The Storm and the Darkness (27 page)

Walking away from his rocker, in front of the window, he went to clean up around the kitchen, but it was already clean. He tried busying himself around the house in other ways, like checking on his furry patient, but his mind would start to wander no matter the room. Having Ana around made it worse, although he appreciated her outlook on what had happened.

Jon expected Ana to come downstairs, wanting to “talk,” about what happened; to dissect it, break it down…make sense of it. He anxiously awaited the sound of her footsteps on the stairway, even practicing what he might say when she came to him.

But then she had just said, hey, look, nothing happened. Jon was relieved at how easy that went, but later he wondered,
was it really that easy to just forget?

I should be grateful she was willing to let me off the hook. I knew as soon as I left the room that the two of us had nothing beyond our crazy, spontaneous moments in the shower.

Jon couldn’t help feeling a little bruised. He’d feel differently if he had been the one to lay it out clearly for her instead. He looked forward to telling her, gently, that he wasn’t interested; that she was a nice girl but he wasn’t looking for anything serious. It was hard to imagine the courage he would need to say those things, but that’s what people usually did in these situations, right?

In retrospect, it wasn’t a surprise to him that Ana let him off the hook.
She really does like Finn
.
Enough that she panicked at the thought of losing him, even this early along.

What
was
a surprise, though? Jon’s jealousy. His mind betrayed him, recalling the feeling of her wet, soft bottom in his hands, the way her cheeks filled his palms; how, when he squeezed her hips, they responded by lifting higher, her long arms winding around his neck and down his back.

Jonathan shivered.
Stop. It’s just been awhile. And she’s not hard on the eyes.

Jonathan resigned himself that any distraction he tried to concoct was not going to be sufficient, and he headed back to his rocker. Ana was sitting in it now, gazing out the bay window, into the glowing darkness of snow and sea.

He wanted to ask her to move; to tell her that was
his
rocker, and he always sat there. He needed to sit there. But talking was harder than adjusting, so he gritted his teeth and pulled up the other rocker beside it.

Ana didn’t say anything when he sat down. She was lost in her own thoughts. He relaxed a bit as he sat next to her and let his thoughts take over. Not even Finn was capable of sharing this kind of solitude with him. Only Ana would understand that the way for people like them to experience true closeness and comfort was to do exactly what they were doing…losing themselves, together, in the place they each felt the safest.

This disturbed Jon, but it also aroused another sensation within him that he had not felt in many years. Rather than dwell in that dangerous territory, he focused on what should be his first concern.
 

Finn, where are you?

Nicolas was not the outdoors type. He was fine at a party, or on a yacht, or doing something wild and interesting. He didn’t mind the heat, if he was on a nude beach in the south of France. He didn’t mind the cold if he was skiing in the Swiss Alps. No one had to tell Nicolas how lucky he was to be born into such wealth that he’d never have to labor a day in his life. But while it was no surprise to him that he didn’t enjoy their trek through the snowy island, it caught him off guard how badly out of shape he apparently was.

Oz was still grumpy, but cruising right along. He was a distance runner, so his heart and lungs were well equipped for the grueling slog through knee-deep snow that threatened to bring Nicolas to his knees. Every few feet, Nicolas had to stop, leaning up against a tree, and catch his breath. Oz, several paces ahead, would patiently stop as well, doing so without turning around or saying a word.
He’s mad at me
.
He’s mostly mad at himself, but he’s disappointed in me for being such a slack-ass when it came to the planning of this
. The best way Nicolas knew to make it up to him was to ensure they met their goal, found Ana, and brought her home. That would appeal to Oz’s tragic hero complex. When it was all over, and they told the story to the family back home, he would even highlight Oz’s quick thinking and military-like prowess in unfamiliar territory. He chuckled to himself.

“I’m glad you find your thirty-year old ass panting and clutching a tree funny,” Oz said without turning. They were his first words since Nicolas had stopped him from nearly throwing himself into the freezing waters flagging the captain back.

“What else could it be?” Nicolas panted.

“Embarrassing?”

“Sexy?”

“False.”

