by Cassia Leo
“This is the best gift anyone has ever given me,” she whispered. She was crying. He could feel the hot tears on the side of his neck. His eyes welled up at seeing this unusual display of emotion from his normally reserved daughter.
“She would have wanted you to have it, my dear. She loved you so much. Happy birthday, Anasofiya.”
He would give her another gift, though it was one she would never know about. The gift of believing her mother had loved her with her whole heart and had wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life, side-by-side, with her daughter. He would give this to Ana because to do otherwise would be cruel. And in giving her this memory, he would be doing himself a kindness as well. I will share Catherine as I wanted her to be, not the way she was. We can both remember her thus.
He could not allow himself to dwell on how the melancholia devoured his wife’s soul; her very will to live. Nor would he compare the circumstances, because then he might find that Ana’s trip to Maine was another version of Catherine’s wandering the halls in her nightgown.
***
36- OZ
“Fuck me sideways, it’s cold here!” Nicolas exclaimed. On the pier, several heads turned to look, although he was oblivious as always. It wasn’t the first time he had remarked on the climate. He had been griping ever since they stepped off the plane an hour earlier.
“What were you expecting?” Oz asked, his hands deep in the pockets of his new coat. It most certainly was cold, and entirely unlike the weather in New Orleans. They were still wearing shorts this time of year. Prior to this, he had never owned anything heavier than a windbreaker. Their first stop had been to a sports equipment store near the airport, to purchase the proper outerwear.
“Do you even know where we are going?” Oz inquired.
“Ozzy, when I need you to know, I’ll tell you,” Nicolas retorted.
“So… you’re saying you have no idea.”
Nicolas scoffed and looked at him peripherally, trying not to move too much in the cold. “Of course I have an idea. I just don’t know exactly how the idea is going to play out. Humans are a fascinating species like that,” he said with sarcasm.
“Right. Well, should we get something for breakfast then, while the forces of the universes align, or whatever it is that we are waiting for while standing here freezing our asses off?”
They ducked inside the lounge of a hotel near the waterfront and both of their moods improved instantly with the rush of warmth.
On the plane ride to Portland, Nicolas hadn’t said a word. He sat in his seat fidgeting the whole way. First he chewed his nails, then the sides of his mouth, then started with obnoxious clucking sound effects, prompting the guy in front of them to ask Nicolas to shut up. Your mom likes it when I do that, Nicolas said, but the man in front already had his headset back on, and Nicolas returned to fidgeting with his pen. His focus was all over the place.
On the drive into town, he started going on about the price of gas. Oz let him ramble, nodding occasionally.
This was a good thing for Oz, whose thoughts were also all over the place. Having Nicolas distracted meant he could disappear into his head without drawing attention to his mental absence.
He was thinking about Ana, going further back than that night in Treme. She had always been the girl all the guys were in love with, but completely afraid of. He saw the haunting intensity behind her eyes, the unspoken thoughts behind her lips, the way she would gaze off into thoughts shared with no one. She was prettier than his Adrienne, but with Adrienne you almost always knew where you stood, and more importantly, where she stood. Only in her most desperate moments did his wife retreat inside herself and shut the world out. Ana always had what seemed like a permanent fortress guarding her thoughts. Some men found that sexy, but Oz found it intolerable.
Nicolas said the two women were a lot alike. Oz couldn’t see it, and Nicolas speculated that was because Oz refused to see Adrienne without taking off the rose-colored glasses first. Oz told him to look in a mirror. Nicolas insisted he was well aware of Ana’s flaws and loved her for those, not in spite of them.
“I don’t ignore Adrienne’s issues, if that’s what you mean,” Oz had said defensively.
“Ignore, overlook, pretend they don’t exist. Semantics, Ozzy. When you see Adrienne, you see her potential, and that makes her beautiful to you. You see who she would be if she could get over her shit. When I see Ana, I see that who she is now is who she will always be, and that is what makes her beautiful to me.”
Nicolas was wrong. He did love Adrienne for her faults. They didn’t suddenly spring up overnight. He had loved her for over ten years now, after knowing her since the day she was born. She was the same person now as then, and if he hadn’t loved her for who she was, then he would have walked away a long time ago.
“Love,” he reaffirmed.
“Addiction,” was Nicolas’ answering retort.
Oz realized there was a young woman sitting at the table with them, in the restaurant they had ducked into. Blonde, plain, wearing a nice grey wool sweater, jeans, and riding boots. He had no idea how or when she joined them, but Nicolas had her engaged in conversation.
“I don’t think in terms of limitations,” Nicolas was saying, leaning over the table in her direction. Oh, this act. The tough, no-nonsense, rogue without a cause.
“That’s a great philosophy to live by,” she was saying. Oz thought her head might fall off from all the nodding. She was trying to be coy, but was clearly already hooked. Why does this always work? “But Mother Nature is one hell of a force to reckon with.”
Nicolas sat back in his chair, unperturbed. His hair hung down into his eyes in messy waves. “People are cautious. And they should be. The cost of human life is… far… too dear,” he was saying, sounding not unlike William Shatner. Oz bit his lip, studiously focused on the bread and butter, trying not to give in to laughter.
