rhythmic work. The light shone on Ash’s face every few seconds. I watched him as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. I wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and have him accept me. Accept us.
He didn’t turn and face me. “I know what’s right and what’s wrong.”
“You’re not making sense,” I pleaded.
“You can’t get involved with me. I. Can’t. Do. This.”
“It’s too late for that,” I said.
“We can’t be together.”
“We are together, Ash, whether you stay here with me or not.”
“Emery, you don’t know what I’ve done, what I’m running from, what I’ve—”
“So tell me! I told you everything. Like I’m such a barrel of fun over here, for God’s sake. Look at me, Ash! I’m having loops that involve your drawing of your mom, loops right at Next Hill.… Don’t I deserve to be let in?” I fingered the key in my pocket then.
“I’m a danger to you,” he said. “A danger to the Wingings. I never should have—”
“Ash, please—”
“I can’t let you get hurt because of me.”
“Ash—”
“I’ve stayed too long, and it will catch up to me and then you, if—”
“I don’t care! Tell me what you’re talking about.”
He turned then, and I could see it in his face: his decision had been made. He shook his head. This was it.
I panicked and withdrew the key from my pocket. I didn’t know what it meant to him. I didn’t know what it might do.
But I had to try. I had to try.
I held the solitary silver key up with two fingers, right in between us, and I watched as the lighthouse beam captured its metallic surface in its funnel of light. “Tell me what you need to tell me,” I said sternly. “What does this mean?”
Ash actually shuddered—his entire body shook at the sight of the key. He turned from me, grabbing the key away from me yet not looking at it. “Where did you get that?” he asked with such disdain, with such repulsion.
In that instant, I would’ve given anything—anything—to take it back.
“That is precisely, exactly, why I have to leave Esperanza,” Ash said, his voice low, barely a whisper.
He walked away from the lake, and I let him go. Because I had no other choice. I sat down on those rocks there on the Lake Michigan shore and wept because I had nothing else left to do.
Twenty-Two
Ash had left. He was gone, and he stayed gone.
The next night, as the little cabin began to darken after the light of day, I looked for him out the west window, hoping against hope that he would show up with his tent, his sleeping bag, and just make camp in the clearing.
That was all I was asking for. He didn’t have to run to me and grab me in his arms. He didn’t have to declare his undying love.
I just wanted him near.
Even Dala seemed worried. She paced in front of the door at dusk, just when Ash would usually show up for dinner.
We waited, Dala and me. Playing with a long string of yarn from my Gia scarf, giving Dala endless hours of entertainment. I painted Dala, asleep in her favorite position on the mantel. I sketched her paws, clawing, working at the air in her sleep. We played with the red satin mouse. We wasted time. We were sure he was coming back.
But he didn’t come back.
On the second day, I forced myself to leave the cabin. I showered, dressed, and made my way into town, all the while trying to figure out what that damn silver key could mean to Ash. How it could have forced such a terrible reaction.
Did it open a lock? Was it a house key? A key for a locker?
I really had no idea.
I walked to the bus station and bought a ticket to the town of Charlevoix. I had planned this trip several days ago. I was going to the Northern Michigan Historical Society, to see if there was any information that could help me out about the church. But I knew I was not going to enjoy it. I had thought that Ash and I would take this trip together. That we might visit the nearby art museum. Make it into a getaway, like the two sisters had suggested. But now it was just me.
The gray, itchy seat on the bus was uncomfortable, and I had to sit next to a teenage couple with too many piercings who were making out noisily next to me. It was disgusting. They smelled like clove cigarettes and body odor.
My phone buzzed at the start of the trip, and I found a text message from Gia. NSA?
I thought about this. What did NSA mean? What did it stand for? All I could come up with was National Security Agency.
Could that be it? Were they really in on this? After me? My insides turned cold just thinking about it. Did that mean Dad had told them … what? That I could time-travel? Was that a national threat?
A soon-to-be-cultivated military strategy? I let out a deep sigh. I texted her back, asking her what she meant exactly. Maybe Gia was just being a drama queen. This seemed a little nuts. But I knew it had to mean something big for Gia to chance getting in touch with me.
I kept checking my phone. But nothing. No response from Gia.
I curled myself as close to the window as I could and tried just to zone out.
Slurp, smack, slurp from the couple next to me.
I kept picturing Ash’s face out on the shore when I’d shown him the key. He looked stricken, like he’d seen a ghost.
It struck me deep in my center, skewered me. How had that key done that? And what was he running from? What was going to catch up with him?
The ride felt like it lasted forever, but it was only a bit over an hour. The Historical Society was in the downtown area of Charlevoix, next to the minor-league baseball stadium, not far from the bus station, but I took a cab. I didn’t want to get too exhausted. I didn’t want to take any chances. If I could keep from looping, I was going to.
I felt sort of naked, exposed, out in the real world, away from the isolation of Esperanza, my cabin, Ash, what I had begun to think of as my home. I began to peer at everyone around me, strangers on the street, wondering if any of them could possibly know my secret.
