Between Here and the Horizon (14 page)

“The local newspaper ran a story on Ronan when he was awarded that medal from the army. That was probably the last time I spoke to Mags on the phone. I’d called her because the article said Ronan hadn’t even attended the ceremony to collect the damn thing. That they’d had to send it to him in the mail.” Rose shrugged, finishing her coffee. “I wanted to congratulate him, to tell him how proud we were of him here on the island, but he wouldn’t even take my call.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Journal

March 15, 2000

This journal smells like the tack shop we bought Topper’s bridle from. I love it. Dad said it was too boyish for me, but whatever. It’s my money. I can buy what I like with it. Sully says he’s going to wait until I’ve filled every single page, and then he’s gonna steal it and read it. Such a jerk. He’d better not. Sully James Fletcher, if you’re reading this, you’re going straight to hell. Do
not
invade my privacy or I’ll saw your balls off with a rusty butter knife!
 

Should probably make the same threat to Ronan, but why bother? He’s too busy plotting out his “Great American Road Trip” to think twice about anything I scribble in here. And good, too! At least I only have to worry myself with one of the Fletcher boys. So…I don’t know. I guess I’ll only write in here when I have something important to say. The book’s too nice to waste, and I’m a sixteen-year-old girl. Seems a shame to cover the pages in shit about boys and high school drama. I want to be able to look back through this book in forty years’ time and be proud of the moments I’ve recorded here.
 

I hope by then I can say I’ve lived a life worth writing about. I hope by then Sully and I are married, and we’ve had kids of our own. I hope we’ve traveled the world. Seen everything there is to see. I hope we’ve come back to the island and built a new life for ourselves here, and I can ride every day and Sully can make things in his workshop. That would make me happy. That would make me very happy indeed.
 

M

M for
Magda
. I’d been mistaken; I’d thought the journal Ronan left for me to read was his, but it wasn’t. It was his wife’s, and the very first entry on the very first page confirmed all too clearly what Rose had told me: Magda had started out in love with
Sully
. I could have guessed the problem between Ronan and his brother had stemmed from a woman somehow, but I’d had no idea it would be Ronan’s dead wife. What strife that must have caused. And how? Magda was sixteen when she wrote on the first page in her diary. Flicking through the occasionally brittle, occasionally damp smelling book, I skipped to the very last entry in the journal, only three quarters of the way through, and noted the date.
 

April last year. The handwriting had changed from girly, loopy cursive to a more elegant, sprawling text over the years, but the lettering was still unmistakably from the same hand. I avoided the words written onto the paper, not wanting to read them yet. For some reason it felt like skipping to the end of a novel and ruining the story for myself, though in this instance I already knew what happened at the end. Magda was dead, and now so was Ronan. Sully was the last man standing.
 

After Rose had left, I’d ducked into the office and grabbed the book before I’d had a chance to change my mind. I needed some more background history, and low and behold it looked like I was going to get it in spades. There had to be over a hundred entries in Magda’s journal. Some of the pages were rigid and crackled as they were turned. Others were covered with photos. Some bore event tickets, plane tickets…stubs to movies. Closer to the end of the book, I caught sight of a sonogram tacked to a page, and I had to stop myself from investigating closer to see if it was Connor or Amie Magda had commemorated in her book.

Amie sat with me the entire afternoon, dipping in and out of sleep, crying sporadically in quiet, heartbroken jags that made me ache inside for her. Connor remained in his room, rainbow hat jammed onto his head, not moving, not saying a word. He’d lashed out and tried to kick me when I tried to pick him up and take him into my arms, growling fiercely, and so I’d left him alone in the silence of his room, hoping I was doing the right thing.
 

The rain arrived around four, hammering at the windows, rattling them in their frames, and wind tore at the house, howling through the brickwork in the old pantry, the only part of the house that didn’t look like it had been renovated, causing the kitchen door to slam closed behind me every time I went in there to get juice or cookies for Amie.
 

