Chapter 21
The mid-August sun rises later and sets earlier. In between, Annie and Walker circle one another: fishing, fixing, doing chores,
and repairing Polaris when they have time. In town, they’ve run out of shelf-stable milk and root vegetables. Supplies of toilet paper, batteries,
and kerosene are dwindling. The nights are cooler.
There’s no word from Evan on the tug. He’s been gone nearly a week. Annie is sick worrying about him. The evacuation date
looms, and Ruth looks ashen. Annie wonders if she’ll make it until October without a transfusion.
A warm drizzle hangs in the sky when Evan pushes through Ruth’s screen door. A rush of humid air hits Annie where she stands
beside Walker at the counter, preparing dinner.
“You’re back!” Annie exhales her relief. Then more firmly: “It’s been six days.”
His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is wet from the rain. “I didn’t mean to barge in on your dinner.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ruth says from her seat at the head of the table.
Evan’s gaze flicks to Walker. “I thought you were staying on Henry’s boat.”
“Henry likes to be alone. I don’t think he wants overnight guests,” Walker replies.
“Right.” Evan pauses, then unloads his backpack onto the counter.
Two bottles of multivitamins and a box of peanut-butter protein bars.
Next, a dozen Mylar pouches of freeze-dried dinners.
Annie picks them up one at a time: just-add-water beef stroganoff, pasta primavera, a pad thai advertising vegetables and the crunch of roasted peanuts.
“Grab and go,” Annie reads the label. “Twenty-five-year shelf life. And sriracha lime sauce.”
“Let’s all eat some real food,” Ruth insists. Walker hands Ruth a bowl of chili they’ve concocted from the remaining canned
tomatoes and beans.
“Are you sure there’s enough?” Evan deposits himself in a chair to Ruth’s right.
“There’s plenty,” Walker says.
Annie pours water into a glass and hands it to Evan, then sits across from him with her own meal. “When did you get back?”
He takes a long sip before answering. “I came straight over.”
“Isaac didn’t have a to-do list for you tonight?” she asks, and then immediately wishes she’d been gentler.
Evan swallows hard and places the glass down on the table.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Annie says.
“I know what you meant. I get it.” Evan sounds resigned. “He doesn’t know I’m back yet.”
Walker hands Evan a full bowl and a spoon. “You look hungry.”
Ruth puts her hand on Evan’s shoulder. “How did it go?”
“It’s chaos, like you’d expect. They’re trying to get lumber from everywhere.” Evan takes a bite. “I asked about the hospital
situation . . .”
Annie shifts forward on her chair. “What did they say?” She hasn’t been brave enough to broach the topic of transfusions with
Ruth again. Her grandmother doesn’t like to talk about her leukemia—-she’s always said that giving it airtime is like feeding
a weed.
“I mean . . . it’s not good.” Evan takes another drink and empties his glass. “But they managed to get an emergency wing open. The Red Cross is on-site, and they’re taking people.”
“That’s a relief.” Annie looks to Ruth.
“I’m glad they can help the people who need it,” Ruth says, putting down her spoon and dabbing the corners of her mouth with
a napkin. “There must be a lot of acute concerns.”
“It got me thinking . . .” Evan starts. “Do you think you’ll need a transfusion soon?”
Ruth shakes her head. “That should be the least of our worries.”
Annie stares at her bowl. “It’s one of my biggest worries.”
“You could come with me, Ruth.” Evan leans forward over the table. “I’ll be leaving again soon with the other booms.”
“Other booms?” Annie’s eyes widen. “I thought that was supposed to be a one-off thing.”
Evan looks down at his forearms, folded on the table. “Dad says we can’t let up now, because the prices are so good.”
Annie moves to stand up, but Ruth puts a hand on her wrist to keep her at the table.
“As long as I’m going, Ruth can come with me,” Evan continues. “Why not get that transfusion and come home with me after?”
Ruth doesn’t take the bait. “I don’t want to leave Annie alone.”
Annie was about to take her first bite but puts her spoon down. “Maybe Evan’s right.”
“It could be a solution for now.” Evan shakes his head. “I don’t know what my dad’s endgame is. We’re surviving day by day.
But we’ll all have to leave soon enough, won’t we?”