The Historical Society was really just an open warehouse space, with several large wooden tables, a few study carrels, and rows and rows of metal bookcases. There were sections of old, dusty hardcovers; boxes of microfiche; collections of area yearbooks; stacks of yellowed newspapers; and lots of other odds and ends, including an assortment of traditional, vintage Swedish costumes for the local Swedish Days Festival that was held each summer.
I wondered if I would still be here, in the UP, when summer came around. Or if I’d even be alive.
The young woman working at the society was named Sylvia Glad, and she was every bit her name. She spent more than an hour uncovering blueprints for me, church building plans, old church newsletters, and other documents. I pored over the papers, the books, the photographs. It was tedious work and exhausting.
In the end, we found nothing.
“Can I ask exactly why you’re interested in this church?” she said, her green eyes smiling at me.
“You can ask,” I told her, giving a sigh. “But it’s a very long and difficult story.” Just thinking about where to start, where to begin with the spiral of near craziness to tell this tale was enough to wear me out. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I don’t mean to be rude.”
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head and folding up the last of the northern Michigan maps that we’d been looking at. “It’s just that you seem so heartbroken. I wish I could help.”
“Thanks,” I told her. Heartbroken. And she didn’t even know the half of it. “You’ve been a big help.”
I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know how to go about trying to find Ash. I didn’t know what to do about the church, about my mystery in the loop.
&nbs
p; “Thank you,” I told Sylvia, “but I think I’m done in for today.”
“We’ll be here, should you want to come back,” she answered.
I grabbed a hot dog and a Coke from a nearby deli and waited at the bus station for the next bus back to Esperanza.
I sat on the wooden bench in the small waiting room, my backpack at my feet, and I slouched down and ate my hot dog, sipped my Coke. I kicked at the dirty and sticky tiled floor. I was drained, exhausted. But the food and drink helped to perk me up a bit.
It was then that I noticed a man dressed in a dark suit, leaning against the wall, near the vending machines. A woman with a small child waited on the bench across from me, reading picture books. They didn’t seem to give this man any notice. Neither did the clerk behind the ticket window. He sort of blended into the background. Yet, when I took the time to turn and glance at him, he seemed to be staring at me.
I got goose bumps on my arms. But then I talked myself down a bit. I mean, it was just a guy. A slightly suspicious-looking guy.
Charlevoix was a fairly big town. Could Dad be monitoring each of the larger suburban public transportation depots? Did he know I was in the area? Did the NSA? I considered this. It seemed far-fetched. But this guy was wearing dark sunglasses. And it was really overcast today. At the moment, it was sleeting outside, gray and gloomy.
I could feel my heartbeat pick up a bit. Calm down, I told myself. They’re just sunglasses.
My bus pulled in, number eighteen, and I stood up, my knees knocking a little. I boarded the bus, watching my ticket shake as I handed it over to the driver.
My stomach lurched right into my throat when I saw the dark-suit guy get onto the bus behind me.
I was trapped. Found. Caught. Freaked.
I couldn’t really explain how I was suddenly so sure he was following me. I just was.
I moved to the very last seat, and I put in my iPod headphones, slouched down very low, and tried to look nonchalant, tried to look unsuspecting.
I watched Dark Suit walk down the aisle of the bus, his sunglasses off now. And he looked straight at me. There was no denying it. For a moment, I thought he was going to come right back and pull me up out of my seat by my ear and take me back to Dad, but he didn’t. He just sat down, three seats ahead of me.
I noticed he had a small Bluetooth in his ear now. And he was talking into it.
As the bus got going and we started up Route 31, I calmed my breathing, tried desperately to get a grip. Could this guy really be here for me?
I thought about what Gia had said. CIA haircuts. I didn’t know what a CIA or an NSA haircut looked like, but I was willing to bet it looked something like this guy’s. I thought about her text. I took my cell phone out of my pocket. Still no response. That had to mean something. I decided I would ditch it, leave the phone here on the bus.
How was I going to get away from this guy? I flew over the possibilities in my mind. And I made a decision. I had come too far just to give in and be caught, just to be a helpless victim again. I calmly thought out exactly what I needed to do, and I made a plan.
I hunkered down low in my seat, kicked my feet across the empty seats next to me, and feigned sleep. Inside, my stomach swirled, my heartbeat pounded, my palms sweated. But I had to make this look believable.
After what seemed like a decade, the bus slowed to a stop near Good Hart, and I figured that this town was as good as any other. I kept myself still and resisted the urge to steal a glance, as the bus brakes squeaked and ground to a halt.
At the very last moment, after the five standing passengers had already left, I hopped up from my faux slumber and quickly, quietly took three large steps toward the back automatic door, sliding down the steps and out the door, onto the sidewalk.
I immediately took off running when I hit the sidewalk. I turned my head for just a second once I found my gait, to see if Dark Suit had seen me leave, to see if he was after me, to see if he’d noticed.
It was difficult to tell as I glanced over my shoulder at the bus windows. Maybe it had been my imagination. But the breath quickened in my throat when I saw the silhouette of a figure, a figure that looked a lot like the dark-suit guy, standing up, looking out the back window as the bus took off. I kept going down the sidewalk at a good clip then and turned into a small coffee shop. I immediately sat down, getting my bearings, looking over my shoulder the whole time. Did that really just happen? Was that guy really after me? Or was I simply becoming a paranoid nut?