“But,” he continued, leaning forward again, “caution is for the masses. Caution is—how should I say this?—smart, and it should be followed. Most of the time.” She was hanging on every word. “Rules are made for wise reasons, but every rule has an exception. I know that someone will be willing to take me to Summer Island. And if good sense gets in the way, cash is always a worthy motivator.”
She frowned. “How much cash?”
Nicolas sat back in his chair again. His bored expression implied he was done with the conversation, but Oz knew better. This was where she was about to get reeled in. “If you haven’t figured out by now that money isn’t an issue for me, then I doubt you can be of much help.”
She looked around, then lowered her voice, leaning forward. “I need to know some figures. I can’t exactly go to my father and ask him to turn the ferry lines back on.” She looked around, lowering her voice. Ah, so Nicolas did have a plan. The daughter of the man who runs the ferries. Slick. “But I do know some fishing boat captains, and a couple of them… well they might be interested if the price made it worth the risk.”
Nicolas and the young woman transitioned to full whispers after that and Oz only picked up bits and pieces. No matter. Nicolas would be filling him in soon enough. She left, returning ten minutes later, and they resumed their whispering.
Oz looked out the window at the grey, hazy skies and he could see nothing farther out than the docks. He’d be seeing whatever was beyond soon enough. He wondered again where Ana was, what she was doing. If she was okay. He tried not to think about how she would feel upon seeing him. There was a sinking shame anytime he thought about her leaving her home and friends so she could put his filthy mind at ease; how he had let her. He could have called, or written, asking her to come back... he could have done many things that he didn’t do. It’s why I’m here now. It matters. It has to matter.
“We’re in business,” Nicolas said after the girl left. “We leave tomorrow.”
That was easy, Oz thought as they finished their breakfast.
***
37- ALEX<
br />
Alex heard Finn before he saw him. The snowcat rumbled from a distance before the headlights flooded Alex’s back room. He worried for a while that Finn might have gotten lost, or broken down somewhere, so he was relieved, in a sense, to finally have him arrive.
He had time to think, and had decided what he wanted to do. Although the phones were down, Alex’s radio still worked. But contacting the sheriff was out of the question. Sheriff Horn had been a good friend of Andrew St. Andrews. The man was blindly protective of both boys, and was certainly not fond of Alex. He had no close or trusted friends on the island. He had half a mind to call the Coast Guard, but their first call would be to Horn, and then Alex would get an earful, or three. Horn would want proof, and Alex had none, other than his gut feeling.
And ‘sides, Lexie Lou, this is yer moment to shiiine. Cain’t be letting others steal your thunder, right? They were his father’s words, but he no longer heard the whiny intonation of his father’s voice. He had hated him so much when he was alive, and hated him still. Now when Alex heard his father speak he heard his own voice, one that was mature and in control. Are you gonna be yer mother’s little sniveling Lexie Wexie Woo, or are you going to be a maaan, Alex?
Don’t call me that...
But it’s your naaaaaame, isn’t it, widdew wexie wooooooo...
Swing, crack, spurt; the shock frozen on his father’s face. All the taunting in his expression gone. The way his father’s eyes stayed wide and horrified even as the axe carved into his skull, the blood pooling so fast Alex nearly slipped in it.
Alex’s mother—his weak mother, who was really no better than her husband at all, when it came right down to it, that weak-minded, pitiful slut—was huddled in the corner, crying. Alex nooooooo... whyyyyy... I looooovvveeeed himmm...
It’s no wonder he loved to smash your face in, you stupid, pitiful bitch, Alex had said, swinging the axe at her this time. He missed, and half her face lay flapping as she screamed and screamed, arms flailing, slipping in her and her husband’s blood. The next swing had done the trick. And when Alex was sure they were both, finally, gone, he went into his room and closed the door and the blinds, welcoming the silence with all his heart.
But his father was right. If he wanted to help that sweet girl, he’d have to take control of the situation, just as he had before. Alex slipped into his winter wear, checked his shotgun shells once more, then slung the gun over his shoulder and headed to the food storage.
***
38- FINNEGAN
The snowcat came to a shuddering halt. As the engine sounds sputtered and faded away, Finn was enveloped in silence.
He could not get any closer to the small cement building that held the town food storage. It was possible to drive right up to the big steel door if you were in a car or truck, but the trees on either side of the driveway blocked Finn’s wide approach by a hundred feet. Hauling the food back to his vehicle in two feet of snow would make for an hour or so of work, even with his snowshoes.
The stillness in the air was accompanied by an unusual darkness. Why didn’t the Farnsworths leave the light on? Finn searched through the cab to find the flashlight he packed. The light flickered momentarily, and then died. Shit. I should have checked for extra batteries.
Finn peered out the front window again. He could not see the building, but the moonlight cast a shadow on the trees leading to it, and he hoped that would be enough.
Finn had memorized the access code to the building, but in the excitement had subsequently forgotten it. Reaching into his inner pocket, Finn’s gloved hand fumbled for the old slip of folded paper that he had brought along with him, just in case. He pulled it out. 77877, it read. All residents of Summer Island had it written down somewhere safe. Finn had never been so glad for Jon’s neurotic organizational habits. He’d found it in the Rolodex, taped to a card labeled: Code, Food Storage.
