by Jen Blood
August 20, 1990
There is no wind. The air is heavy with moisture, thick with rain that refuses to fall. Rebecca’s brow and forehead are damp from the humidity and her browned arms and shoulders are dewy with it. Still, the heavens will not spare a drop.
It is dusk, and she is once more in the greenhouse waiting for Isaac. Like the distant storm, she senses that something is coming—something dangerous, something that will change everything. Isaac sent Adam to her earlier in the day, this time to request a meeting between the three of them. The fact that Adam will be there is maddening, but she doesn’t dare refuse him. Isaac won’t speak with her alone anymore. When she seeks counsel from him, he meets with her in the chapel and schedules her for times when the most people are likely to be present.
The day before, she waited on the greenhouse trail for three hours, hidden in the underbrush like a fugitive. When Isaac finally appeared, he would say only that others were waiting for him; he couldn’t speak to her then. His eyes lingered on hers, trailed down her long neck, and she knew then that she still held some sway. If Adam wasn’t whispering indictments in his ear, Rebecca is certain she and Zion would be safe.
She needs to be rid of Adam.
When Isaac finally appears on the path, she watches as he makes his way to the greenhouse. He is surefooted and fit, moving with a grace that’s in stark contrast to Joe’s thunderous assaults on everything in his path. In the past few weeks, she has been pleased to note that Zion is adopting the Reverend’s grace as his own.
Rebecca waits until Isaac actually enters the greenhouse before she stands. Adam is not with him. She feels a brief surge of relief before she notes how guarded he looks. She takes a slow step toward him, her hands low and at her sides, as though approaching a wild animal that will spook at any sudden movement.
“Thank you for coming,” he says formally.
She forces her lips into a smile. “Thank you for having me,” she responds, equally formal. He looks surprised, as though he suspects she is mocking him.
“Adam will be here soon—I wanted a few minutes alone with you first. To discuss things.”
“You want me to leave the island.”
“I don’t believe this is the best place for you any longer.”
If he expected histrionics, he is disappointed. Rebecca remains cool and controlled when she replies.
“What do you believe is the best place for me, then?”
It is clear from his relief that he has already considered the question. Of course. His job may be to provide spiritual counsel, but Rebecca knows he is much more comfortable in a world of tangibles. This is the problem; here, then, is the solution.
“I have some money—not a lot, but enough for you to start over somewhere new. Get away from Joe, away from Littlehope. There’s a couple from Boston that I knew before the church—they’re good people. They can provide you with food and shelter until you can find a job and make it on your own. Adam can take you to the bus station tomorrow, if you like.”
When she doesn’t respond, he hesitates before adding, “Or in your own time. Whenever you feel that you are ready.”
Rebecca considers this. It takes a moment before she realizes what he is really saying; before the weight of his omission is clear. “And where is Zion to stay?”
His uncertainty returns. He looks out toward the path, where Adam is now making his way toward them.
“I want you to truly consider what is best for your son. You know that he has been called—that he has a God-given gift. To waste that gift because of an earthly love for the child would be a sin. Zion requires the closest attention to fulfill his destiny. I can provide that for him.”
“And Adam agrees with this? He believes that Zion staying with you is the best option?” she asks doubtfully. The look on Isaac’s face tells her plainly that Adam does not believe anything of the kind.
“Adam knows that the good of the church is my first priority. He has concerns, but he will not stand in my way.”
Rebecca says nothing. Feels nothing. She tries to imagine life without her son. Has her purpose been filled? Was she meant to bear the child, help him to grow, watch him suffer, and then simply walk away?
Isaac takes a step forward. They are an arm’s length from one another, but he is the last thing on her mind now. Adam arrives and stands just outside the entrance—she senses him but does not turn around. Over a lifetime of abuse and lust and love and betrayal, she has never hated anyone so much as she hates this man.
“You would teach my son,” she says to Isaac.
He nods, relieved. He believes he has won. “I will teach him everything he needs to know. Mae and I will raise him, and he will be at my right hand learning God’s word from morning to night.”
“And I will just…disappear from his life? Tell him I’m going to visit relatives, try a new life in the city, become a missionary in some distant land? What is the story you would have me tell my only child, before you ask that I abandon him?”
Her voice is a whisper, so tight that it is painful. Isaac steps back. His face changes when he realizes she is not as pliable as he would have hoped.
“I… You would tell him the truth. That he has been chosen; that he is meant to stay and study at my side. But that your destiny lies beyond this island.”
His eyes soften. For a moment, she believes that he truly sees her for the first time. “Rebecca, you are an amazing, powerful, vibrant woman. You are bright and dedicated—you have the potential for anything. My congregation is filled with people best suited to follow, living out their lives serving the Lord in peaceful obscurity. I don’t believe that is your path.” He pauses. “Zion will thrive here—you never will. Let him go, and have the courage to believe that God has better things in store for you than this.”
