He knows it all.
And here I stand, naked beneath my sodden nightgown after a night with Mother, who in the end, still left me with questions I must answer on my own. She left me the questions because we both know what the answer must be.
Oh, Hector. What must he think of me? Why doesn’t he run? Why doesn’t he attack me?
I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve forgotten his question already.
“Come inside,” he says impatiently. He stands up and gathers the sleeping bag in his arms in a gentle hug, and I suddenly know that maybe my life would be happier if I were such a sleeping bag.
I follow him obediently into the little house, though I know I don’t have to. The lighthouse glares at me, its eye within the octagonal chamber now dead for the day. I bare my teeth at it, before entering the darkened house.
“Your clothes are here. I’ll step out while you change.”
I spin around to watch him go back to the door. “Where is Father?”
“He went back to the island. He’s cleaning up the house and Washington Creek campsite where I stayed.”
“Oh.” I stare at my feet, afraid to ask the next question. It’s not necessary, though. He answers it for me.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
There’s a tumble of thoughts in my mind, but none of them make it to my lips. He hesitates, and when I say nothing, he leaves me in the dark and shuts the door behind him.
I should have said something.
It’s better this way.
“Is it?” I ask, aloud. But there is no reply. So I listen to the voice of my half-human heart.
Run. Run after him, Anda.
So I do. I reach for the door and bolt outside, where the sun’s light is already gaining muscle and warms the bracing breeze trying to nip at my ankles and wrists.
“Hector,” I holler. “Hector!”
“Geez, I’m right here, Anda.”
I spin around. Hector is leaning against the wall of the building, next to the iron acetylene shed. There is so much distance between us, growing rapidly even as the seconds tick by. My damp nightgown sticks to my legs and belly as I step closer. Hector crosses his arms in front of his chest and won’t meet my eye.
When I’m only inches away, I see that he’s breathing fast. I have this effect on him, and it warms me to know that I still matter. Perhaps it’s pure fear, but perhaps not. I put my hand on his chest and he freezes, as if I’d put a cold pistol against his temple. His heart beats so fast. I know the current of blood within it, the dance between valves and chambers, the laminar flow and miniature eddies that sing to a creature like me.
“Don’t,” he whispers, still looking away. He begins to tremble.
“I won’t be ignored, Hector,” I say steadily.
“But you aren’t real. And I have to leave.” His voice is hoarse, and he’s got purplish shadows beneath his eyes. He didn’t sleep well.
“My father said you have to leave, didn’t he?”
“It doesn’t matter what he said.” Hector can barely look at me. “I need to go.”
“Look at me,” I command him.
He does, but it takes a year and a day for his rich brown eyes to finally meet mine. They see me only superficially, not like how he looked at me before last night.
“I’m still here,” I whisper. My body leans into him, and I put my cheek against the hollow of his throat, listening to him breathe. I let my fingers skim up his arms and hook over his shoulders. And still he stays frozen.
“I know what you are. I can’t…” he whispers. “You aren’t real to someone like me.”
“I am. Right here. Right now.” I stretch up on my toes and let my hands follow the curve behind his neck. He closes his eyes, and I pull his face closer.
He is so beautiful. His tired eyes, dark eyelashes, his defeat, and the terrors of a life that drove him into my arms. The arms of a murderess.
I kiss him gently, warming his cold lips beneath mine.
Kiss me back, Hector, I beg. Please.
Look who has the power now. Is this what you want?
This is what I want. I want this strange, broken boy who could see this strange, broken girl. Even when he didn’t know what he was looking at.
I can linger forever, if need be, with my mouth waiting for his to speak against mine. I could wait a century, even as his bones crumble against my skin.
Slowly, as if melting drop by drop, Hector’s arms unglue themselves from his sides and encircle my damp waist. He embraces me and lifts me up, angling his face so he can fit my lips more perfectly. I hold his face in my hands, wishing I could control the kiss, when I know I have no power.
It is nothing like our first kisses. The ones where we stepped cautiously into each other’s sphere for a few short hours, testing the solidity of the plane between us. Now we’ve found that the ground is riddled like a honeycomb and we’ve fallen through.
Fallen. Falling.
After too short a time, he breaks the kiss, but not his hold on me. The embrace is so tight. He’ll be gone tomorrow, and his embrace says so. Finally, we breathe. Not a sigh of relief, but of something far more complicated.
“Oh God, Anda,” he whispers against my neck.
“No gods here, Hector. Only us.”
It’s a prayer, of sorts.
Or a curse.
Chapter Forty-Five
HECTOR
How many ships do I need to sink to stay here forever?
What sins must I commit to unmake myself?
I don’t move a muscle, conscious of my hands absorbing the warmth of her back. Her cheek presses against my grizzled one. I hear her inhale, ready to speak.
I don’t want her to say anything. Please don’t talk. Let’s just stay like this and pretend there isn’t any future. Ever.
“Do you really have to go back?” she whispers against my chest.
Anda already has me waking up before I’m ready. I squeeze her hard, but I know I have to answer eventually.
“Yes. I made a promise to your father. It’s safer.” I don’t say for who, her or me.
She nods. “How much time do we have, then?”
“He’s coming back tomorrow morning. He’s taking me to Rock Harbor. The same friend who dropped him off is going to drop me off in Michigan.” At least I won’t have to go back to Grand Portage. He’s giving me a chance, even if I don’t have one with Anda.
The water laps at the shoreline in a quiet, hypnotizing rhythm. The sun, though briefly out for the morning, is now gone. It’s already darker, and the ominous weather makes me shiver. Everything around us seems to be waiting on our next words.
She looks out at the lake. “I thought we would have more time,” she says.
I slip my hand into hers. “We have now.”
When she turns to me, her eyes are swimming. “So you don’t hate me.”
“No.” I pause. “I don’t completely understand you, but I don’t hate you. You’re complicated. You’re not one thing.” I close my eyes for a long second. “I should know. I’m not one to judge.”