The fires started on the dry cane plantations toward the northern tip of the island. They were driven south by the Atlantic winds. Pete and I rode our bikes to watch the fire crews try to stop them. The flames leapt fifty feet into the air and tacked back and forth across the fields like blazing yachts. No one seemed terribly worried that they would get worse, and since the fields were so far away from the towns, it felt to me like a disaster taking place in California while I was living in Florida. When I asked Dad if they’d spread he replied, “They’ll just burn themselves out. It’s nature at work. The burned stalks fertilize the ground.”
But they continued to spread. On nights when the winds shifted, the burning ash drifted across the sky like red eyes winking down on us. In the morning the roof, steps, windowsills, grass, and cars were all covered with tiny curls of black ash, like eyelashes. When I tried to
pick up a perfect piece, it collapsed into a powder so soft I couldn’t feel it, even when I rubbed it between my fingers.
When the fires popped up in odd places, the police and the fire department announced an arson epidemic. Someone was pouring gasoline on telephone poles and setting them off. Part of the Flower Forest was burned down, along with the tourist information booth. Abandoned houses were torched. Everyone was nervous. The front page of the newspaper showed a map of the island with wavy red flames printed where every fire had broken out. There were so many flames the island looked like a bird covered with burning feathers.
After dinner we were sitting out on the front porch when a taxi pulled up. The driver opened the back door and BoBo II hopped out and ran up the driveway. Mrs. Wiggins, who lived two blocks away, knew BoBo was our dog. When she caught him in her yard she sent him home in a taxi. Dad had paid the first three times, but not now.
“You can just return the dog where you got him,” he said to the driver and pointed toward BoBo II.
The driver argued. Dad folded his arms and walked away. The taxi backed out of the drive and sped off.
“She’s a drunk,” Dad complained as he climbed the stairs. “She’s three sheets to the wind by noon and can’t tell the difference between a dog and a person.”
“Let’s go to the drive-in,” Mom suggested and looked up at the dusky sky. The wind had shifted and the gray smoke and ash had blown out to sea like a cloud of gnats. “It will help take our minds off of things.”
Dad took out his money clip and flipped through it. “Yeah, I could use a distraction,” he agreed.
I ran to get the movie section out of his office before they changed their minds.
“We just missed the Jerry Lewis film festival,” I announced when I returned to the porch.
“That’s too bad,” Mom said with a sigh. “I always get a kick out of him.”
“He’s an idiot,” Betsy pronounced. “It lowers your IQ just to watch those films.”
I gave her a look that was supposed to translate into: We’re trying to be in an upbeat mood here.
She just smirked back at me.
I kept reading. “Seven-thirty, Cool Hand Luke. Nine-thirty, Then Comedians. Eleven-thirty, Don’t Stop the Carnival. One-thirty, Island in the Sun. Three-thirty, The Wild Bunch.”
I looked up at Mom for a reaction.
“I’ve always liked Paul Newman,” she said. “Let’s catch the seven-thirty.”
The Rudolph Drive-In was over by the airport. We got in the Opel station wagon, stopped by the Cheffette fast-food restaurant, picked up a bucket of chicken snacks, and arrived in time to get a good spot in the middle of the field and far enough away to easily view the entire screen from the backseat.
When the movie started, Paul Newman was already drunk and happy. He stood in a parking lot cutting the parking meters off their poles with a plumber’s pipe cutter. I watched his face. He was so carefree and giddy. He was boozed up and couldn’t feel a thing. He didn’t care a wit for what trouble he was stepping into. It might matter later, but for now he was loaded and nothing could bother him.
But he was in trouble. In the lower right-hand corner of
the big screen, a flame popped up, having curled around the edge from where it started on the back side. Someone must have set it and run.
The flames confused me at first. They climbed up the edge of the screen so quickly and were so bright I thought I was suddenly watching a movie in 3-D. But it was real. Someone hit a car horn, then all the cars hit their horns and turned on their headlights, as though the extra light might douse the flames, the way turning on a light spoils a movie. But nothing stopped the screen from burning. The flames spread in ragged sheets up the front as the white paint bubbled and browned like grilled cheese. The movie kept running, and Paul Newman’s drunken, carefree face was projected on the flames, so that his smile danced and shimmied as he laughed and dropped to his knees and giggled at something secret and uproariously funny, like a little devil with fiendish plans.
