by Matayo, Amy
“You just walked up to a stranger and asked him to take you snorkeling?” His unbelief has grown feet and is breaking out into a jog.
There’s no defense for this, but I try anyway. “I thought you knew that.”
“Of course I didn’t know that. If I had known I—”
He stops speaking. My knight in shining armor suddenly isn’t as shiny anymore.
I hear him exhale. “I didn’t mean that. If I had known, I would have come with you anyway, even just to try and talk you out of it.”
The words send a tiny glow over his recently-dulled surface.
My legs feel weighted and useless, so I begin to swim toward the extra life jackets. Thankfully Liam follows me. I don’t want to be out here alone. The air is beginning to chill. It could be my frayed nerves messing with my body temperature, but I definitely feel colder. I need my swimsuit cover up. Once I slip it on, maybe—
I’m hit with a chill so cold I start to shiver.
“I don’t have it.”
Liam studies me. “Don’t have what?”
“My bag. He took it.”
“What do you mean he took—”
“He took my bag. It had my extra clothes, my wallet, my phone, all my credit cards and license and money. He left with all of it.”
Liam’s hand absently rubs my forearm in a slow circle as though he’s using the motion to process what I’m saying. “What about your passport? Do you still have it?”
I nod, a cold realization making my limbs shake even more.
“Yes. I put it in my vest like he told me to. Like he told you to.” I search Liam’s face. “He planned this. All of it. If I had been alone, he would have left me out here by myself. Maybe he would have killed me first. Maybe he would have—”
I close my eyes. What kind of idiot puts herself in this kind of predicament? Especially me. Someone who should be able to read people better and recognize the signs. I’m trained in picking up on people’s oddities and knowing how to head them off. How did I not see this coming?
Because I was too preoccupied with escaping. It was all that mattered to me. And because of me, Liam has been dragged into what is undoubtedly the biggest catastrophe of his life. Our lives. Liam has to be angry with me. Has to. There’s nothing around for what looks like miles, and I’m already feeling claustrophobic in this water. I can’t believe I’ve done this to both of us.
Still, he pulls me to him, arms circling around my shoulders, the only thing keeping me steady inside and out. “You’re shaking. Stop shaking, Dillon. You’re not alone, and we’ll figure this out. I promise we’ll figure this out.”
“How could I be so gullible? I have a degree in reading people, Liam. I can’t believe I could be so stupid.”
His muscles stiffen at my words, but he says nothing. There isn’t a defense for my behavior, and we both know it.
We float for several minutes until something bumps me under the water. I scream, thrashing my legs like they’ve been stung. Or bitten.
“Stop! That was my leg. Just my leg and nothing else.” Liam pulls back a bit to face me, tilting my head up to his. He tugs at the goggles until they’re hanging from his neck so that he can get a better look in my eyes. “Just my leg, okay? You’re okay. We’re okay.”
He pulls me to him again. It feels nice, the only solid thing out here since my mind and body are rapidly unraveling. But I know we’re not okay. He can tell me that a dozen times and then a dozen more and cap them off with reassurances of going home and rejoining my family, but there is nothing okay about being stuck in the middle of the ocean. I know it, and he knows it.
My family.
I chose this excursion as a way to escape them, and now I would give anything to be on that stupid dolphin cruise with all of them. “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone” is a darn true statement. For the time being, I’ve lost a slew of obnoxious, irritating, but well-meaning people intent on seeing me happy. Out here bobbing on the waves, it’s difficult to remember why that was such a bad thing. Maybe having people who care about you shouldn’t be classified as one of life’s biggest problems.
“We might as well use these other jackets,” Liam says, reaching for the floating orange ones and pulling at the knot tying them together.
“What for? We’re already wearing these.” I look down at the lightweight green vest strapped to my chest and wonder how easy it will be to slip another one on over it. The idea seems very bulky and awkward, but I got Liam into this mess. I’m certainly not going to argue with him now.
“I was thinking maybe we could use them more like a chair. Maybe float on top of them instead of using our legs to kick so much. I don’t know about you, but my legs are getting tired. I don’t want to use up all our strength yet since we have no idea where we’re going.
My legs are already tired, more from the tension emanating off them than anything else. Every muscle in my body is on lockdown; maybe letting them rest is a good way to keep myself calm. The rocking of the waves isn’t helping, so maybe this will.
“Okay, good idea. A chair.” I nod quickly, grateful to have a plan, albeit a small one. I take the vest Liam offers and slip one leg through an arm hole, then the other. Pressing the jacket down until it’s under my butt, I settle in and pause, happy that it actually works.
“It’s working.” I look at him and smile in relief. It’s odd to be happy about such a small thing, but I am. No more kicking, at least for now. “You do it,” I say to Liam. Keeping one hand on my leg, he settles into his own lifejacket until he’s seated right beside me. On instinct, I reach for his hand and squeeze, then hold it. The only thing worse than being out in the ocean is the thought of being out here by myself. Maybe that thought should come with guilt, but I feel only grateful to have him.
What if I had come alone? What would have happened to me then? My mind drifts right along with my body, picturing itself being picked apart by sharks. I wouldn’t have lasted long alone, probably would have drowned immediately during a bout of panic. Legs thrashing, swallowing water, too filled with fear to notice these life jackets, too ignorant on the ways of survival to think of using them for my legs. The ocean floor would have been a lonely way to—
“Stop doing that,” Liam says, yanking me out of my thoughts.
“Doing what?”
“Panicking. Thinking of everything bad that could happen. We’ll get out of this, Dillon. Eventually. Either someone will rescue us, or we’ll rescue ourselves.” He tightens his grip on my hand and scans the horizon. “There’s also still the possibility that Oliver just left for a few minutes and is coming back. Don’t lose hope for that.” He looks at me and winks, but I know it’s more for my benefit than his. “By tonight, we’ll probably be on the ship, drinking margaritas and laughing at how quick we were to jump to the worst-case scenario.”