She hears children playing somewhere in the distance. Their voices meld, high-pitched shrieks that carry far in the thick air. She knows that Zion’s voice is not among them. He is either in his room studying or in solitary meditation in the woods. From the time he was small, she has been his only companion—the only one able to lighten his mood, coax a smile from his serious black eyes.
She shakes her head and turns a hard stare on Adam as he joins them. “You know what has been asked?”
Adam hesitates. She realizes that he is truly afraid of her, and the realization pleases her. Good. Let him quake—whatever may come, she has already decided that if her life on Payson Isle is over, so is his.
“I know that Isaac believes Zion is meant to stay here.”
“And you do not.”
More hesitation. Isaac starts to intercede, but seems to sense that he is not part of this. He remains silent.
“I believe that sometimes we are too close to a situation to see the Lord’s true plan.”
“Isaac would have me leave and Zion stay; you would banish us both. Yours is the Lord’s true plan, then?”
“In this instance, I think it best that you remain with your child.” He looks at Isaac. His gaze appears completely open, beneficence shining in his eyes. “I believe that Isaac and the church need time to mend any bridges that may have been damaged in the past month.”
“Since I arrived,” she says. She takes a step toward him. He does not back away, but she can tell that he wants to.
“Yes,” he says.
“But you do not believe you’ve done any damage since your arrival on this island.”
Adam’s eyes flicker from hers to Isaac’s and then back again. Rebecca waits for some sign of confusion on Isaac’s face at her words. She sees none, and the lack shakes her for just a moment.
“I told you—”
“Yes, you did,” she interrupts. “You told me that you had it under control. But Matt spoke with some of the men still looking for you—some of the men who have believed you dead for years now.”
His expression is one of pure terror.
“He didn’t—”
“They were naturally pleas
ed to find that you had survived when so many others had not.”
Adam stands perfectly still, his only sign of life the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “They know I’m here?”
“Matt hasn’t given them a location. Yet. But you understand that it’s likely only a matter of time.”
He wheels away from her and turns on Isaac. “Do you see? Do you see what she is—what she’s done? This place is supposed to be a refuge, a healing place. I gave up my daughter to keep everyone safe, but Rebecca isn’t willing to give up anything. Anyone. And you can’t see what they are doing to you. To our church.”
She is tempted to strike him, but holds herself in check. Before he can explain himself any further, Adam turns and walks swiftly from the greenhouse and back down the path. Isaac turns back to her. She realizes at the hardness in his eyes at that moment, that there has been no secret between him and Adam. He has known all along, what Adam is. What he is running from. She pushes unease aside at the knowledge, and forces a smile.
“I’ll need to pray before making my decision about Zion. You understand, of course.” She smiles demurely and walks away, leaving Isaac alone to think about the wisdom of his request.
Chapter Thirty
“Why is she making me go?”
I sit beneath a tree on a part of the island that has always been mine—a glade of evergreens only my father knows about. He won’t look at me.
“It’s for the best, Erin. You’re getting older now—this isn’t a good place for you to grow up.”
“Why not?” I’m crying—something I almost never do. Dad says I’m like my mother that way. Katherine never cries when people are watching, he told me years ago. I want to be like that—to inspire the awe and sadness that my mother inspired.
Now, I wish I had never heard of her. I wish my mother did not exist.
“Please don’t make me go.”
He still can’t look me in the eye. He stares at the ground and he is crying and my mother—the woman I wish never existed—is a monster.
When I got back inside the hospital, Diggs was at the snack machine talking to a tall, thin woman in scrubs. I didn’t even know if Juarez had followed me or simply vanished back into the night. I didn’t really care.
“How is she?” I asked.
They both turned toward me.
“Still in surgery,” the woman said. She extended her hand. “I’m Maya Pearce. It’s nice to finally meet you, Erin.”
She had bright blue eyes and short, curly gray hair and an air about her that was both striking and surprisingly unassuming. Her smile seemed genuine, though I wasn’t exactly in a position to judge, having never laid eyes on her before.
I shook her hand. “Did they tell you anymore?”
“She’s stable. No internal bleeding, no evidence of sexual assault.” I appreciated her even tone, the fact that she wasn’t falling apart and clearly didn’t expect me to, either. No wonder Kat liked her. “The surgery shouldn’t take long. Once they’re done, we’ll just have to wait for her to wake up to find out the extent of the damage.”
I nodded. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, of course not,” she said, like I’d said something funny. “You’re in shock. But you still need to eat. I saw some soup in the doctor’s lounge—you can have that.”
I started to protest.
“Just humor me, all right? A few bites, then I’ll find you an empty room and you can rest your head until Kat’s out of surgery.”
It seemed pointless to argue. She left for her soup quest, and Diggs led me back to the waiting room.
“She seems nice,” I said.
“She is. Keeps Kat in line, which is almost impossible—as you well know. I think you two will hit it off.”
The TV in the waiting room had been turned off. I sank into a chair and gazed at the floor. Diggs sat on one side of me, Juarez—who hadn’t vanished into the night after all—on the other. In other circumstances, it might have been awkward; as it was, I barely noticed either of them.
