I tear out a blank page and write.
Dear Jonah,
I know about my real family.
Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what happened.
Thank you for taking care of me.
Give my love to Scotty, Peg, Doris, and all the others.
Gemma
It’s a terrible letter. Foolish and simple. But fear only allows so much.
I fold the paper in thirds the way official letters are folded, then I write his name on the top flap. So it won’t fly off, I shove it in a crack in the concrete of the front stoop.
No one calls to me as I walk away.
Along the road, I compose a plan. How I’m going to get onto the ferry by running out of sight behind the cabs of people’s trucks, then sneak into the engine room and weave myself behind the pipes. Sooner or later, the ferry will have to cross to the mainland. The fact that Jonah will be the one in control is an irrelevant detail. It has to be.
When I get to the bend that clears the woods, it’s clear there’s no ferry in the harbor or coming across the bay. If the boat isn’t fixed yet, it could be a long wait to get off the island.
As I get closer to Keele’s Landing, I move off the road and into the Roberts’ field that flanks the south side. The hay grass is high and shelters me on all sides and I’m able to get almost all the way to the docks through it. From the edge of the field, I have a good vantage point for what’s happening in town.
Jake and Finey Roberts are taking one of their habitual walks up and down the pier. John Woolit leaves the FoodMart with a newspaper tucked under his arm and crosses to Peg’s Diner. Scotty’s house is quiet and dark, even though his truck has arrived back. No Biscuit barking or running around the yard.
Through the window of Peg’s Diner, I see Doris wiping tables and a few islanders eating lunch or chatting. I can even make out the dark shape of Randy working at the grill in the back and a bit of smoke rising from it and getting sucked up by the fan.
What would happen if I told them what I know? Told them everything, exactly as I found it?
Peg is at the window now, staring out over the water. Peg doesn’t often stare out windows. She’s always busy working or chatting with people. Inside the wide pane, her face looks very small and white. Almost like an ornament that decorates people’s houses for Christmas. Now the diner is a giant snow globe with everyone sealed inside it. A lovely souvenir advertising the island. It just needs sparkling bits to rain down over everything. I imagine leaving with a snow globe hidden in my pocket, my friends caught and coming along.
But the vision shatters. Peg is falling. Her arms fly up and her head arches back.
I hear myself scream. I feel my feet run toward the diner. But everyone else is also running to catch her. Arms seem to come out of nowhere to grab and protect her. I stop short and crouch behind a pier marker to watch. Peg disappears from view, slumping out of sight below the diner’s window ledge. Everyone crouches to save her, also bending out of sight. There’s a loud clop-clop along the wooden planks of the dock as Jake and Finey Roberts also run to help.
I struggle with panic. It’s possible that it was me who caused Peg’s fall. Maybe my visit to the examination room was too much for her. Maybe she built up worries too heavy to bear.
As I try to decide between going and giving up my plan to help Peg, the white nose of the ferry across the water comes into view. On one side of me are the diner and Peg and everyone I love and care about, and on the other side is a chance for me to escape without anyone knowing.
Everyone in the diner sees the ferry too because the bunch of them get up and press their faces to the glass. Doris has Peg in her arms and gently cradles her toward a booth. Peg’s head wobbles a bit to one side, but her eyes flutter open.
She’s alive.
Inside the diner, the islanders talk urgently together. Randy is on the phone. For someone who doesn’t get excited, he looks like he’s getting ready for a fight, shouting orders, running his hand through his hair. I can’t help picturing the islanders as a mob of angry towns-folk like the ones I learned about during history lessons. Scythes and pitchforks and torches gripped in their hands. Angry enough to burn down the castle and kill the king. A horde. A crusade. A revolution.
Then Scotty’s truck races around the corner and Scotty jumps out. As brave and noble as ever. A man to love forever, even if he doesn’t love you back.
When Scotty gets inside the diner everyone seems to relax, as if they know, like I know, that Scotty will save everything. Through the window, the townsfolk go back to being as old and frail as ever. Not a crusade at all. A pasture.
