Chapter 15 #3
Ruth hands her a granola bar, one of those gluten-free, peanut-free, low-sugar ones in mauve packaging. “Eat this, too.”
Can she still eat if her parents are dead?
“Keep pressure on the gauze, eat the almonds, then find pants.” Ruth lists the instructions on her fingers. “And put the granola
bar in your pocket. We’re heading to Hale’s in a few minutes.”
“I’m holding it,” Annie says, unsure which instruction she’s referring to. It does not matter.
Evan takes one sweep with the broom. The muck goes nowhere. He stops and leans his head against the wall.
Annie realizes she has to pee. Where should she go? The toilet won’t work. Does Ruth have extra pants for her? The jeans she
wore to the party were wet from the water, from the seashell wine event. Where are those jeans? She doesn’t have a pocket
in these shorts for the granola bar, she hasn’t eaten the almonds, and her knee is still bleeding. The gauze is bright red.
Ruth opens the cabin door. Outside, more mud.
Once they’re finally underway, Evan wears the backpack with all Ruth’s medical gear. The forest is empty; the usual bunnies
and squirrels and salamanders seem to have gone. No trilling frogs or trails of ants carrying leaves. Under their feet: broken
toasters; torn welcome mats; aluminum cans, the lids hanging off.
It looks like Hale’s has been dragged away in pieces. The beach is covered in broken boats. Concrete foundations remain where
houses used to be. The noise is unnatural, with low and intermittent groans as buildings cave on their innards and remaining
windows crack. The heart-sickening sound of concrete scraping metal.
Most things are hard to recognize, like the buckled garage doors and upside-down cars. Some things are recognizable, though, like the relief on faces when they cross people they know. People who have lived.
Rosie stands in the ruins of her shop.
“You’re here!” Ruth cries. They grab on to each other.
Annie spots Isaac before Evan does. He must have come down from the logging camp as soon as he heard and is now standing in
the middle of the beach where the barge-loading equipment used to be. He’s wearing navy-blue loafers and no socks. His mouth
is agape, his gaze fixed and faraway, oblivious to Evan. He flips his lighter on and off with his thumb.
Annie and Evan climb over sideways traffic signs and slippery telephone poles. When they reach Isaac, Evan puts a hand on
his shoulder.
“Dad,” he says.
Isaac turns around. He leans into Evan like he’s going to collapse, then pulls him into an embrace. “Thank fucking god,” he
says.
Evan cries. Annie cries because Evan does, and because she hasn’t seen him cry since he was eight years old and slammed his
thumb in the galley hatch. Or maybe she’s crying because it wasn’t her parents they found.
The jellyfish in her body has her again, its venomous tentacle encasing her throat. She suffers a sailboat school memory,
the marine biology textbook: While jellyfish stings cause immediate pain, redness, and swelling, they can also cause life-threatening complications such
as difficulty breathing or cardiac arrest.
“I didn’t know where you were.” Isaac is crying, too. “I didn’t have a fucking clue.”
“I was at Ruth’s.”
“Are you hurt?” Isaac feels Evan’s shoulders, turns him around and checks him like he’s a small child.
“I’m fine, Dad. Stop.”
Isaac leans over and braces his hands against his knees. “When you were little, she’d always go after you.”
Annie assumes he’s talking about Celeste. She’s never seen Isaac act like this.
“You’d run off, but she’d never let you out of her sight. She was better at all of this. I’ve never been able to—-”
A streetlamp topples behind them, interrupting Isaac and crashing into a pool of standing water. The mud splatters the three
of them.
“God dammit.” Isaac stands abruptly and wipes grime from his face. “We only have a couple hours of daylight and we need to
get our shit together.”
“I miss her, too,” Evan says.
Isaac shakes his head. “You and I can stay in one of the houses off the logging road,” he says. “We have a lot to do here.”
“I want you to stay with us,” Annie whispers to Evan.
Evan turns to her. “I can’t leave him like this.”
It hits her like the dark wave itself: She stayed ashore for him. She left Amphitrite for him.
“He’s already lost everything once,” Evan whispers.
“We’ll quarterback this thing from up there,” Isaac announces.
It’s evening by the time Ruth and Annie return to the cabin on their own. The absence of her parents and now Evan are like
holes in Annie’s chest. She works up the bravery to face the sea and take a long look. The water is unfamiliar, like a dirty
bathtub. It’s churning and sullen and full of things that shouldn’t be there.
She folds herself to the ground, her back slumped, her knees pink with the indentation of pine needles, and sobs. The air
isn’t enough; she heaves in and out. Her throat closes. She digs her fingers into the dark earth, then pounds her fists into
it.
Cold and wet, her toes clenched in her boots. One last glance at the horizon. She covers her eyes with her muddy hands and
has to look away.