house. “What, hon?”
Anders cocked his head as well, straining to hear what she had heard, but the only audible sounds were a few birdcalls flapping in the air outside. The breeze. Nothing from the direction Piper was looking. Nothing from inside.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” she called, and turned back to Anders. “Sorry. It’s my husband. He’s color-blind and never can pick the right tie for church.”
Anders stared at her for a beat. “Your husband,” he said.
“Yep,” Piper said.
“Your husband, Tom,” Anders repeated slowly, for clarity.
“Yesss,” Piper said, drawing out the word and looking at Anders as if he were the one a few crayons short of a full box. “So you were saying?”
Flustered, Anders could hardly remember what he was saying. He knew this woman believed her husband, Tom, was here in the flesh; he had witnessed it with his own eyes! But the ease with which she spoke to . . . to . . . the air . . . was still unnerving. Or maybe she wasn’t talking to the air. He remembered the email from the PBHE expert, about that woman who kept her husband’s dead body in the house. He shivered. And then tentatively sniffed. Thankfully, he smelled only salt and the mild decaying scent of the marsh. At least he thought it was the marsh.
And then another thought elbowed its way in: Why hadn’t he been recording? That would have been amazing for the podcast. He could have kicked himself for missing it.
“Anders?”
“Right. Sorry. Um . . . I was just saying . . .” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. You know, for the research.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Is that all?”
“Well . . . yes,” he said, still out of sorts. She gave a curt nod and moved to shut the door, and that was when he saw it again. That look in her eyes. The one that let him know she didn’t really forgive him. Or think highly of him in any way. The look that cut him to the bone and made him feel—well, he didn’t know what it made him feel. But it wasn’t good.
“No, actually, that’s not all,” he said, putting his hand out, even though the screen door was between them and he couldn’t do anything to stop her from shutting the other one. She stopped anyway and looked up at him. “Look, you were right. I don’t know anything about this island. I came in with preconceived judgments about . . . well, everything. But I am different,” he said, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. “At least, I think I am. I hope I am. I really do want to help.”
And that was when it occurred to him that what he was saying was true. Maybe the focus of the story had changed since he first came to the island—and maybe he wasn’t being completely forthright about that—but that didn’t mean his motives were any less altruistic. How many people in America, around the world, struggled with grief, the death of a loved one? Sure, Piper’s response was unique, but it was relatable just the same. In fact, Anders thought suddenly, everything happening on this island was relatable. Climate change, mental health issues, maybe even drug trafficking (he still wasn’t sure about that part)—Frick Island was a microcosm for so many issues people faced all across the country.
Once the light bulb had clicked on, Anders could barely stem the exhilaration coursing through his veins. He could create a phenomenal podcast that was a metaphor for all of America’s darkest struggles, forcing them into the light—who knew how many people it might drive to get the help they needed? Maybe it would even help Piper herself.
And everyone thought Superman was the hero.
“Is that all?”
“Well, yes,” Anders said, but then immediately cursed himself. He’d obviously need to spend more time with her in order to get more material for this life-changing podcast. “Wait, no . . . I mean, I would love more help, you know, for the podcast.”
“More help?” A hint of irritation crossed Piper’s face, letting Anders know she thought she had done quite enough. “Like what?”
His mind raced. “I don’t know. Could I interview you, maybe?” She was already shaking her head, but he kept talking anyway. “The climate change research is great, for background, but I really need to get someone that lives here on the record. Especially someone that”—he gestured at Piper—“understands what’s at stake.”
“No.”
“No? But—” He’d really messed up. Yesterday