Scotty takes Peg from Doris, bending over her and coming up with Peg in his arms, carrying her as if she doesn’t weigh more than a snowflake. Which she probably doesn’t.
He carries Peg to his truck while the others follow, worried and pale. Doris runs ahead and opens the passenger door so Scotty can put Peg down on the seat. They gather around the door, talking and gesturing excitedly toward the incoming ferry. They’re going to make Jonah take her back to the mainland so they can get her to the hospital in Moncton. Of course they have to. She’s too sick to nurse herself. That means the ferry will have to turn around as soon as it docks. My chance to get away.
While Jonah guides the ferry into the hold and while Scotty and Peg and all the rest wait anxiously on the loading dock, I sneak along the lower pier below the docking bay to the small ladder at the end. The ferry slowly motors closer in front of me. Close enough that I can almost touch it. The sounds of the engine are so loud I can’t hear anything else, not even the waves or wind. I can’t hear any of the islanders around Scotty’s truck. The smell of diesel fills my nose — crisp-fried eggs.
I wait as the ferry maneuvers in and stops and the engine idles and quiets. Now I can hear voices calling to each other. Jonah’s voice too. He sounds agitated as he explains the last two days. “Fuel pump died en route to the mainland the other day. Took Namath Motors till today to get the right fuel lines. Took us till now to get the lines in.”
I hear Hesperos’s deep voice. “But everything is running smooth now.”
Doris calls out, louder than everyone, “Well, you have to turn right around, boys. Peg just had a spell. We have to get her to hospital.”
“I think we need to settle down first.” Jonah is firm in his refusal. “Take a breath. I’m sure she’s fine —”
Doris screams like I’ve never heard her scream before. “Now!!”
Hesperos answers quickly. “Naturally, we’re going, Doris. Don’t you worry.” He works on getting the ramp down as the engines of the cars and trucks coming in from the mainland start up. They rattle off the ferry and drive down the road, mostly to the FoodMart. The only vehicle that will cross back to the mainland right away is Scotty’s. So I have to figure out a way to hide on it.
I hear the clang and rattle of Scotty’s truck driving into the hold and people’s voices shouting one on top of the other, debating what should be done next. Who should go, who should stay, and why. That’s when I climb up the ladder and hop across to the dock, crouching down so no one can see. I check the diner, which has the only view toward the boat, toward me. But no one is in the diner anymore — everyone is crowded on the Spirit, arguing together about the best options for Peg.
I sidle over to the open ramp and angle my head in to see. Everyone has gathered at the far end and are bundled around Scotty and Peg, trying to pretend they aren’t as worried as they are. Jonah is off to one side. I can see he’s anxious. I can see him glancing up toward the lighthouse, toward the woods that hide the keeper’s house.
I dart out. I don’t take even a second to imagine myself getting caught or having to explain to anyone what I’m doing and why. I run and pray that no one sees me.
And no one does. I get to the back of Scotty’s truck, jam my foot on the bumper, pop up the bed cover, angle one leg then the other underneath it, and slide myself into darkness.
Even though the blood is pounding in my ears, even though the strangeness of the thing I’m doing is pulling my body in unknown directions, I can still hear the voices of the islanders on deck, discuss-ing and worrying. An agreement is somehow made and their voices shush. Then everyone’s feet move across the metal floor of the boat and I know they’ve decided who is going to which place.
I lift the bed cover high enough to see their backs walking away: Doris, Randy, John Woolit, Jake and Finey Roberts, five or six others. Hesperos lifts the ramp closed behind them and pulls in all the ropes and ties. I know that now Hesp will follow Jonah up to the bridge so they can ready the engine, and pretty soon I hear the grunt and groan of it gearing up again. The boat lurches as it takes us into open water.
My heart beats as hard as the waves that push at us. My first time on the ferry as it crosses the bay. After imagining it for so many years.
I check once more from under the cover. On the island, everyone is walking back to the diner, their heads weighed down with worry. The ferry chugs along, still slow and steady. The coast moves into the distance, pulled away from me like it’s on a string and someone is dragging it just out of my reach.
High on the road from East Island, I notice Marlie walking, then running toward town, faster and faster, like maybe she can stop what is already spinning away.