Around us, engines started and cars began to pull out like stampeding cattle. Dad stayed put. “We’ll wait a few minutes,” he said with his arms crossed. “Let them slug it out. We’re far enough away from the screen.”
Both the entrance and the exit were jammed up with cars in a panic to escape.
Dad shook his head as he watched the commotion. “Idiots” is all he said.
The screen was soon fully engulfed in flames. They leapt up the top edge like wild red hair. Newman’s boozy eyes showed through. Whatever he felt, it looked good. He swooned and the screen swooned with him as it buckled, then split into pieces like a flaming jigsaw puzzle, collapsing on the ground beneath the twisted metal frame.
“Let’s go,” Mom urged. “It’s too depressing just sitting here.”
Dad started the car and we got in line. Slowly we worked our way out the gate. I looked back. I could see little bits of Paul Newman projected on a tree and part of someone’s roof.
“Where’s Jerry Lewis when you need him?” Betsy groaned.
“I heard he was in France,” Pete replied.
Betsy shook her head. “You drive me insane,” she whispered in his ear. He smiled.
Mom started giggling, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t be laughing,” she said. “I really hope no one was hurt, but that was the strangest thing I have ever seen.”
Dad had been unusually quiet. Still, he had to get in the last word. “Things are really falling apart around here,” he growled. “The whole place seems to be going to hell in a hand basket.”
I glanced at Pete. He was looking at me with his finger over his lips. I knew what he meant. One wrong word and Dad would go up in flames. He had been upset for weeks and we didn’t know why.
We found out why when some of Mom’s friends threw her a party at our house. Mom was weeping even before the guests arrived. She was polishing a spot on the silver punch ladle when she turned to me and asked, “Don’t you think Marlene would like the lawn chairs?”
“Sure,” I replied. “Are we getting new ones?” I was puzzled because the ones we had were pretty new. But I knew
this was not the time to ask why. She had a tissue tucked under the cuff of her sleeve and every few minutes she brought her wrist up to dab at her nose. She thought she was being sneaky, but the harder she tried to hide her feelings, the deeper I felt them.
“We’re not getting new ones,” she said. “We can’t even pay for the ones we have.”
How could that be, I wondered. We had two new cars. A new truck, a full-time maid, a laundry woman, a babysitter, a man to cut the lawn, and a chauffeur when we needed one. Pete and Betsy and I went to private schools. Mom and Dad had all their clothes and our clothes handmade. They were always out on yachts or at parties or dances. Dad worked and Mom worked. So how could things be falling apart? I knew I was going to have to ask Betsy, but it would have to wait until later. Mom’s Swedish friend, Gunnie, had arrived along with Heather and Jo. Gunnie pronounced her name so that it sounded like Gooney. I liked her a lot.
“Jack,” Mom said and wiped her eyes, “stay in the kitchen and keep the cat off the hors d’oeuvres while I get the door.”
“Okay.” I went into the kitchen wondering what was going on. Pete was already there. He was stealing hors d’oeuvres, then rearranging the platters so it wouldn’t look like one was missing.
“Caught you,” I hollered.
He yelped. “Don’t tell Mom.”
“Give me half.” He held out a little piece of toast with cream cheese and red caviar. I took a bite, then licked the little eggs off my upper lip.
Mom appeared and almost caught me. “Go ask the ladies if they want a cocktail,” she said, suddenly in a festive mood. I liked playing the bartender because I was good at mixing fizzy drinks. She sent Pete to his room to put on a clean shirt.
Mom followed me into the living room with a tray of hors d’oeuvres while I said hello, answered a dozen polite questions about my health and happiness, and took orders. Vera, Eileen, and Marie had also arrived. Gunnie took the tray. Mom hugged her friends, then followed me into the kitchen.
The cat, Celeste, was standing on a platter of hors d’oeuvres and lapping up the caviar. Mom let out a hiss and in one motion scooped up Celeste and tossed her out the open window. Celeste howled as she twisted through the air. Then we heard a second howl. A human howl. I stepped out on the landing and saw Celeste leaping from a man’s head into the bushes.
Mom peeked out the window. “Oh my God!” she cried out.
“Are you Betty Henry?” he yelled, while one hand gently probed his scratched head. When he winced, I saw his teeth were mossy-looking, like rocks along the shore.