Annie doesn’t want to talk about Isaac and his plans. She wants Ruth to get a transfusion if she needs it, without Evan doing
Isaac’s bidding. And she doesn’t want to think about leaving—-being forced to—-or what’s going to happen if Walker doesn’t
go with her. “Are you finished?” Annie points to Ruth’s near-empty bowl.
“You haven’t eaten yet, honey.” Ruth squeezes Annie’s hand. Her fingers are cold. “It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”
“We’ll figure out how to make it work, even if we stay,” Annie says, conjuring another future where they don’t have to evacuate,
and Ruth remains Ruth: strong and well and unchanging. And Annie can stay inside the hum.
The rain drums through the downspouts. It’s getting dark. They’ll have to light candles soon.
“You could sail there and back to get the transfusions when you need them,” Walker says, leaning against the kitchen island
as he eats.
“That’s not feasible,” Evan says.
Annie pushes her untouched bowl away and turns to Walker. “Is that what you think we should do?”
“Why are you asking him?” Evan’s voice is restrained.
“He’s been with us,” Annie shoots back. “He’s here.”
“You think I don’t want to be here?” Evan says, louder now. “That I don’t care?”
“Enough,” Ruth says firmly. She puts her palms up. “It’s not the time to argue.”
“Everyone has a path,” Walker says, as he retrieves the coast guard pamphlet and a pen from the drawer. Placing the paper
face-down on the kitchen table, he carefully draws four lines on the blank side. Each line a differing length, some overlapping
in places, some not. One line includes a dotted section, two spiral over each other repeatedly. “We each have a beginning
and an ending. We cross over at different times, and it makes a pattern.”
Evan glares at Walker. “Where are you going with this?”
Walker draws small circles around each spot where the lines intersect. “We’re not separate, exactly, but we have to pay attention
to the pattern,” he says. “Ruth knows the pattern best, because she’s been here the longest. She’s a good guide.”
“Are we in some kind of fortune cookie now?” Evan squints at the lines on the paper.
“Stop it,” Annie says.
Ruth chimes in. “I think he’s saying you should listen to me.”
Annie leans closer to see the drawing from Walker’s vantage point. The overlapping sections of the lines resemble DNA’s double
helices.
“Ruth is a guide, but you can’t lose track of your own line, either. You have to slow down. You’re here in this place right
now.” He circles a few more intersections. “Even if your lines are overlapping for a period of time—-even a long time—-they can move apart. Or come back together. There’s nothing incorrect about that, if you’re listening for your own
pattern.”
“Should I be taking notes?” Evan picks up his bowl and starts eating in earnest.
Walker doesn’t seem to hear him. His gaze is off to the left; that crease between his eyebrows again. “We have to be careful.
Sometimes what we think we want gets in the way of what we know we have to do. That’s hard.” He places the pen down as if he’s explained everything
that needs explaining.
“You’re saying that we don’t all necessarily need to do the same thing,” Annie summarizes.
Walker looks out the window. “I’m saying . . . as long as we follow our own instructions, we don’t need to worry.”
“How do we know the instructions?” Annie is intrigued.
Evan is exasperated. “We need to stay practical, okay? And that means sticking together. Splitting up is not an option.”
Annie looks at Ruth. “If Evan takes you for a transfusion in the meantime, we’ll have more time to figure the rest out.”
“I haven’t given you any reason to think I’m not okay right now. There’s no need to panic.” Ruth leans back in her chair.
“You’re breathing fast when you walk. You’ve been sleeping more,” Annie argues. “Don’t downplay it. Haven’t we kept enough
secrets?”
Evan sets his bowl down. He studies Annie’s face, then Ruth’s. “What secrets?” he asks.
Ruth straightens her posture. Annie clamps her mouth closed. She isn’t ready to get into this with Evan—-the disorienting
fact that she has no idea who her mom really is and at some point, she was psychotic.
“Nothing,” Annie says. “Never mind.”
“Well . . . yes, coming with me next week will buy us some time,” Evan says. “We’ll figure out what to do long-term after
that.”
“I don’t want to risk you getting sicker,” Annie says. “Please.”
Ruth refolds her napkin into a square. “I’ll think about it.”
Evan places his palms on the table. “Seems to me like it’s settled,” he says. “And I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”
He yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “Is it okay if I crash on your couch?” He’s lying down before he receives an
answer, and within a few minutes, he’s fast asleep.