Only now do I remember that we left her. That I left her alone.
All the way across the water, I think about them, hoping and wishing that everyone will be okay.
I remind myself that Peg’s eyes fluttered, and that she held on to Scotty. She didn’t seem frail the way Mrs. O’Reardon once had.
And surely Marlie understands that she needs to get away from the island. Last night she said that love was something she invented. She went to the back room to cry. She must realize she has to go home now.
A shape in the water pins my attention: just before the shore that edges the strait, a bright pond of algae quivers around a buoy. I recognize the markings: it’s the same buoy that went missing from Crescent Bay.
I’m weighed down with disappointment, only now realizing that I hoped something remarkable had happened to it. That it might have travelled all the way down the Atlantic and into the Amazon. That it might have bobbed past a capuchin monkey. A three-toed sloth. A black caiman. But instead it’s just another captive that didn’t get away.
My stomach convulses, and I let out a sob. By instinct I cover my mouth and my hand fills with tears.
We get to the other side, and I can feel the boat docking and Scotty’s truck gearing up to drive off the ferry. From my hiding spot in the truck bed, I watch Jonah and Hesperos on the deck waving Scotty and Peg off, then getting right to the work of turning around and heading back to the island.
Jonah: the man who kept me from my real life. The only parent I’ve ever known.
I want to hate him. I can feel the feel of that hate.
Boxed inside me, it only needs to be smashed open to spill over everything.
After dreaming about it for as long as I can remember, after studying pictures of it and picturing myself within the lines, after wishing for the feel of it on my skin, I’m on the mainland. This isn’t the way I imagined experiencing it, but now I’m going to see the world.
The truck moves fast. Faster than I’m used to. Because I don’t want to pull the bed cover all the way down and miss anything, the wind whips through the opening and lashes me with cold, sharp edges. Long bands of road roll past, flanked on either side by flat patches of tree-dotted meadow. Sometimes a small gas station or diner. Telephone poles counting off the miles.
I long to be able to touch the new ground, to be able to examine it and see what the grass really looks like, what creatures hide in these woods, what insects in the leaves. I want to meet the people and watch them in their lives. I want to fill up on all the things that I’ve missed.
But the steady road and speed lull me, and my eyes get heavier and heavier, and soon I let myself fall into the breathless nothing.
When I open my eyes, we’re driving down a street crowded with cars and trucks. They’re swarming all around us, behind Scotty’s truck, beside it. Cables hang from the sky over the road. Lights blink from them, red or green. Sidewalks are crowded with stores and businesses. A few people walk in and out of shops or along the sidewalk past them. The people look much like the islanders, also like many of the tourists I’ve seen.
But everything is so vast, so fast, so loud. A thin web of panic binds my heart, and I grab the wall of the truck. How stupid of me to think it would be easy to adjust to the outside world.
Scotty steers the truck into a driveway that leads right to a wide set of doors. I look up. The hospital is gigantic. Also red brick like so much else here, but a giant box of it. I’ve never seen such a large building, although I’ve tried to imagine them.
Through the truck wall, there’s talking in hushed voices — mostly Scotty’s — but I think I hear the faint whisper of Peg’s responses. I hope I do. Truck doors open and slam shut and Scotty’s voice gets fainter, and I assume he’s carrying Peg into the hospital.
I check around the driveway and make sure there’s no one to see me, then I lift the bed cover and jump out. Touching down on new land feels strangely victorious, maybe like John Cabot first arriving on Maritime soil after an arduous journey.
I inch toward the shadows of the hospital, trying to check inside, hoping to catch sight of Peg. If the outside of the hospital looked like a giant brick box, the inside looks more like a maze. Hallways and columns and doors upon doors leading to unknown places. Rooms inside rooms, like the rings of felled trees.
I edge closer and finally see Scotty bending over a desk, talking to a friendly-looking woman. Behind him, another woman already has Peg on a stretcher and is pushing it through a door into one of the mysterious rooms. The profile of Peg’s face is very still: a tiny cheek rounding up, a sharp triangle of nose, thin lips stretched into a kind of smile. I think I see her fingers tighten around the bars of the stretcher — a sign that she might be awake, but no sign of how bad she is or might get.