“I am,” she replied.
He waved a manila envelope at her. “I’m a representative of the Caribe Collection Agency,” he snarled. “I’ve come for our money.”
Gunnie entered the kitchen and stood next to Mom and placed her hand across her shoulder.
“I’m sorry about the cat,” Mom said nicely. “It was an accident …” She bit down on her lip.
“The cat’s not the problem,” he snapped, and kicked at the gravel. “Just give me the money you owe.”
Gunnie turned to Mom. “I’ll handle this vulture,” she insisted, and pushed a curl of hair off Mom’s forehead. “You go back with the girls and smile.”
“I want the money,” the man hollered. He was sweating down his face. His shirt was wet in wide stripes, as though he had leaned against a freshly painted fence. He had rolled the manila envelope into a tube and was beating it against the palm of his hand. “The law is on my side,” he said arrogantly.
“One minute,” Gunnie requested. “I’ll be right back … Don’t go away.”
Wow, I thought. She’s just going to whip out her wallet and pay for whatever he was asking.
Instead, she opened the freezer and pulled out a large bag of ice. “I’m coming!” she sang.
She lifted the bag with both hands over her tall hairdo and ran at the window. She threw it with all her might. He saw it coming and ducked. It hit the back of his shoulder with a loud crunch. He dropped to one knee, then popped up in a fit.
“You tried to kill me,” he screeched. He pointed at me. “You’re a witness. I’ll drag you to court.”
“Oh, shut up, you ugly bucket of worthless human scum,” Gunnie shouted back. “Now beat it before I come down there and kick you over the fence.”
He stepped back and hunkered down. “Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Well, we’ll see who gets kicked around. By the time I’m finished, I’ll kick those debtors off this island.”
Gunnie grabbed the first thing in sight. She flung the
glass measuring cup. It sailed over his head and into the bushes.
He jogged a few steps down the driveway before shouting, “I’ll get your cars, your house, your business … You’ll leave here like rats fleeing a sinking ship.”
“Damn him,” Gunnie muttered. She grabbed the spatula and pushed past me and down the steps. He took off for his car. She chased him. He got there first and slammed the door. She swatted the window.
“If I ever catch you, I’ll flatten your face,” she hollered, and continued to swat the car like it was a giant fly.
He rolled down the window just enough so he could push the manila envelope out. “Debtors!” he spat, then sped away.
I hopped down the steps to retrieve the ice. It was all crunchy and just right for mixing drinks. I balanced it on my shoulder and returned to the kitchen. Mom passed by and tried to catch my eye. I kept turning my head away. I set my jaw a bit crooked and made the drinks.
After I had served everyone and made certain Mom didn’t need me, I grabbed Pete and knocked on Betsy’s door. Something was definitely going on and we needed to know details. Betsy always had the answers.
“It’s simple,” she said. “They spend more than they make and then Dad has been taking loans from the bank while business is dropping. Now the banks want their money and he doesn’t have it. That’s why he declared bankruptcy.”
“Bankruptcy,” I repeated. I only knew the word from playing Monopoly. It usually meant the end of the game,
like when you rolled the dice and landed on Boardwalk and there was a hotel and you couldn’t scrape up the rent. You turned in your mortgaged property and worthless single and five-dollar bills and went to bed a total loser.
“Does this mean we have to go back to Florida?”
“You will be going. I’m staying,” she said firmly. “I’m tired of bouncing around. I feel badly for you boys, but if I don’t get settled down now, I’ll never get ready for college. And since I want to study in England the system here will help me. I’ll miss you,” she said, “but I have a scholarship to board and study at the school and I’m going to take it.”
“You can’t just leave,” I said.
“Just watch me,” she replied.
“But we depend on you.”
“For what?” she asked sarcastically.
“To kick our butts day in and day out,” I replied.
Before she could take that the wrong way, Pete began to giggle. She gave him her scorched-earth scowl. He took a step back and covered his face. “Watch out,” he hollered. “She’s a killer.”
