The Jumbee (39 page)

Act Three. Scene Eight.

Esti wasn’t sure how long Rafe held her. He didn’t ask her to talk, he just sat with his arms around her, gently rocking her. He wrapped a blanket around them both and leaned against the wall, pulling her close to him. They listened to the furious wind and the distant pounding of the sea while he stroked her hair.

Eventually his hand dropped to his side, and Esti knew he had fallen into an unsettled sleep. For a long time she sat without moving, without thinking, without feeling. She was threadbare and wrung-out, like a tired old washcloth. Other than the storm, she hadn’t heard any sounds from upstairs, but she knew Alan must be in the living room, silent and alone. With a sigh, she looked at the clock.

Four in the morning. Aurora would be frantic.

Rafe was right about one thing: Alan had a hold on her. It wasn’t the promise he had forced from her to save Rafe’s life. No matter that she honestly loved Rafe, Alan had trapped her the first time he spoke. She remembered the exact timbre of his unexpected words. The thought of it still brought goose bumps to her arms.

Even now—even after being brought here against her will—Esti trusted Alan not to hurt her. He wouldn’t force her to stay, not if she insisted on leaving. For all the pain she’d felt since she met him, she couldn’t point to a single instance of deliberate malice against
her
. Although no one else would ever understand, Esti couldn’t even blame him for kidnapping her. It was the only possibility she’d left him, if he wanted to talk to her again.

From the very beginning, their relationship had been doomed to a series of terrible misunderstandings. As devastating as the finest Shakespeare tragedy, she thought humorlessly. But Alan’s lonely suffering had been much worse than her own, and she felt her heart twist. He wouldn’t make her stay, but if she broke her promise, she might destroy him for good.

She rubbed her temples, trying to suppress an urge to go upstairs and talk to him. As she caught sight of the second blanket on the floor, however, the urge grew stronger. She could picture him brooding on the couch, cold and alone, unwilling to come back down and see her in Rafe’s arms.

She wondered if she could possibly sneak up the stairs just long enough to give him a blanket, without waking Rafe. Leaning forward, she slowly moved away. Rafe stirred restlessly, but he didn’t open his eyes. She finally turned and touched her lips to his forehead. Wrapping the blanket around him again, she grabbed the second blanket from the floor and stood up. Her heart pounded almost as loud as the wind against the shutters upstairs.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was poised to flee back to the safe bedroom. The living room vibrated with the storm’s fury, and she couldn’t see Alan anywhere. A flickering hurricane lamp lit the room with dim light, reflecting against a pool of water covering the floor. Deeper puddles formed in a few places, reaching back almost to the stairs. The smell of wet stone and damp earth filled the room, and as Esti watched, a noisy gust of wind rattled the big porch doors, threatening to tear the house apart. Rain flooded in through all the cracks, although the doors held tight.

Holding her breath, Esti cautiously made her way around the puddles and glanced up at the kitchen. The bookcases still braced the broken window opening, filling the small kitchen with their bulk. When she turned, she noticed that Alan had wrapped her cardboard box in a tarp to protect it from water.

And she finally saw him. Her pent-up breath burst out in an explosion of relief. Alan lay on the couch, leaning against the armrest with his eyes closed. Clutching the blanket against her chest, she crept closer to study his face. The flickering light of the hurricane lamp smoothed his scaly skin, showing off a strong jaw and proud bearing, even in sleep. If it weren’t for the curse of his ancestors, she realized, he might have been attractive.

As she watched, his mouth curved in a wistful smile. His eyes flickered open, then widened as he saw her in front of him.

“I dreamed of waking up to you,” he said, “and here you are.”

The wonder in his voice broke through the fury of the storm like a ray of sunlight. His eyes remained guarded, however, as he glanced toward the bedroom stairs.

Esti shoved the blanket at him, embarrassed. “I didn’t want you to be cold.”

“Thank you.” His wonder grew even stronger. “For the blanket, and for the thought. And thank you for . . .” He trailed off, searching her face.

Esti couldn’t help blushing.

He sat up and took the blanket from her. “I apologize for frightening you yesterday. I truly wasn’t planning to—to steal all of you, when I took over the role of Romeo. I can’t deny I enjoyed being onstage, though, even if only for a moment. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

She thought about the terrible way it had ended. “I didn’t mean to knock off your mask in front of everyone.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have hurt Greg. I shouldn’t have destroyed the theater sets. Things got out of hand.”

“Don’t they always?” Esti tried to smile.

Alan wearily shook his head. “I’m so sorry. At least I had a chance to perform with you for a moment.”

“I ruined it.”

“No. You did nothing wrong.” Alan stared at her, his eyes sad, then glanced at the bedroom stairs once more. “You have made my life better than I ever thought possible. I know the reverse is not true.”

Before she could ask about her promise to him, he looked back at her. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” His eyes softened as he put aside his despair to give her the only gift he could. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Esti sank down on the other end of the couch, unable to tear herself away. This was the hold he had on her, then: his ability to weave Shakespeare’s magic into her soul. It was something she couldn’t explain to anyone, not even Rafe or Aurora. No one would understand the exquisite beauty Alan invoked to life, except maybe—Esti felt her throat grow tight—maybe her dad had understood. She closed her eyes, and the storm outside disappeared as Alan brought her under the spell of the most perfect sonnet ever written.