I wait, ducked around the corner, until Scotty finishes talking with the woman. He finds a chair and sits down. Suddenly he looks old, like his face has lost its shape.
I want to run to him and hug him. To be hugged by him. But it’s time to go. I know I could, if given the chance, stare at Scotty for hours, for days, for all of my life.
The air around the hospital is warm. It feels like spring has come early to the city of Moncton. Grass is already starting to green up, and the buds on the trees are already pushing through. I check the sky — clouds are a gray blanket pulled over the blue, but I can still calculate that it’s around four.
I don’t know where to go, so I make my way down the sidewalk. I have to fight the urge to run blindly. Or to succumb to the dizziness that wants to ride my vision and breath. I know where I am and still a voice inside me cries: Where am I? Where am I?
Two or three people pass me, and I cringe away, hoping — like a baby — that if I don’t look at them they won’t see me. Nothing is chasing me here, and yet it feels like everything is.
The sidewalk leads me to a wide excavated field surrounded by chain-link fencing. Two sides of the field are flanked by houses with small fenced-in yards. Giant yellow trucks stand at attention on the construction dirt, but no one is around to operate them.
I push myself under the fence and walk a ways into the broken-up field, then huddle against one shadowed edge, making myself small. Here I am, at the first stop of my escape, with no better plan than to hide in the shadows. Sleep presses at my mind, willing me to close my eyes and curl up. I’ve never felt so tired in my life. My only relief is that the unbidden panic has begun to ease off. Slowly, I feel like myself again, even if I don’t know at all what that means.
I remember I haven’t eaten in over a day, and my mouth is starting to get dry. I know already there’s nothing to eat or dr
ink in my bag, but that doesn’t stop me from checking, fumbling my hands over the bunched clothes, my sketchpad, the stuffed mouse. At least I have a little money.
I can’t risk running into Scotty, who would just take me back to where I can never go again. I decide to wait until it gets dark and then look around for a store or diner. I think I have enough money with me to buy a drink and a sandwich. But it’ll be hours still before the sun sets. During a maritime May, the days are so long, each one feels almost like two.
I wait one hour, maybe more, trying not to think too much, watching out for people who might be watching out for me, stubbing my boot into the yielding dirt, designing houses and cities that are more beautiful, safer, than the ones I’ve seen. Another hour goes by and the clouds thicken and throw out some drops of rain. The rain marks my clothes, perfect round spots that dishevel the cloth.
I think about how far from the ocean I’ve traveled. Never thought you could leave such a huge thing behind. On the island, you’re always aware of water, even when you don’t realize it. It laps at the edges of everything. It soaks the air, sprinkling your skin and mouth. During storms, the wind drives it willy-nilly — sometimes the rain doesn’t fall but skips sideways across the sky. As certain as dawn, water will get inside every house at some point, peeling open the plaster of ceilings and walls no matter how much people do to hold it off. Now that I’m conscious of having left the ocean behind, I feel dried out. I close my eyes and lift my cheeks and hope the piddling drops soak me through.
In the darkness behind my closed eyes, I remember walking through the Roberts’ field on a dry summer day, my fingertips brushing along the tops of feathered grasses, my skin nipping like when someone breathes down your neck by mistake. Marsh-pink, musk mallow, wild geraniums whispered from behind the grass shoots, promising me with their glances that soon I would know. The light of the sun sparked over everything and wings fluttered through the sparking light, but in a way I could only just see out of the corners of my eyes. Brown and yellow butterflies, gray moths, maroon thrushes, white terns. In the distance the ocean blanketed the island as if a starry night had dropped from the sky. The air smelled warm and sweet at the same time. The sound around me was a shushing like a lullaby — not separate sounds but the music of everything together: wind and crickets and chickadees, mingling branches, seagulls beckoning now and again. Somehow goodness shone into every part of me. It lit me up and made me want to laugh. And I won’t ever see that day again.
The Darkhouse Page 13