She jumped on him and wrestled him to the floor. Then she tickled him, kissed him, and tousled his hair. He made a sick face, but he loved it. One thing about Betsy, if she said she would take care of you, she would. She was like a pit bull. You might not want to hug her but you would want her around and you’d miss her if she left. She’d fight anyone and do anything to get things her way. Now she wouldn’t have to fight us or Mom and Dad. She could just set her sights on what she wanted, then go get it. She was going to be living the life I wanted. And I was going to be
living the life she was rejecting. I was so envious I had to walk away before I started to cry.
I returned to my room and took out my diary. Okay, I thought, you better start loading this up with Barbados stuff. It’s now or never. It’s over.
That night Mom and Dad argued. They were silent over dinner except to order us to our rooms once we had finished. As we walked off I steered Pete into my room.
“We’ll ride it out in here,” I whispered, even though the door was closed.
He nodded.
“It will be okay,” I said.
The first words out of Mom’s mouth were loud. “I was humiliated,” she said bitterly. “You didn’t tell me we were in so much trouble.”
“How was I to know they’d send out a bill collector?” he replied. “I’ll take care of it.”
“How?” she questioned him. “And with what?”
“Don’t start on that,” he said.
I turned to Pete. “Stay here,” I said and patted the edge of the bed as I reached under the mattress for my diary. “I’m going out there. I did this once before and it worked.”
I slipped out into the hall and tiptoed down to where it opened onto the dining room. I stayed in the shadow, just by the edge of the door, and peeked out at them.
“This isn’t just about me,” Dad said. “You helped run up the bills.”
“Oh no,” she shot back. “Don’t try to blame this on me. You were the one who set the pace. Spend. Spend. Spend,”
she hammered. “And then you tried to make it all work out by doing business on a handshake with a bunch of drunks who didn’t have a cent to begin with.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to step between them, I thought. They might both turn on me. I still had time to retreat to my room. They hadn’t seen me.
Dad paced back and forth. Mom continued. “And now you’re becoming a rummy like the rest of them!”
“Damnit!” he shouted. I peeked around the corner just as he turned and rammed his fist through the glass door. It exploded into a thousand pieces and scattered like a bucket of marbles thrown across the porch and down the stairs.
Mom stood frozen, with her hands pressed over her ears. Dad stepped through the empty frame of the door and stomped down the stairs, kicking shards of tinkling glass out of his way as he went.
After the last bit of glass settled, I heard Hal Hunt’s voice carried on the wind. “Did you hear something break?”
I scurried back to my room. Pete was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He was more frightened than I had ever seen him. I was more frightened than he had ever seen me. “Come on,” I said. I grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. I opened the French doors and we ran out across the grass, through the back yard, to the garage. “Hurry. Hurry. Hurry,” I cried out. “Get in.”
I opened the side door and pushed him forward into the dark. “Get down,” I shouted. “Stay down.” I closed the door and shoved the bolt into place. Then I dropped on
my knees and crawled next to him. We were breathing as if we had just run a mile.
“What happened?” Pete asked between breaths.
“Dad went berserk,” I replied. “He punched out the front door.”
In a moment I sat up and searched around. The garage was filled with empty cardboard boxes. I had seen this in the past and knew what boxes meant. We were definitely moving. Our stay in paradise was over. This was a bad ending to one of Dad’s stories. What’s the lesson, I asked myself. I just wasn’t sure. Was it because Dad was bad at business? Was he a rummy like the rest of the men Mom disliked? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t ask him. He might go berserk again. I lay back against some boxes and thought, I’ll never know why he failed. When I failed at something, it was because I hadn’t paid attention or didn’t prepare hard enough. But adults were different. They had problems I couldn’t figure out. And I guessed that by the time I could figure them out I, too, would be an adult with the same problems.
Pete put his head on my shoulder.
“We’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll stick together.”
“You bet,” he replied.
After an hour or so, he fell asleep. I picked him up and lugged him like a sack of potatoes back to the bedroom.
In the morning Pete and I woke up acting like members of a retreating army. I opened one of my hollowed-out diaries and removed two packages of firecrackers. For once I agreed with Mom’s favorite line, If you don’t use it, throw it
away. Only I added a twist to her thinking, If you don’t use it, blow it up.
“Gather the stuff you don’t want anymore,” I ordered. “We don’t want to leave anything behind.”
Pete went into his room and returned with his plastic sailboat with ripped sails. “Blow it up,” he said. “I don’t want it anymore.”
