Chapter 15

A windstormof thoughts scours through me. If I leave Dad here on his own, who will save him from himself? If I flee the island, I'll be abandoning my father when he needs me most.

And Liam. Something tells me my dad's right. That Liam is alive, though I can't imagine how. I promised him I would try to find the miracle plant for Evan. Still, I can't help but think Liam is fooling himself—that he's steeped in island superstition. And without him, I have no idea where to start or what to do with it if I do manage to find some.

Maybe finding this plant can be my goodbye gift, since Liam wanted it so badly…if he's alive to claim it. I comb through Aunt Millie's books and the Field Guide, but there's nothing useful in any of them about the so-called salttain plant. So instead, I try to reconstruct the image of the graceful plant I conjured in my visions.

It feels impossible. But this is Salttain Island.

Then it hits me. And it makes no scientific sense whatsoever.

The only thing that can guide me to the salttain is the island itself.

If the island really has been speaking to me, maybe this is what it's been trying to say?

Buoyed by this conviction, I throw on sweats, a flannel shirt, and sneakers, grab a flashlight, and rush outside. With the moon already set, the night is ink-dark and silent.

I slip through the bushes, my cone of light low to the ground, and spot a dim glow seeping through the leaves. In the clearing, a strange mass is lit from within. I almost turn and run when a head pokes out from underneath it.

"Rosalie?" Evan emerges from under the blanket, which falls to his feet.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Having a picnic? Actually, I'm trying to draw this flower under here because the Lady Skirts all went dim. Care to join?"

I join him, but I don't mention the reason the Lady Skirts may have flamed out.

His drawing is wondrous. Delicate pen lines create volume and form, so that the black-and-white rendering looks as though it could be lifted straight off the page.

He twirls a flower on its stalk. "This is a swamp rose. Pretty common around here."

"It's beautiful. I've tried to draw some of the plant life, too," I say, "but with much less stellar results."

Evan returns to his sketching. Watching him, I wonder if he's really as unstable as Liam claims—and if locating a plant that's most likely extinct can possibly help anyone with suicidal tendencies. But a promise is a promise.

It occurs to me that maybe there's a connection between the plant's disappearance and the possible disruption of the island's ecosystem. Maybe this is what Tyler feared might be happening here. It galls me that my father, the renowned expert, hasn't lifted a finger to learn or do anything. Or had he tried and gotten rebuffed?

"Do you know what my father did before he dropped out of life and ended up here?"

"We know all about him," Evan says, gaze still fixed on his work. "No one bothers him though. We keep his secrets. He keeps ours. The man is just looking to live in peace."

"He was a climate expert," I press. "He could help this island."

"Help the island, how?" Evan says, finally looking up at me. "Are you trying to follow in his footsteps? Maybe make a name for yourself by categorizing all the oddities here?"

I swallow. "N-not exactly. Like him, I'm a scientist, but I-I…" I almost spill my guts about Tyler, but this boy has enough problems of his own. "It's just that—I've been told that somewhere on Salttain is a miracle plant with special healing properties…the plant that gives the island its name. But apparently, it's gone extinct. I'm wondering if it's due to any changes in the environment, like pollution or a subtle shift in weather patterns. Do you know anything about this?"

Evan rests his pen on the blanket, his expression thoughtful. "My father used to catalog and monitor the salttain weed. I've heard about its healing properties. But he never mentioned if he thought the plant's scarcity was due to environmental factors. No one has seen any in years, anyway, so whatever happened to it, there's probably no getting it back. My father, he—well, he sacrificed a lot for that plant." Evan trails off.

"Liam seems to think I can find it," I say.

Evan smiles and shakes his head. "Good old Liam. Always chasing after a dream."

I lower my head, lest my expression give away the truth—that Liam insisted Evan is the one who needs it. That Liam is missing.

His pensive eyes are dark and luminous. "We don't know each other well, but I can tell you're holding something back. Maybe I'm not the only one around here who could use a friend."

His words are like fishhooks in my heart, pulling a sob out of my throat. Suddenly, I'm crying and gagging in short, wet gulps. "I-I—my best friend…he…he's dead. He was from here and he was worried about this place. He meant to come back. His name is Tyler Fredericks, but no one knows who he is."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to…"

I press a fist to my mouth. "Do you know him?"

Evan shakes his head. "Sorry. It doesn't ring a bell."

His face is so sincere, so earnest, it guts me. Evan is no liar. "Also, something terrible happened at the beach party," I sputter. "Liam's sister Aurora was attacked." I stop short of explaining the Lamberts' role in it. "Liam tried to protect her, but they chased him to the water and he's…he's gone."

