I know now that it is the inevitable result of being more human. There is so much less under my control. How do humans stand being tossed about so by nature, like ants in a deluge? And here I am, becoming one of those ants now.
It would be better if I could speak to Mother about this, but we’d both know what I was asking for. Bargaining. You can’t bargain with such things. Trees and clouds and lakes make no exceptions, ever, for anyone.
Finally, we are only hours away from reaching Rock Harbor, our destination. Hiking along Tobin Harbor’s rocky trail, we’re filthy, hungry, and exhausted. Our limbs have hardened from the walking but are slimmer and sparer, like spindly, strong moose legs.
“I can’t wait to find out what the camp store there has,” Hector comments. “I’d be happy if I never saw another roasted fish for the rest of my life. But I guess we’ll find enough packaged food to last until May.”
“Why May?”
“That’s when I turn eighteen. It’s when the first ferry comes back here. No one will be looking for me then. My uncle can’t claim me as his foster kid anymore. I’ll be an adult. I’ll be free.”
He says it so simply, without restraint. He’s forgotten that he never told me this plan. The world shrinks down and becomes very, very small. It takes Hector a full minute to realize that I’ve stopped walking.
He jogs back to me and searches my face. “Hey. Hey. Are you okay?”
I look up. “You’re leaving the island.”
“Well, yeah. I can’t live here forever. Neither can you. We’re barely surviving, and we could be arrested if they find us here, anyway. I’m leaving as soon as I can catch a ferry back to the mainland.” He adds, only too late, “We can go together. If you want.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Sure you can.”
“My father…” I gesture helplessly. “The island…” I add, which doesn’t help.
“Well, how old are you? Do you have to stay with him?” And then it arrives, the question he’s been holding carefully, ever since I first saw him on the island. “What are you doing here?”
How do I answer this, if at all? It takes a monumental effort to push the air past my throat, shape the words like clay through my teeth, under my soft palate. I should be thankful he didn’t stop at what are you.
“I have to be here.”
“Why?”
“This is where I belong.”
“But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” His hands form fists. “You can fight it, what you are. You already are.”
“But you didn’t fight. You ran away.” I cover my mouth, shocked at the venom in my words.
He freezes, all but his face, which contorts with anger. “What the hell, Anda! You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”
I stop myself from the obvious reply: You don’t understand what it’s like to be me, either. But all that comes out is a muffled cry of discontent. The wind rises to meet my cry. It revels in my misery.
Be upset, Anda. Be unhappy.
“I don’t need this,” Hector says. “I’ve been punished enough.”
“No.” No, no, no. It’s me. It’s only ever been me who deserves punishment. But even now, I can’t say it out loud. I raise my eyes to him. His hair is so thick and curly, his dirtied face hurt and filled with exasperation. Off the right of the dirt trail, Tobin Harbor lies quietly, listening with quiet acceptance over my unsaid transgressions.
Something white reflects the sun. A boat in the harbor.
“Oh!” I exclaim.
Hector reels around, looking for what’s startled me. In the harbor, the boat is cruising a hundred meters away. A forty-one-foot Hatteras. My mouth waters.
They are looking for Hector. I know it.
“They must be searching for you, Anda,” Hector says. “Why else would they be here?”
“Looking for you?”
“I didn’t leave a trail here.”
“Everyone leaves a trail,” I say, and he withers at my words, like I’ve struck him, backhanded. I try to settle myself down. Reason. I need reason. “Anyway, researchers come by sometimes to count the moose and wolves, or examine any dead animals. They go to Mott Island, or stay in Windigo. Maybe it’s them.”
He still stays silent. Finally, he starts down the dirt trail, letting his words find me in his wake.
“Well, we have no food left. We can hide off-trail when we get closer to Rock Harbor and see if they’re looking for us. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they’re just researchers.”
“Yes. Just researchers.” I love how easy it is to say the words that don’t tell the truth.
The truth is, it is November fifteenth.
The truth is, I’m struggling to live within Hector’s reality, as it has been on the island. I’ve forced and fit myself into his world. But more people means more realities smothering me. I don’t know if I can conform into their neat categories. The boxes, as Hector calls them.
I know who is on the boat.
And I know what else is coming.
I’ve felt the cracking of my edges. A craving has been boiling just under the surface, after being shushed like a dog at her master’s feet. So as Hector walks quietly ahead of me, I close my eyes for a moment and listen to the voice I’ve been desperately trying to shut out. The air around me caresses my cheeks, telling me to do what I must.
Yes, yes. Come back to Mother, Anda.
And my father would fear me. As he always has. Fear is tiring.
So is deceit.
Stop trying so hard, Anda.
Anda Selkirk doesn’t exist. At least, not in their world.
I trot to catch up to Hector, who’s already so far ahead, I can barely see him for the trees.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
HECTOR
We hide in a grove of trees fifty yards away from the Rock Harbor main dock. The buildings stand there quiet and deserted, and the white boat we’d seen is now moored. At first, there’s no one in sight. Anda is acting twitchy and weird, and I remember our recent conversation with a sinking feeling. I don’t know what she’s running from, but I shouldn’t have been so hard on her. I don’t need her explanations. I never did. I don’t know why I demanded them.
No, I understand. It’s because I feel the noose tightening. We both do.
Anda is biting her nails and not even facing the harbor. I hear voices and clanking noises. A dark head pops out of the door that goes to the interior of the vessel. It’s a tall guy. Middle-aged, and big.
No.
“I think my uncle is on that boat! Shit,” I hiss.
Anda just gnaws her nails and stares into a small shrub at her knees, as if it were a crystal ball. “There are two men. They’re looking for us.”
“You’re not even looking.” She turns to catch my eye with that unnerving, unblinking stare. The reflection of light in her smoky pupils glimmers with an odd iridescence. “Right. Never mind.”
Soon, she starts working on her fingernails again, clicking on them with her teeth, and she bites off little bits here and there. She goes back to staring at the bush. She actually cocks her head toward it, as if it were transmitting a radio broadcast only she can hear.