Finn removed his gloves and slipped his hand into his pocket again, finding Ana’s cross. He threaded the delicate chain around his neck, under his jacket, and latched it. The tiny cross clinked against the one he was already wearing.
Pulling his gloves back on, Finn took one last, long deep breath and then opened the cab door. The cold air rushed at his face, stealing the breath from him, as he sunk into snow that came to his knees. The door seemed miles away. I have to remember why I’m here. He dropped his face and started the slow hike to the building.
The complete stillness of the icy air had an eerie quality. Finn was painfully aware of how alone he was. The lack of children’s laughter, or cars moving through the downtown strip, was louder than the sounds themselves.
Suck it up and stop being a pussy. He forged on. His steps were heavy and the snow’s resistance complicated matters, but he knew each trip back to the snowcat would get easier as the path was flattened.
Finn heard a crunch of snow ahead of him, and stopped. Pulling his hood back to widen his vision, he peered into the darkness ahead. He could see nothing at all. Probably an animal.
The snow was starting to soak through his thick layers of clothing. He would have to move faster. The drive home was long and the heater was not working in the cab—another thing his father had left to rot.
The crunching sound echoed again from ahead. This time, Finn narrowed his eyes and tried to focus harder, but the illumination of the snow against the night cast so many shadows he could make out nothing distinct. “Hello?” he called out. There was no response. Of course not. It’s probably a deer.
Finn continued toward the building, but his heart was racing. Then, there was the crunching sound again, but this time it came from his left.
That does not sound like a deer… or a fox… he thought, as he listened carefully to the heavy crunches the footfalls made. They were coming closer, and the pace was quicker. Then, suddenly, they were right beside him, and the shadow grew into the large, tall shape of a man.
He spun around with his hands out in front of him, and a sharp pain shot through his head as cold steel connected. Finn saw a flash of light and then felt himself falling, sinking, into the white, icy darkness.
***
39- ANA
In her dream, Ana was drowning.
She had been running, feeling the cold sweat and force of the wind beating on her. Running away from something… she didn’t know what… running, running, running.
Suddenly, the ice water sprayed up on to her, all around her, the shock of the cold piercing her body as she continued to run… through it… into it… submerging herself.
The release… the sweet surrender.
Then… darkness.
***
40- JONATHAN
Jon was avoiding going upstairs. He had not expected her to wake; not then, not with Finn gone. They had connected for one moment, and then that moment ended, and they were both left with their fear of one another.
He occupied himself by checking on Mr. Jenkins, who no longer needed Jon’s attentive care. This doesn’t make up for the way I’m treating her, Jon thought, but the presence of the dog soothed him, like returning home after a long trip. Angus was Finn’s, and Cocoa was Ana’s. But for a while longer, the little cocker spaniel was Jon’s, and there was no one he’d rather be around.
Jon knew he should go upstairs and make sure Ana was okay. She was clearly unsettled. He was abandoning her. He knew it, and hated himself for it, but he stayed put, running his hands gently through Mr. Jenkins’ soft fur.
An hour after he left her upstairs, he slipped back into the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove for some tea. Perhaps she will want some too, he thought, but summarily dismissed the idea. When the tea finished, he sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table, staring off into nothing, unsure of what he needed to do next.
What he wanted to do was ask her about her accident some more. He wanted to understand how she had healed so quickly; if this was normal for her. Jon started to wonder if perhaps he had imagined how bad her wound was to begin with. Maybe all the
blood had overwhelmed him, and made it seem worse than it was.
No… I stitched her up. I saw it with my own eyes. It was there, and terrible, and now the gouge is nearly gone with no rational explanation.
Jon heard the sound of thudding down the stairs behind him. “Angus, easy!” he yelled. When he heard the door open and the screen door slam shut, he cussed under his breath, realizing Finn must have left the door cracked and now the stupid dog had gotten outside. I don’t want to deal with this right now.
Moments later, Angus came padding into the kitchen and Jon gave him a dirty look. Then Jon froze. Angus had not come from upstairs, and Mr. Jenkins was still in the study.
Jon leapt from his seat, dashing through the house and out the front door, not bothering with his shoes or coat. He didn’t think at all as he ran... didn’t hear the screen door slam shut behind him, didn’t feel the icicles of cold piercing him as his frame smashed into the snow.
His body felt like a thousand pounds as he thrashed, his hands shoving snow aside in frustration. Jon could see the path her body had made, but could not see her. He knew they would both soon go into shock if they didn’t get back into the house, and into warm clothes.
He followed her path, pushing the snow away wildly, focused only of finding her. After what seemed an eternity, he found Ana, half-asleep, crying, and shivering. He picked her up and moved back through his path in the snow toward the house.
When the door closed behind them, he saw Ana’s blue lips whisper something, but could not hear what it was. They were both at risk of hypothermia, both needed warmth immediately. Where was Finn to help, he cursed to himself, as he carried her up the stairs, the heat from the fireplace tickling his ice-cold back.