At first, nobody speaks the questions we all have. We know the answers will come in time, but I’m terrified of them. Of what Hector might learn about me. We sit around the fireplace for a long time.
The truth is—I’m not really that hungry. Not for food. But I want my actions to soothe Hector with normalcy, and I want my father to see what I can become. Acting is a respite, somehow. Not having to be myself. I’m trying to convince anybody that I can be like this, or stay like this. The truth is—I don’t know what I want.
I do.
“Shhh…” I say.
“What is it?” Hector asks, reaching to put a hand on my back. Father sees every movement we make, even in the low light of the flaming cooking fuel.
“It’s the wind. It’s rising.”
From outside, it begins as a low, shuddering moan. It shivers through the eaves of the roof, winds its way down the chimney and curls around my feet, like a lost kitten. It’s missed me, as I’ve missed it.
Now that I’m no longer in the interior of the island, now that I’m sitting on nothing but a rise of rock in the lake, it’s become impossible to ignore Mother. My vision blurs a little. I can’t concentrate and be the Anda I’ve been lately with Hector. There is insistent buzzing in my ears. I shake my head, but it refuses to be ignored.
Father cocks his head, listening to the rising wind. “I think there’s a draft coming in from the roof. We should try to fix it, in case a storm comes.” He clears his throat. “Anda, I would love some more tea. Maybe you could make us some, while Hector and I check it out?”
I nod, my eyes wide with understanding. As they exit the room and their footsteps creak up the groaning staircase, I wrap my arms around myself. My teeth chatter uncontrollably.
I know what’s coming. Father is going to tell Hector everything. Hector will tell Father everything, too.
And then I’ll lose them both.
Chapter Forty-One
HECTOR
When I follow Mr. Selkirk upstairs, I know it’s going to be bad.
What I want to hear and what I’m going to hear will be so different. The fact that I’m not already with the police is a good sign, but reality has been slowly shoving itself under my fingernails, forcing me to notice. Mr. Selkirk knows I’m here. And time is not on my side. Nothing is ever on my side. Every day that goes by could be the day the police figure out where I am, a day that my uncle will have me under his thumb again. I think of Anda, but how long can all this last? I already know the answer. And it makes me greedy for every single minute I have before it’s all gone.
The upper floor has an annoyingly low ceiling, and cobwebs shroud the beams above, undulating from an unseen force. I hunch over to avoid smacking my head on the beams and put my hand out to feel the air current.
“There’s definitely a draft here,” I say. Because I have to say something.
“Yes. It’s an old, old house. Built in eighteen seventy-five. Good bones, though.” He walks to the window, barred with metal, and runs his thick, scarred fingertips against the welded edges. “Like many things on Isle Royale, it will outlive us all.”
“What things?” I ask, warily.
But it’s a long time before he answers me. “Tomorrow, I’m going to clean up the mess that you two left on the island. I’ll take the blame for any damage or stolen goods. Anda will stay here, just in case. And then you’ll go back to your parents.”
“I don’t have parents.” The lie is easier than the truth, and it has the same effect anyway. Pity.
“You must have left someone behind.”
“My uncle,” I say, without looking him in the eye.
“Your uncle, then. He must be missing you.”
I bite my tongue, hard enough to feel pain in the core of my stomach.
The month my dad arranged for me to live with him, my uncle sat me down and patted me on the back. This was when I was easier to take care of, when he was easier to love. Before.
“We’re alike, you and me.”
My English wasn’t too good then. I just stared, wide-eyed, at how a guy who could pass for white could be anything like me. He’d told me about his white mom, who’d died of diabetes a few years ago. How amazing my grandpa was, though a stroke wiped him out around the same time. How weird it was, sometimes, to be half one thing, half another, and neither at the same time.
“Half, half,” I’d said.
“Yeah. Two halves don’t always make a whole.”
I didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. He never brought it up again. I wish he had. It might have offset his tirades about my mother. The more problems I caused, the more he’d curse her for doing such a shit job of being a mother and dumping me on him. He never said anything about Dad being at fault. I always thought it was because he loved his brother.
I don’t think it had anything to do with love.
“Hector? Did you hear what I said?” Mr. Selkirk asks.
I remember where I am. “Sorry. What?”
“I can’t risk someone finding out a person is hiding here.”
My shoulders sag. “I can’t go back to my uncle.” How can I say why, without having to actually say it? After almost five minutes of silence, all I can manage is, “I can’t go back.”
His boot digs at the planks by the wall, but he’s been listening intently to my silence. He sighs. “Where are you from?”
“Duluth.” I don’t have the heart to lie this time.
“I’ll take you to Michigan instead.” He points at me. “That’s all I can offer. If anyone asks me, I’ll say I thought you were an adult. I have to make sure they don’t find Anda.”
“Then why did you leave her here?” I shoot back.
He spins around. “I didn’t leave her here. She chose to stay.”
“You shouldn’t have let her!” I almost yell, before I realize that Anda is probably listening through the floorboards.
“Let her? She chose this. And you chose to stay on the island, too.”
“I had no choice!”
“Neither did I,” he growls back.
“That’s pure and utter bullshit.”
Mr. Selkirk rounds on me and for a second, he’s absolutely terrifying. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I would do anything to protect her. Anything. If that means dragging you back to Duluth and handing you to the police, then I’ll do it. So don’t push me. I may not know how best to care for her. God knows, I’ve tried. But I know some things. And I know you have to leave.”
“But—”
“Stop!” Mr. Selkirk points at me. “God in heaven, you don’t understand. It’s not just about her. I’m protecting you, too. Don’t you see? She isn’t the only thing on this island—on this lake—that can kill you.”
What am I not seeing? What is he not telling me? He starts to descend the stairs when I call out. “Wait. Tell me, then.”
“No.”
As he takes the rest of the stairs down, I realize his words don’t quite fit together in my head.
I think of the visions of things I’ve seen, but not seen. The figure in the aurora borealis. The skull in the water.