I couldn’t stop thinking about Magda’s journal. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sully’s appearance earlier, either, or the harsh way that he’d spoken. He’d been stark and unwelcoming, but he’d also been afraid, too—when he heard Amie calling out for her father, he’d looked so lost that the transformation had startled me. I needed to know why he’d taken the time to come to the house not once but twice in order to tell me I’d be wasting my time if I tried to fulfill Ronan’s wishes. The mystery of it all was killing me.

I flicked through the journal, letting it fall open midway through—a page full of photos. I only knew the images were of Sully because Magda had written underneath each one with a title, time and date.
 

Sully, Fort Benning, April 2003.
 

Sully, Times Square, December 2003. Four days until deployment.
 

Sully, Kabul, May 2004.
 

Sully, with Daniels and Rogers, Kabul, January 2005.
 

Underneath this entry, a faded, small photograph was taped to the paper: Sully, in full military uniform, sun blazing, a white hot blister in the background, two tall black guys also in uniform with their arms slung over his shoulders. All three of the men were smiling, teeth showing, sweat on their brows, but there was something a little off about the picture. The smiles seemed edgy, like they’d been painted on. The men stood tall and stiff, as though ready to drop the pretense of happiness at the first sign of trouble in order to pick up the rifles at their feet and start fighting.

None of them looked like they wanted to be there at all.
 

******

I didn’t see Sully again for a month. Four weeks passed by, and not a peep. Perhaps this wouldn’t have been so strange if the island weren’t so small, and if everyone didn’t keep saying,
oh how funny. You just missed Sully
, to me. It was like he’d tagged me with a GPS tracker somehow, knew my exact location at all times, and was determined to avoid me no matter the cost.
 

CPS checked in with me, sent Sheryl back to the island to make sure I wasn’t neglecting the children (which I wasn’t), and they signed off on them staying with me until next spring. Rose’s presence was an immeasurable help. I was using some of the allowance Ronan had set aside for me to pay Dr. Fielding for Skype sessions with Connor and Amie. His time with Amie appeared to be helping her a lot, but Connor was proving harder to reach. He often sat in front of the computer screen and refused to speak at all when Fielding asked him questions. If he did speak, then he shouted, screamed and swore until Fielding declared the session counter productive and shut things down. Still, I hoped for a breakthrough. And soon. Really, really soon. My last nerve was frayed down to the quick, but more importantly I felt like I was failing Connor and Ronan at the same time, and that didn’t sit well with me at all.
 

November was frigid and awful. The sky was the color of war—gray and black and grim—and the rain rarely broke. Rose was at home with the children when I finally saw Sully Fletcher again.

“There we go, sweetie. Whew, that’s a heavy one. Must have some good stuff in there.” Sam, the woman who ran the post office, slid the package I’d come to collect toward me across the counter, smiling. The package was from Mom—probably more winter clothing. She was terrified I was going to freeze to death. Sam glanced over my shoulder, lifting a hand in greeting. “Hi, Sully. You can leave that there if you like? I’ll swing by on my way home to pay you.”

I spun around so quick I almost lost my balance. Sure enough, Sully was standing in the open doorway of the post office, and in his hands he was holding a huge, beautiful rocking chair. When he saw me, his expression changed from flat disinterest to open horror. “Sure thing, Sam.” He put the rocking chair down next to the door, bending at the waist, and I couldn’t help but notice how close he’d cropped his hair, or the curls of wood shavings that were stuck to the thick plaid material of his shirt. There was a black smudge on the back of his neck, as if he’d rubbed greasy fingers there and no one had told him about the stain marking his skin. He didn’t turn around again or say another word to Sam. He just walked through the door and left.
 

“I wouldn’t do it to myself if I were you.”

“Pardon me?” I turned back to find that Sam was giving me a knowing, wary look.
 

“Sully Fletcher. As handsome as the devil on Sunday. Had every single one of the women on this island in a tizz at some point, but he ain’t never looked at a single one of them. Trust me. That one’s more trouble than he’s worth. You need a cabinet made, or a chair fixed, then Sully’s your man. If you’re looking for someone with a gentle and tender heart to snuggle up with on the couch when it’s raining, then you’re better off getting a dog.”