“But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou owest,” he finished. “Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou growest. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see; so long lives this and this gives life to thee.”

She reached across the couch to take his hand.

“Esti.” His gloved fingers tightened on hers. “It’s almost sunrise. I think the hurricane is finally moving away.”

She woke Rafe just as the sun was coming up. For a moment, he stared at her in confusion.

“What’s going on?” he finally said.

“The hurricane’s gone.”

“Where’s Somand?”

“Alan is outside, checking the damage.”

“Quick.” Rafe scrambled to his feet. “We gotta leave before he comes back.”

“We can’t get out of the sea cave without his help. The water is dangerous.” Esti put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen.”

The pounding of the storm-churned sea deep within the heart of Manchineel Cay seemed especially loud in the absence of the storm.

Rafe’s expression tightened. “We’ll find another way off the island. Once we make it to water, I can help you swim. The sea will be rough for hours, but it’s not that far to Manchicay Beach.”

“There is no other way off. The cay is as treacherous as the sea, believe me. And Alan’s already been outside. He said manchineel is everywhere this morning, tossed around by the storm. The caves are the only way we can go, and I don’t think either of us knows the path well enough to get there without him.”

“Bull.” Rafe clenched his fists. “He’s trying to scare you. I’m getting you out of here.”

“He promised to lead the way as soon as he comes back. It won’t be long.”

“And you
believe
him?”

“He’s never lied to me.” She suddenly frowned, listening hard. Through the deep pounding beneath them, she heard something new, a sharper, chopping sound.

“Helicopter,” Rafe whooped, leaping for the stairs. “They’re looking for us.”

“No!” Esti raced after him, dragging him to a stop on the top step. “We can’t let them see us.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “What?”

“His house is secret.” She desperately hoped it was still camouflaged from above, after the storm damage.

“What is wrong with you?” Rafe exploded. “They’re trying to
rescue
you.” He pulled away from her and headed across the living room. Alan had already opened the big porch doors, a tangled mass of fallen trees and vines obscuring the irregular porch outside.

“Rafe, stop.” Esti grabbed his arm.

“Are you saying you don’t want to be rescued?”

“I’m saying I can’t ruin the rest of Alan’s life.”

“He kidnapped you!”

“He won’t keep me here against my will.”

“I don’t know what he’s doing to your head, but he’s fooled—”

“He won’t hurt me, Rafe. Please don’t force me to do something I know is wrong.”

“This is all his own fault,” Rafe snapped, turning to the door. “That’s what it’s about.”

“No, it’s about compassion.” Determination gave her sudden strength, and she pulled Rafe from the doorway. As the helicopter chopped loudly above, her heart caught in her throat. “If you go outside now, you’ll hurt him more than you can imagine. Think what the jandam will do when they see him, under the circumstances. They’ll destroy him.”

The shadow of the helicopter passed overhead, and she instinctively ducked, holding her breath as it went by. “Please, please trust me.”

Although Rafe’s eyebrows drew together, he didn’t move. “I know I’ll regret this,” he finally said, “but you can call the shots. I think I understand why you always protect him, but I don’t trust him at all. He gets one chance to prove himself.”

Weak with relief, Esti wrapped her arms around him. She felt his fingers twine fiercely through her hair.

“You sure don’t make it easy, babe.”

Alan returned a couple of minutes later, gasping for breath. He studied them from the front doorway, his mottled face expressionless. Rafe kept his arms around Esti, and she didn’t try to pull away.

“Get your shoes on,” Alan finally said, turning to wait for them on the path.

Esti didn’t look back as she followed Alan away from the house. The morning sun had already burned through the high cirrus clouds, oblivious to the destruction wrought just hours before. Thick humidity weighed down the air, nearly as heavy as the water dripping from the trees. She could practically smell the coming decay from the dead animals and vegetation Rafe said always followed a hurricane.

The trip to the cave no longer meant a smooth trail through the forest. Torrents of rain had slicked the dirt into a slippery soup of mud and red clay; broken trees and branches crisscrossed in front of them. Esti followed numbly, climbing over fallen trees and catching herself when her feet slid out from under her. Although Alan frequently pointed at manchineel or ketch-n-keep to avoid, he didn’t speak.

The chop of the helicopter approached again before they had gone very far. Alan spun around with a tight expression, but Esti had already grabbed Rafe’s hand, dragging him under the cover of a bay rum tree that still had a few leaves left after the storm. Alan quickly joined them, his blue eyes uneasy as he met Rafe’s grim stare. The helicopter roared past, police markings stark against its side. After a moment Alan started forward again.

By the time they reached the end of the trail, Esti was drenched with sweat and red mud, grateful for the cool darkness of the cave. The pounding sea vibrated through the rocks. Alan surprised her by picking up a powerful flashlight just inside the cave opening, and she studied the tunnel as they descended into the cay. Irregular walls followed an oddly smooth arc over her head, occasionally dipping low enough that Rafe had to duck.