They continued on. Occasionally they would see lights from houses, but they were further inland, and the house they wanted was on the shore. They trudged through the snow, every step a new effort, every breath wreaking havoc on their lungs. Even with the expensive winter gear they had bought in Portland, Nicolas felt completely exposed.

Eventually they came to an outcropping, where three houses sat. The space between them was enough for a football field each, but they were the only neighbors each other had for quite a distance, if the captain’s sorely deficient drawing was correct.

“Ana’s house is the middle one, according to this map,” Oz noted. The house on the left, closest to them, had several lights on. The one on the far right had only a small porch light lit. The Deschanel home was dark as night.
 

Nicolas’ heart was thumping even faster now. He worried about the lights being off, but it
was
the middle of the night…

The cliffs were treacherous. Snow obscured any hint of where the road might be, so the men took the only route available; an arduous climb down to the shore, then back up in several places due to the way the rocks jutted out from the beach. They passed the first house, where the ocean had cleared a graveled path. This route forced them back up the craggy demarcation in several places due to the way rocks created natural jetties out into the frigid north Atlantic water. Oz kept looking back to make sure Nicolas was keeping up okay. Nicolas felt no shame for being out of shape, but he would have felt like an idiot if he fell to his death because he couldn’t handle a basic, albeit slippery, climb.

Oz urged them on toward the house. “If nothing else, it’s warmth until we can figure things out,” Oz said. Nicolas realized Oz did not expect to find her at the house
. Neither do I,
he grudgingly admitted to himself
.

The door was unlocked, so they let themselves in. The house was nearly as cold inside as the outside had been. Nicolas’s breath appeared in front of him. There was a sour smell in the house, like something old and forgotten. “She’s not here,” he finally allowed himself to admit, before they had even looked around. If they searched the house, they wouldn’t find her.

“Hasn’t been for a long time,” Oz concurred. He held out a glass of curdled milk. “Found the smell.”

Where did you go Ana?
Her light blue cardigan was draped over a chair at the kitchen table and he held it, smelling her. If something had happened to her, he would know it. He’d feel it.
But I do feel it, that’s why I’m here.

“I think we should try the neighbors,” Oz suggested finally. He eyed Nicolas clutching the sweater and Nicolas put it back down.

“Which ones?”

“The ones whose property we already passed through,” Oz said. “There were lights on all over the house. We could try the other neighbors, but they only had the porch light on, and it’s the middle of the night. I say we start with the ones who are awake.”

“Three in the morning,” Nicolas said. “What do you think is going on next door at this hour? Key party?”

“That would be the lamest key party ever. No one can drive.”

Thank God he’s joking back. I didn’t realize until just now that I can’t do this without him
. “The house is big enough. Maybe they can pretend,” he quipped. Eyeing Ana’s kitchen wistfully, Nicolas conceded, “I could really use some coffee right about now, but I guess we should head over and introduce ourselves.”

“Wait. Before we go over there, there’s something I need to tell you,” Oz said.

Nicolas already had his hand on the door. “Seriously? There’s nothing about you that would surprise me anymore Ozzy, so can we just get on with finding Ana?”

But Oz’s face was not playful. His eyes had the same wild, faraway look they had when he’d come over for that weird visit, the color built up from their snowy exercise suddenly and completely drained from his face. “No…I should have told you this before we came to Maine, but I didn’t know how and…well, I don’t know what’s going to happen next door, and what this night has in store for us. I can’t hang on to this anymore. It’s eating me up, and I have to get it off my chest.”

Nicolas did not like the sound of Oz’s words, or the look on his face. The last time Oz had looked so pained was when Adrienne went missing all those years ago. “Say it, then.”

Oz motioned for him to sit, but Nicolas shook his head. “Just spit it out so we can get going.”

Then Oz took a breath and started talking. He had always rambled when he was nervous, and he did so now, fumbling through the first part of his story and losing Nicolas entirely. It wasn’t until Ana’s name came up that Nicolas perked up.

“What does Ana have to do with anything?”
 

“I know why she came to Maine,” Oz said with a weary sigh.