“I’m not looking for that. And if I were, I definitely wouldn’t be interested in Sully.”
 

“Hmm.” From the look on her face, Sam didn’t believe me one bit. “All right then. But just so you know, that one didn’t come back from the desert the same as when he left, if you get my meaning. Just be careful around him. And don’t let those little ones around him too much, either.” There wasn’t any fear of that happening; Sully had made himself perfectly clear back at the house four weeks ago, and he hadn’t changed his mind. I’d heard nothing from him regarding his niece and nephew. I’d heard nothing from him, period.
 

Outside, I caught him climbing into a beaten truck so covered in mud that I couldn’t even make out what color it was. He wanted to throw the car in drive and disappear, I could tell, but I wasn’t going to let him. I stepped in front of the vehicle and laid my hands flat against the hood.
 

Sully leaned out of his window and growled, “What in holy fuck do you think you’re doing?” He sounded so similar to Ronan, it was uncanny. I’d never heard Ronan say fuck, but I could imagine it all too well.
 

“You’re avoiding me. And the children. Why?”

“You’re insane.” Sully looked around the inside of his truck, like he was looking for someone to agree with him. “I’m a busy guy, Miss Ophelia Lang from California. I have work to do. Why would I be playing stupid games and avoiding you?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. You didn’t even come to Ronan’s funeral.” The day had been one of the few fine days I’d experienced on The Causeway. The sun had shone for the entire forty minutes I’d stood at Ronan’s graveside with the children, the temperature cool but fresh, and the fact that so few people had shown up to say their farewells to Ronan had been heartbreaking. Back in New York, there would have been work associates, friends, neighbors… Here on the island, the only person who I’d known at the tiny Catholic Church had been Rose and that was it.
 

“Of course I didn’t come.” Sully turned the key in the ignition; the car’s engine roared into life, startling me. “I’m not above running over a girl, you know. I’ve done it before.”

“Where? In Afghanistan?”
 

Sully sat back in his seat like he’d been slapped. “And what would you know about Afghanistan?”

I’d obviously touched a very,
very
raw nerve. “Nothing.”

“That’s right. You don’t know anything.”

“Maybe I should change that. Maybe I should just read Magda’s journal, and—”

“What did you just say?” Sully stopped trying to maneuver the car past me and gaped at me out of the window. His anger seemed to have dissipated in a puff of smoke.
 

“Magda’s journal. Ronan told me to read it. To understand what happened between you two better.”
 

“Is that so?” Sully leaned forward, forearms against the steering wheel. With eyebrows so high up his forehead they were almost touching his hairline, he tilted his head to one side. He was angry; I could feel the tension snapping in the air. Given the look in his eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if he
did
run me over. “And what have you learned so far, Lang?” he snapped. He looked suspicious. Almost worried.
 

“I haven’t learned anything. I haven’t read it,” I snapped back. It was true. I hadn’t read a single entry since I’d first picked up the journal after Ronan died. Oh, I’d wanted to for sure. It still sat on my nightstand, and night after night I warred with myself, trying to convince myself of the fact that reading the contents of the journal wasn’t invading Sully’s privacy. But it was. I knew it was.
 

“Like I’m gonna believe that,” Sully growled.

“You can believe whatever you want. I only know what everyone else on this ridiculously tiny island knows. Ronan came back from deployment, and suddenly…” I didn’t feel brave enough to say the rest out loud. Not to his face.

“Suddenly he was marrying my girlfriend and having a baby?” Sully had gone pale. His eyes were filled with a hint of madness that finally,
finally
set him apart from Ronan. What was he going to do next? Scream at me some more? I could take it. I could if it meant that he and I were talking. A month had already gone by, and Sheryl hadn’t found anywhere suitable for Connor and Amie. Another five months would easily fly by in the blink of an eye, and then the two children would be shipped off to the group home after all, regardless of what I wanted for them.