My first night in Littlehope, my mother makes grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. I’ve only ever had homemade bread that the women of the church made by hand. This is processed and too sweet and it sticks to the roof of my mouth.
She has already told me I don’t need to call her Mom. Dad calls her Katherine, but she says everyone else calls her Kat. She eats too fast and barely speaks to me, and through the entire meal she reads a magazine filled with body parts and skeletons, even though Dad always said it was rude to read at the dinner table.
I eat my cheese sandwich without speaking, already devising a plan to run away at nightfall. I will steal her boat, though I know stealing is wrong. I don’t know how to get back to the island, but I don’t care.
I’ll find my way.
Kat came out of surgery at three-thirty that morning. Maya assured me that she wouldn’t wake for hours, but by all accounts the surgery had gone well. Now, it was just a waiting game. She’d either wake up and be fine, or she would not.
Diggs told Juarez to drive me home. He took his jacket off, draped it over my shoulders, held onto the lapels and pulled me close.
“Get some sleep?”
I nodded.
“I won’t be long. I just want to drop by the paper, make sure they didn’t burn the place down while I was gone.”
“It’s okay—you should get some sleep too, though.”
I thought of the night before. Imagined Diggs coming through his front door to find Juarez and I in the throes of…whatever, in his spare bedroom. My eyes watered. I pulled away and nodded toward the exit.
“Don’t stay long. We’ll see you later.”
In my first two weeks with Kat, I run away seven times. Sometimes, I only make it to the front door; others, I make it all the way out to the harbor. The seventh time, I’m in the process of starting her boat when I see her coming over the hill. She drives an old yellow car, and she drives it fast. She races down the hill, stops in the parking lot, and gets out while I’m still trying to get the motor running.
My heart is hammering and the night is dark and my mother is getting closer. The boat won’t start.
Instead of pulling me out as I expect, Kat hops into the boat when she reaches me. She pushes me away from the motor, hard enough that I fall. My head hits the side of the boat with a sharp crack that sounds loud in the stillness. I lay there for a minute staring up at the stars, too stunned to get up.
When I finally stand, Kat has started the engine. It is nearly midnight, but she unties the boat and points it toward Payson Isle. My head throbs and my throat is dry and I am almost positive that Kat is crying as she steers us out of the harbor in search of my father.
Juarez and I didn’t talk on the way home. He put in a GLEE soundtrack that he wisely shut off before anyone got hurt, and I stared out the window. The road was flooded in places; we hydroplaned once or twice before he regained control, but I barely noticed. The ride was over faster than I’d expected, and when we got to Diggs’ place I was out of the car before Jack had a chance to put it in park.
I slogged through the mud to the front door. Einstein greeted me like we’d been apart for months, his paws on my stomach, body and tail wriggling. I roughed his ears and snapped on his leash.
“I can do that,” Juarez said. I noticed that he’d taken my mother’s purse and was keeping it—and her gun—a safe distance from me.
I shook my head, but I didn’t say anything as I let Stein lead me back out into the darkness.
“I can’t keep her—she hates me.”
We are in the Payson greenhouse, where the night smells like soil and tomatoes and flowers in full bloom. My father is in his pajamas—or pajama pants and a t-shirt, the same thing he always wears to bed. He looks tired and sad.
My mother just looks angry.
“She doesn’t hate you.”
�
�I do,” I say. My head is bleeding from my fall in the boat, and I mean the words more than I ever thought possible. “Don’t make me go back there.”
He kneels beside me and holds me close. “Your mother needs you,” he whispers in my ear. “You can’t stay with me anymore, no matter how much I wish you could.”
I cling to him with all my strength, my arms tight around his neck until he disentangles himself. He forces me an arm’s length away. His eyes are wet when he looks at me, but he does not cry.
“I don’t want you to come back here. I’ll come visit you in Littlehope when I can—but I can’t take care of you anymore, Erin.”
He stands. I wrap my arms around his waist and refuse to let go.
“Get her out of here,” he says to my mother. “Don’t let her come back. Get as far away from me as you can get.”
Kat has to pull me away from him, kicking and screaming, my breath coming too fast as panic closes my throat. I scratch her and keep crying until she puts me back in the boat. I don’t speak to her again for a week.
I sat down under a spruce tree behind Diggs’ house. The ground was drenched, but I barely noticed. How had I forgotten that night? Kat was telling the truth: my father sent me away, she hadn’t taken me.
Einstein lapped anxiously at tears I hadn’t even realized were falling. I pulled him into my lap, and the flood gates opened.
I cried for the father I’d lost and the mother I’d rejected; for the friends who died on the island and my failed marriage and the baby I’d buried and the children I would never have. Juarez came out at some point and crouched beside me, obviously not sure if I’d had some kind of psychotic break.
“You should come inside, Erin.”
I shook my head, but my voice was gone. He stayed and watched me helplessly for another minute or two before he stood and returned to the house.
Why had my father needed me off the island? What did he think he couldn’t keep me safe from?