Evan is silent, his expression blank. "The Lady Skirts are dim, but they haven't gone out," he says finally. "Liam's fine."

"How can you be so sure? After Wade and his friends chased Liam into the ocean, he just disappeared. He's a good swimmer, but no one is that good."

Evan looks down at the swamp rose. "Recently, I-I've been through some rough times. And Liam—I know it seems like he's cold to me, but we go way back. When I was at my worst, he told me to never give up hope. That he was going to make things better for me. Like I told you before, he never admitted it, but I know he created the Lady Skirts. Even though they're dim, they still glow. So, I know he's out there. Somewhere."

Another person besides my dad who believes in Liam's unlikely survival. I'm not sure I do, nor am I sure a plant can fix a broken brain. But I've seen too many strange things on this island to dismiss the possibility.

Evan's words are slow and sad. I want to ask him more about his struggles, but it feels wrong to pry. At some point, hopefully he'll tell me more about himself.

Feeling hollow and wrung out, I watch as he packs up his pencils with gloved hands. A slip of skin reveals a lurid scar on his wrist, pink and raw as if recent.

Liam told me the truth.

I inhale a shaky breath. This place is like the Land Time Forgot, steeped in superstition with a side dish of terrible secrets. "I need to do more research on the salttain. I promised Liam I would try."

"I could help you track it down," Evan says softly.

The ground pulses beneath my bare feet. I glance over the dull shimmer of the Lady Skirts and beyond the waves to where a cluster of seals gathers. Evan is lonely and miserable. He needs a friend. And maybe he could be of some help. "Okay. Let's talk about it tomorrow night."

"Same time, same place. Good night, Rosalie," he says, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He walks off, the circle of light from his flashlight bobbing through the bushes.

* * *

"I made breakfast,"Dad says. "Even though it's two in the afternoon. Coffee's still hot." He pushes the carafe toward me.

"Thanks." I pour some into a mug. The ocean is calm, the waves crystalline. The seals are gone. Liam's vanished, his sister has been brutally beaten, and no one seems to care—not even the island itself.

"Every bad thing your mother ever told you about me is true," Dad murmurs, breaking the silence. "I drank. I cheated on her. I drew attention to myself though she begged me not to. I understand if you want to leave."

I gulp down the coffee black, my stomach churning. "Do you want me to?"

"No. I'd really like you to stay. But promise to keep away from town until things settle down."

"Until things settle down? Liam is missing and his sister is a broken mess. Brody and Wade Lambert should be arrested for what they did."

"That's not going to happen."

"Why the hell not? Isn't there law enforcement on this island?"

Dad sighs. "You don't understand how things work here. There's only the Coast Guard and Randy's got them all in his pocket. Besides, he's finished the repairs to my buggy."

"Wonderful," I say. "If Hitler fixed your roof, you'd be his best buddy, too?"

"Trust me," Dad says. "Liam's fine. Mrs. Bailey assures me that this is far from the first time he's slipped away and returned. Swims like a fish. Probably made it to one of the other islands and is hiding out."

I peer out at the horizon but see no other land mass that's in swimmable distance. "She's an expert on Liam but won't admit she's got her own Boo Radley hiding in the attic?"

Dad hangs his head. "So, you met Evan."

"Three times."

"He's got—uh—he's extremely troubled. Erratic. You really ought to keep away from that fellow."

"He seems nice enough. Probably more of a danger to himself than to me. But that brings me to the main topic. When are you going to tell me what the hell is really going on here? Are you in a cult? Is Randy the Jim Jones of Salttain Island?"

Hunched over his coffee, Dad rubs his face with the heels of both palms. "I should never have agreed to let you come."

"Agreed to let me come? Agreed with who?"

Dad looks into his mug. "I have a migraine, Rosie. Let it drop. I swear I won't be angry if you decide to leave."

"Too bad Liam isn't around with those weird berries. Meanwhile, for now, here I am and you're going to have to deal with me."

A soft breeze blows in, and I could swear the ocean speaks my name, calling me to the shore. I'm not getting anywhere with my dad, so without another word, I hurry down the stairs and follow the winding footpath to the beach, treading barefoot to where seafoam sparkles on wet sand. A steady gust blows warm off the waves, the salt air bearing sweet fragrances that tie my senses in contradictory knots.

I wade in, milky seafoam rushing past my calves. Out where the horizon meets the sky, I notice a tiny sliver of land. There is another island not that far away. Is it possible Liam could have swum there?

My brain tells me no. But my heart whispers maybe.

Gentle vibrations tremble the ocean floor and tickle the soles of my feet.

Whatever its purpose, the island wants me to stay.

And for now, I will listen to it.