We took it out to the back yard. I taped a firecracker to the mainmast. Pete lit it and we stepped away. Boom! The mast split in half.
“Excellent!” he cried gleefully.
We blew off the rest of the masts, then the rudder and keel. After that, we tossed it into the trash. No one would ever play with that again.
I brought out a lamp made of a carved coconut. A few minutes later it was destroyed. Pete brought his old shoes and we blew the soles off. I blew up a math book. Pete blew up a mobile of painted fish which had been made out of mango seeds. With each blast, we jumped up and down and cheered.
When we were down to our last six firecrackers I said, “I know what I want to blow up.”
Dad had painted our name “Henry” on a wooden plaque and wired it onto the front gate. I wrapped the remaining firecrackers into one big bomb and taped it to the plaque.
“Fire in the hole!” I hollered and lit the fuses I had twisted together. It went off like a truck backfire and echoed between the houses. The plaque blew in half. One piece stayed on the gate, the other landed in the street.
Pete put two fingers in his mouth and let out a long
whistle. “That is so cool,” he said. “I wish we had some dynamite.”
Just then a black panel van pulled up. The driver leaned out the window. “You guys know where the Henrys live?”
“Right here,” I replied. “Why? You here to move us out?”
“Just the animals,” he said, looking at a clipboard. “I’m from the Humane Society. Your mother called and said to come get the dog and cat. We’ll find them new homes.”
The Henry family retreat was under way. The enemy advance scouts were already on our doorstep. I reconnoitered the driveway. BoBo II was asleep in front of the garage. Celeste was sitting on the kitchen stairs licking her paws. I raised my head and looked up into the smoky sky. Oh God, I thought, I don’t want to see this. But here it was.
The driver had also seen BoBo II and Celeste. He quickly got a butterfly net and two wire cages out of the van.
“Call the dog over,” he said as nicely as he could, and put on a pair of heavy leather gloves.
“Can’t do it,” I replied.
He turned toward Pete.
“Me either,” Pete said. “Not even if you torture me.”
The man shrugged, then walked up the driveway. He went directly to BoBo II, grabbed his collar, then trotted him back to the cage. BoBo II went right in, and after circling around a few times sat down and stared out at us. Tomorrow he’d be sleeping twenty-three hours a day at someone else’s house and never know the difference. There is an advantage to having such a tiny brain, I thought. There is no room to remember your past.
He picked up the cage and slid it into the back of the van.
“So long, fella,” I said.
Pete began to cry.
“Hey,” I said. “Better him than you!”
He turned and punched me in the chest.
Before I could punch him back, Celeste let out a screech. The guy had her half into the butterfly net. He was reaching for her with his leather glove when she broke away. She hooked him good across the nose, then leapt into the driveway and across into the Granthams’ bushes.
“Go! Go! Go!” I shouted, and waved my fist over my head. I could see her working through the thick leaves and stems and then she was gone. Celeste was smart. She knew not to hang around us. I hoped she would run up into the hills and eat mice and live free. I wanted to run away and live with her. But the island was too small. Someone would find me, and just like BoBo II, I’d be sent home in a cage to face the music.
“It would be better if I had caught her,” the man said when he returned to the truck. “Between the wild dogs and mongoose, she’ll be killed.”
“She’s tougher than that,” I said defiantly.
“Well, tell your mother I tried,” he said and wiped a spot of blood off his nose. He put away the empty cage, then climbed into the truck and drove off.
That afternoon Mom came home with a set of new suitcases.
“Pack your good clothes and play clothes,” she said,
meaning business. “We’re leaving today. Your father will ship the rest up to us.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Miami,” she replied. “We’re leaving in four hours, now get a move on.”
We each took a suitcase and dragged it to our room. I slipped my story diaries into my backpack. I could carry them onto the plane with me. They were the most important thing I owned. Once we were in Miami I could open them and read about where I had been. Then I would get new diaries and write about where I was going.
I only packed the clothes I still liked. When I finished, I dragged the suitcase out to the front porch and went to find Pete. He was with Betsy. She was packed up for boarding school. The baby was asleep in his crib. I half expected him to be packing up his little outfits. Betsy gave Pete a hug, then me. “Write me long letters,” she said. “I’ll write back.”
“What about Mom and Dad?” I asked.
“Dad’s going to stay until he settles the bills. Then he’ll join you in Miami. Mom just wants to get a head start and get you boys in a new school.”