I wiped the sweat from my brow and shook my head. What had just happened?
It was easier to tell myself that it was nothing—my imagination, the projection of my own fears—now that I was no longer in Dark Suit’s presence. But what was the truth? I didn’t know.
And if Dad had sent him, if this man was after me, did he know I was going to Esperanza now? Was my hideaway spoiled? I wanted to get in touch with Gia, to make sure she was fine, but I didn’t want to risk it, and I didn’t want to put her in the middle of it all any more than I already had.
I used the coffee shop telephone to call a cab. It would be expensive, definitely. But I had money.
I didn’t have much else. But I did have money.
When I arrived back in Esperanza, I was shaken, disoriented, still unsure if I could believe what had most likely happened.
I stopped in at Betsy’s, hoping that Jeannette would know something. I leaned on the glass counter, feeling the exhaustion wash over me. I gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and fought the urge to just rest my head on the cool glass for a moment. I blinked my eyes, felt the thrum and buzz of the loop beginning to swirl behind my eyes.
“Hi, Jeannette,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, trying to sound normal.
I wanted to hear something, anything, about Ash. But no one had seen him. Not a soul. He had just disappeared.
“I never thought he was here for good,” Jeannette said.
“Why’s that?” I said, knowing I was doing a lousy job at covering my heartbreak. I pushed back the thrum, fought against it.
She seemed to consider this for a moment. “He showed up here several months ago, Emery. I hadn’t seen him since he was a baby. His mom, Dolly, she and I had been great friends. But his dad … There’s a lot of history there. Dolly and I broke contact over that man. But when I saw Ash’s face, standing at my doorstep, I knew instantly who he was. He looks just like her.” Her eyes held a far-off expression. She shook her head, went back to rolling dough for her famous pasties.
“He’s had it tough” was all she’d say. I could tell she felt as if she had said too much. Inside, I was panicking, frantic. I didn’t know what to do with myself, didn’t know how to go about trying to find Ash.
I couldn’t even think of leaving Esperanza without knowing where he was.
Jeannette pushed a pink-frosted donut over the counter to me. “You’ll still come to the anniversary party, won’t you?”
“Sure,” I said, pushing against a new swell of the loop, resisting it. “Is there something you need help with, anything?”
“You could watch the kids for me so Jimmy and I could get everything ready. The kids wouldn’t be underfoot then.”
“Consider it done,” I said. I swallowed hard, steadied myself, holding on to the pastry display case. I had won; the thrum abated. For now.
I arrived at the Wingings’ later that night, still looking over my shoulder constantly yet trying to talk myself out of the worst-case scenario.
I let Lily Winging paint my nails while I babysat. Lily chatted nonstop about Ash, how she had a picture of him up in her room, what his favorite color was, how he had taken her fly-fishing. I plastered a smile onto my face and watched the clock above the TV slowly tick, finding it difficult to keep my spirits up.
I checked that all the doors were locked in the house, the vision of the dark-suit guy in the back of my mind at all times. My ears pricked up at the slightest sounds. I expected, what? Sirens? I shook my head,
tried to tell myself it was all my imagination, paranoia.
After my nails were a fabulous shade of purple, I found Garrett and Cody in the kitchen spraying a can of whipped cream into each other’s mouths, and I just let them finish it off. I didn’t have it in me to do much else.
I sat with the kids in the family room and watched an episode of Scooby-Doo, braiding Lily’s hair for her, and my eyes kept finding their way over to the computer that sat on a desk in the corner.
“Lily?” I asked. “You don’t think your parents would mind if I used the computer? Checked my email?”
Lily shook her head and turned back to her Magic Tree House book. I tied her braid with a pink ribbon and got up. I sat down at the monitor and wiggled the mouse, taking a deep breath.
When I logged in to my email, I saw that there were lots of messages from Dad, none from Gia. I counted the ones from Dad—twenty-nine messages since the last time I checked. I opened a few at random, and they were mainly accusatory in tone. The farther down I went, the more desperate, the more violent, they began to sound.
I know where you are, Emery, read one from three days ago. I will find you. We will get you back here.
Earlier, at Dala Cabin, I had constantly been checking out the window, expecting Dark Suit to appear from nowhere, cart me back to Dad. I had talked myself out of it for a while, but now, after this email, I knew there was no talking myself out of it. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it, but Dad was near. Coming. I sighed deeply. I realized then that I had to stop hoping and waiting for Dad to turn into the future version of Dad, the kind Dad of my loops who would never, ever do this to me.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
And that was when I noticed the most recent email, from yesterday. In the subject line was one word: apology.
Dear Emery,
You’re right to avoid me, to run. I won’t ever be able to let you go.
But you have to understand you are my baby girl. We can beat this.
Two lines of text, and it hit me in my core. It was horrible and honest and real. Dad knew he would never be able to let me lead a normal life, he would always need me in the lab. For scientific reasons, for parental reasons.