* * *

That night,Lady Skirts blink and flicker as I tread down the path toward the clearing. I find Evan waiting for me. He directs his flashlight beam to folded sheets of paper he's fished from his pocket. They look like torn pages from a journal or notebook. "What are those?"

"Notes from my dad. Years ago, he made me promise to hide them. To never show them to anyone."

"But you're showing them to me."

Evan smiles. "You're not anyone."

The Lady Skirts surge brighter. "Bet you say that to all the Landsider girls."

"It's not a joke." Evan's gaze fixes on mine. "Once, the salttain weed grew everywhere. But then word got out about its uncanny healing powers and the poachers cut it down as fast as it could grow. Dad was determined to save it."

"Do you think the poachers had something to do with his disappearance?"

"It's never been proven," Evan says. "Islanders say he fell in a bog-hole. But Mother and I think they got to him. After he disappeared, all signs of the plant vanished with him."

I frown as he hands me the sheets of paper, then gasp. Aunt Millie's scribblings cover the margins with notes about the salttain weed's elusive and miraculous nature. A crude, hand-drawn map displays potential harvest locations.

I look back at him, dumbfounded. "Did you know Millicent? These look like pages from her journal."

Evan's brow furrows. "She was my dad's first wife. Left him a few weeks after their wedding. Marriage was annulled. Then she married Randy Lambert, but that didn't last long either. Eventually, I guess she upped and left."

I gape at him. "She was married to Randy?"

Evan nods.

"People vanish on this island and everyone buries their heads in the sand!"

"She wasn't from here," Evan says, as if that's a good enough reason. "Rumor has it she ran off with a sailor."

"Sure," I say. "It's always something. So what else do you know about this elusive plant?"

"My dad was intensely curious about its unique properties. He was trying to isolate the substance that made it so potent. He dabbled in science."

"I would have liked your dad. I guess my dad never had the chance to know him?"

"He was the best." Evan beams briefly before his smile fades. "He was long gone by the time your dad arrived. Though your dad's been…well, he's been a good friend to our family."

My heart grows heavy. Dead fathers, missing fathers—ghost fathers who rise from the grave, making you crave your old memories of them. Had my father stepped in as Evan's surrogate? I push the jealous thought from my mind.

Maybe if I can find a small bit of this plant before I leave, I can make everyone happy. Though I suspect Liam's been stringing Evan along, pumping the poor kid up with island mumbo-jumbo about miracle cures for whatever the heck is eating at him. I'm skeptical, though given all the odd logic-defying, I'm willing to give it a try.

Evan's father seemed convinced of the plant's unusual properties. It's likely my dad believes this crap, too. Maybe it falls to me to uncover the real science behind this plant's miraculous nature—and why it's died out. I can write a paper and publish it under a pen name, then follow in Tyler's footsteps by getting my own scholarship to an ecological botany program. Maybe, for the sake of poetic justice, I'll apply to UMaine Orono.

"My father's cabin cruiser is still docked at our marina," Evan says, snapping me out of my fever dream. "We can take it out to explore the other side of the island."

I hesitate. Boats. Not my favorite thing. But I can't live my life avoiding them. Plus, I don't have the heart to tell Evan that what's troubling him might not be resolved by ingesting a miracle plant. That there are effective drugs for depression.

My curiosity takes the wheel. We have a map and the night is young. Despite myself, my fingers itch to see more of the island, to uncover more mysteries and explain them away.

"Then let's go," I say.

Leaving his artist's materials behind in the field, Evan grabs a staff of found driftwood, and I notice how unsteady his gait is.

"Are you sure you're up for this? You seem to tire easily."

Evan shoots me a look. "Did Liam tell you about me?"

"No," I lie. "I saw your scar."

"It's not what you think."

I let the matter drop. He'll talk when he's ready.

We board the boat and when Evan turns the key in the ignition, the engine churns to life, making a racket that's loud enough to wake the dead. I wonder if the sound will carry and the whole island will know we're here. But Evan lifts his chin to the sky and I have to smile at his boyish glee. This is probably the first time he's been past the field of Lady Skirts in ages.

"Ensign!" he says. "Chart a course for Romulus, Warp 6...engage!"

I look beyond the waves, trying to unravel my unease over my last ill-fated boating excursion, and hoping against hope to spot a lone figure breaking the surface. There's nothing but open sea.

Evan steers us around the island's rocky shoreline for about fifteen minutes, until we drift into another protected cove where tall blades of seagrass spike through the water's calm surface. We moor the boat to an old post jutting from the water and wade to shore. On this part of the island, flat slabs of rock stack the coast like pancakes, forming steps up to a meadow where little jagged boulders poke through the waving grasses.