I couldn’t even think of a new school. Just the thought of meeting new people wore me out. I drifted down to my bedroom to rest. For the next two hours I just sat on my bed thinking of things I should do. I should write Mr. Cucumber a thank-you note. He was tough, but smart and fair. I should go say so long to the Naimes and Shiva and the Hunts. But I didn’t. I just felt empty. Used up. Every time I thought of saying goodbye, I expected they’d ask “Why?” And I’d just throw up my hands and shrug.
“Adults,” I’d reply. “I just do as I’m told and hope for the best.”
Dad arrived and loaded the station wagon. He and Mom didn’t speak. They seemed to communicate in grunts. Marlene had swept up the glass, but their feelings for each other were still smashed up. But they’d make up soon. They always did.
Pete and I took our seats. I was numb, until I looked at Betsy. She was crying. I waved, then sucked in my gut and held my breath until we were out of the driveway and around the corner.
At the airport, Mom, Pete, and I stood on the terminal balcony and waited for the jet to land. We watched it circle overhead, then turn toward the runway. But it dropped down too fast and hit the runway with a thud. The tires blew and the jet screeched up the runway, leaving two long black trails of smoking rubber. The ground shook as the jet slowly shuddered to a stop. Suddenly the hot tires burst into flames. The fire crews hustled onto the tarmac. They sprayed a swoopy circle of white foam, like whipped cream, over the tires and put out the fire. It looked as though the jet had landed on top of a birthday cake.
Above the fire crew, the jet doors swung open and orange plastic slides unfolded like enormous waking caterpillars. One by one the passengers slid to safety and ran through the foam toward the terminal.
“This is an omen,” Mom murmured, shaking her head from side to side.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“We shouldn’t leave,” she replied.
Just then, Gunnie rushed up to her. “We’re throwing a
Betty can’t leave party at our house,” she gushed. “Come on.”
Mom looked hesitant.
“It’ll be fun,” Gunnie said and reached for Mom’s straw carry bag. “You could use a lift.”
“Okay,” Mom replied. “It doesn’t look as if we’re leaving.”
Yes! We’re staying. Mom and Dad will make up, and Dad’s business will improve, and Betsy will stay with us, and if we hurry we can get BoBo II back, and I can get the Henry plaque back on the gate.
We rushed across the terminal and back to the parking lot. We hopped into the station wagon and suddenly everything was different. Dad wasn’t scaring us. Everyone was happy at the same time. This is what’s important, I thought to myself. Not where we live, but how we live. If we stuck together, I wouldn’t care if we lived in a shack, wore rags, and ate lima beans out of a can.
Gunnie and her husband, Tim, grilled hot dogs and fish. They had a case of Lemon Squash and I ate and drank until I couldn’t stay awake. I looked around the room. Mom and Dad were sitting together and laughing. Everyone was having fun. Things were returning to normal.
I slipped into the spare bedroom. Pete was already asleep. I lay next to him and conked out.
In the middle of the night I was awakened. “Let’s go,” Mom whispered. “They’re waiting for us at the airport.”
I was confused. “Huh?” I said sleepily. “What?”
She lifted me up by my arms and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. “I have to get the baby,” she said. “You wake Pete and get him ready.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“They brought in new tires from Puerto Rico and the plane is ready,” she replied. “Now hurry.”
“I thought we were staying,” I asked.
“That was just party talk,” she said. “Wishful thinking.”
I wished it were true. “Where’s Dad?”
“Asleep,” she said. “Tim’s driving us.”
“Why?” I asked. Dad always did all the Dad stuff.
“He needs his sleep,” she said impatiently. “He’ll join us later. Now get going.”
I helped Pete stagger out to the car. In a few minutes we were at the airport. The airline crew was waiting for us. We climbed up the stairs and entered the jet. As soon as we took our seats they closed the door and we taxied down the runway, turned, and took off.
Once we were up in the air I looked out the window. The sugarcane fires were still glowing. As we traveled farther away I thought Barbados would look frightening, as if we had just escaped a burning ship. But I was wrong. The fires stretched from coast to coast like party lights strung across the deck of a beautiful luxury liner. It wasn’t the island that was sinking. It was us. The plane banked to the west. I looked out the window. The island was gone.