“We all do, Ozzy, she’s fucked up, has daddy issues, and needed a break. Can we go now?”

Oz was chewing on his lower lip and looking toward the spoiled milk glass on the counter. “She came to Maine because…we had a thing.”

Nicolas didn’t catch what Oz said at first because he was waiting for another long, rambling story. But when Oz stopped there, Nicolas processed Oz’s words.
We had a thing.

“What the fuck does that mean? You had a thing?” Nicolas demanded.

“We slept together. Had sex,” Oz attempted to clarify. “It was just one time-“

“You had
sex
with Ana? Recently?” Nicolas repeated. There was no way he heard that correctly. Ana would never do that. Not to Adrienne…not to
him.

“Yes,” Oz confirmed, in a low voice barely above a whisper. “Just before she left.”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me you are not serious!” Nicolas kicked the chair he was leaning on across the room. “Tell me you are fucking kidding Ozzy, tell me this is a joke…”

But Oz did not have to say a word; the truth was written all over his face.
I just need to get away,
Ana had said, quickly.
Too quickly.
 

Nicolas’ body was pulsing with rage. He paced behind Oz, processing, thinking.
Oz and Ana…no, it could not be. It cannot be. She would never do that. She would never sleep with my best friend; my married best friend. Her cousin’s husband. My heart.

Nicolas knew this was different than those men in the Quarter.
She told me about those. She was ashamed of them, but not so ashamed that she’d keep it from me.
All this time, she had said nothing; she betrayed not even a glimpse of her real reason for going away, leaving him wondering if
he
was the problem.
I am such a fool.
 

Oz stood up and tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Nicolas shoved him into the counter. “Stay the
fuck
away from me.”

“You have no idea how hard this has been–“ Oz was saying, and those words put Nicolas over the edge. His hand was already in a fist, and, without any thought or planning, he pulled his arm back and swung as hard as he could. His fist connected with Oz’s face so hard he thought he might have broken his hand. Oz flew back into the counter again, then crumpled to the kitchen floor.

Oz was clutching his bloody face in the corner, and Nicolas felt a small, cold satisfaction in seeing his pain. Oz was always the good guy; the martyr. He was the self-sacrificing masochist who everyone felt so bad for. This put Oz in a new light. Oz could use any excuse in the world for his behavior, but it was unforgivable to Nicolas, and he no longer felt that old, aching sympathy for his best friend.
Anyone but Ana, Oz.
 

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Nic,” Oz pleaded for understanding, “the whole night was such a blur, and I felt so horrible afterward.”

“Oh, my heart just fucking cries out for you, Oz! Life has been so unfair to you, gifting you with a beautiful wife and two awesome fucking kids!”

Oz shook his head, still clutching his nose. He had pulled a towel off the counter and was trying to stop the bleeding. “You’re my best friend Nic. I didn’t do it to hurt you, or her, or Adrienne, or anyone-”

“That is such
bullshit,
Oz! You knew how this would make me feel!”
 

“You mean Adrienne, right Nic? You mean, how it would make Adrienne feel?” Oz’s words, though timid and searching, felt like an accusation.
He has no right to judge me, the stupid, selfish prick.

“Stop fucking talking!”

“It was a mistake, and I wish I could take it back. But I can’t.”

“You made this choice, Colin.
YOU.
You are not the victim,” Nicolas said, as calmly as he could manage. He reached his hand out to Oz, who looked up in surprise. “I’m not going to throw you across the room, though you deserve it.”

Oz warily took his hand, and Nicolas pulled him to his feet. Oz looked pathetic; the blood dripping down his broken nose only made Nicolas want to hit him again.
Fuck you.

“I’m sorry–“ Oz started to say, but Nicolas lifted his fist, warning him to stop.
Not now. I can’t do this now, or I am going to completely fucking lose it.

“You’re a worthless excuse for a human being Oz, and when this is all over, you can go fuck yourself,” Nicolas said. “But, right now, we need to help Ana. We owe it to her.
You
really owe it to her
.
So, we’re both going to suck it up and finish this.”