We trek around for at least an hour, searching in the dark by the cone of Evan's flashlight. Aunt Millie's crude map and its rough markings are less than helpful. There's no place here that looks like her scribblings. Beside me, leaning on the driftwood stick, Evan slows his steps.

"We should go back," I say, tired myself. "It's not like the miracle plant is going to throw itself in our laps."

"Don't give up so quickly," he says. "I'll wait here." He hands me the flashlight.

"Just be careful." Though I'm skeptical we'll actually find this plant, I don't want to leave without looking around a bit. At least I can say we tried.

I remove my sneakers, my bare feet touching damp rock, the mild night wind rustling my hair. A vague perfume fills my nostrils.

I tread the craggy terrain, tracking the soft vibrations that radiate up my calves. A sweet scent creeps into my sinuses and my mouth goes dry. Here, where grassy tufts bisect the rocky outcroppings, I sink to my hands and knees and press my palms to the ground.

Eyes closed, I spin into a vortex of sensation, a wormhole of darkness enclosing me in its maw. The thin mantle of Salttain Island, like ice over a frozen pond, is all that keeps me from falling into an abyss of space and sky.

Small buds glow white against the black void. Heat and light gather beneath me, prickles poking at my feet. Tiny tendrils flow into my veins and coil through my body. I raise my arms to the stars, branches bursting from my fingertips.

Falling back to earth, my body pulsates with heat. I watch as a pale shoot pushes through a crack in the rock and thickens to a slender stalk that extends until it stands as tall as me.

Crowned by a halo of tiny flowers, the majestic plant bows toward me. I cup my palms to receive the cascade of blossoms that drops into my hands.

"Thank you," I say, heart racing, and tuck the petals into my pocket. I watch, spellbound, as the salttain bends, then retreats into the earth like it was never there. I blink at the petals resting in my palm.

Maybe I'm still dreaming. Or maybe…I just conjured it? I stand and stare at the space where the plant erupted from the ground then retreated, then shake my head. So much for that dry scientific abstract that's going to win me acclaim and scholarships.

No one is ever going to believe this happened.

"Evan!" I shout, leaping over the rocks. I bound over to where I left him, but he's not there. "Hey! Where'd you go?"

"Over here."

Shining my flashlight in the direction of his voice, I find him sprawled on a rock. "What happened?"

"I tripped. I'm—I'm okay."

My flashlight beam illuminates a patch of ancient, pictogram-like symbols carved into the rock beside him. The recollection of where I last saw something similar comes flooding back: scores of carved symbols covered the smooth, flat stone surrounding that mysterious garden Liam denied exists.

My temples throb from information overload—things I can make no rational sense of. But I'm still determined to try. "Did you see these?"

Evan sits up and, fumbling clumsily with one hand, fishes two pills from his pocket and dry-swallows them. "I don't see anything but rock," he murmurs.

I peer closer, shining light on them, then snap a picture with my phone. "You're not playing Liam's game too, are you? I'm looking straight at these weird little carvings."

Annoyed that Evan would gaslight me, I glance over at him. His eyes are closed and he's grimacing like he's in pain.

"I'm sorry," he says, cradling one hand protectively with the other. "I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have lied to Liam."

"Shouldn't have lied about what?"

He doesn't answer, so I try another tactic. "Did you hurt your arm when you fell? Why didn't you say so? Can you walk back to the boat?"

He lowers his head, shaking it slowly. "It's not just my arm. Coming here was a terrible idea. Totally pointless. Take the boat and go back without me."

"That's ridiculous. You know there's no way I'm doing that."

"I can't walk," he says softly. "My feet…I never expected it to get worse out here. The pills usually…I'm an idiot." With his good hand, Evan manages to unlace one of his sneakers and ease it off his foot. In the flashlight's beam, I can see that the sole of his foot is covered with a crust of hard scabs that resemble tree bark. A foul smell—like rot and mold—wafts toward me.

I suck in a breath to hide my revulsion. I don't know what to say or what to ask.

"I've had countless surgeries to remove them," he says. "Each time they grow back thicker."

"Oh shit," I whisper as Evan reaches a gloved hand toward me.

"Pull it off," he says. "Slowly."

Carefully, I tug at his canvas glove, fearful of what's underneath. His long fingers, knuckles, and nail beds are encrusted in a thick rind of grayish scabs. "I'm glad I got to paint you, at least. Some nights, I can barely unscrew the caps on my paints."

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter." Moisture glimmers in his eyes. "I let Liam convince me that a mythical plant's the answer to my problems. I figured it would help him cope with his own stuff and stop him from worrying about me. But there's no hope for what this island is doing to me. There's no hope for him, either."