I roll my eyes and give him a small smile.
I hope to God he’s right.
CHAPTER 7
Day One—afternoon
Liam
We’re surrounded by nothing but waves, and from the looks of things, that’s the way it’s going to stay. I lied when I made light of the worst-case scenario. There couldn’t possibly be a worst-case scenario. We’re in the middle of the ocean for heaven’s sake, with no sign of shore or ships in sight. Truthfully, I’ve lied many times since Oliver left us here. Maybe it’s been hours, or maybe it’s been days or maybe only minutes since he callously motored away. The sun has slipped past the midway point in the sky, so I’m certain it’s somewhere mid-afternoon. Three hours. It’s been at least three hours since I jumped on that boat with Dillon, and I’ve regretted it half that time. I’ll lie about that as well before admitting it to her.
At this point, I’ll have a lot to atone for when I get home, and I’m not even Catholic. Forgive me Father for I have sinned…many, many times.
My leg didn’t bump against hers earlier, not the first time I said it and not five minutes ago when I repeated
the lie again. Something keeps knocking against us in the water; I’m just trying to stay calm and deny that it’s anything life-threatening. At first I thought it might be seaweed, but now I’m not so sure. Seaweed doesn’t have fins, and I’m almost certain one brushed against me a few minutes ago. I said nothing about it then, and I won’t say anything now. Dillon is already racked with guilt; she doesn’t need to add panic and distress to her current list of negatives. Our situation is positively a negative.
Another brush. Another something sharp trailing a line across my foot. I keep my mouth closed and try to think of an answer to the question she asked a moment ago. We’re playing twenty questions and we’re currently on number six. For the record—twenty questions is a much better party game than a trying-to-survive-in-the-ocean game, but we’re looking for clear heads and something other than our situation to think about.
“Basketball.”
She looks at me, and I try not to wince. Her face is already sunburned, and neither of us are fortunate enough to have hats. I don’t even have a shirt to offer her, which means I’m every bit as burned. My shoulders are beginning to hurt.
“Nobody hates basketball,” she says. “Why is that your least favorite?”
I shrug, careful not to make any sudden movements that might tip me off this lifejacket and into the water. If something is swimming underneath the surface, it’s easier to pretend otherwise if I can’t see it up close.
“My father played in college and wanted me to play, too. He had me practicing every day from the time I could walk. If you think I’m exaggerating, my mother has pictures of me playing in a diaper. At first it was fun, but by the time I started kindergarten it had grown into an expectation. Go to school, do homework, practice for two hours in the driveway, followed by dinner and bath and bed. That was my routine until basketball became a school-sanctioned sport in sixth grade.”
“Two hours every day? When you were that little?”
The waves pick up in strength, and I wobble on my makeshift chair, the muscles in my neck tensing as I hold my breath. It takes a minute to relax enough to keep talking.
“When I was that little. It was the same with my brother until he stopped growing in seventh grade. He’s six inches shorter than me, and I was never more jealous. He got to quit, but I played all the way through high school. Even got a scholarship to play at community college. I didn’t take it and instead decided to take a few years off school and work. Finally went to college three years after high school graduation, then decided I wanted to be a lawyer. That decision nearly ruined my relationship with my dad. It’s only started to get better in the last couple years or so, but that’s only because my dad thinks I’ll be wealthy one day.”
“Are you happy with your decision?”
Very. But I’m the only person aside from Chad who considers it worthwhile. I tell her as much.
“I get it. My mother is fine with my career, but she’s so focused on getting me married that it’s all she talks about anymore. In her eyes, twenty-eight comes with an expiring price tag and dwindling hopes of ever having grandchildren.”
I try to laugh, even though nothing can quite break through this intense uneasiness. Something just grazed my foot again. “She does realize that women in their forties and fifties are having babies nowadays, right?”
Dillon runs a hand over the back of her neck. “According to her, that only happens with celebrities, and—to quote her—I’m not married to John Travolta. Whatever that means.” The waves rise and fall, knocking Dillon off the lifejacket. It’s whisked away from us, so I jump off my own and move quickly to catch it. Seawater churns up my nose and down my throat, but I don’t stop swimming. We might need that little raft. I can’t bring myself to lose something else.
I glance back at Dillon to make sure she’s still with me. “Keep your head above water!” I yell.
“I am!” She coughs and sputters as she holds on to my jacket, the waves rising and falling around her. I reach her jacket and twist the strap around my arm to secure it, then swim back to Dillon. My heart pounds in my chest, struggling to keep up with my nerves.
“It’s so cold out here,” Dillon says when I reach her.
“It isn’t. You’re just scared. Fear can do that to you.” I tuck the extra life jacket under my back and wrap my arms around her, pulling her back into my chest. “Lie back on me and let yourself float, and I’ll try and warm us up.”
She nods and her teeth chatter. “How long have you waited to use that line?”
I laugh at her desperate attempt to joke. It’s a coping mechanism and nothing more, but at least she’s keeping her sense of humor. “I thought of it my freshman year in college. Seemed appropriate for a bar or something. I never imagined using it out on the water, unless of course I was on a yacht with a wealthy celebrity…”
“Like John Travolta’s wife.”
“And we’ve made it full circle.”
“If you’re expecting us to make babies out here, you’re going to be severely disappointed.”
“Darn, I’ve been discovered. It was my entire reason for coming on this excursion in the first place. I guess you’ll have to tell your mom she’s out of luck for this year.”
“I guess.” Our talking ceases, and we settle into a manageable rhythm. Up, down, higher, lower. A baby would be rocked to sleep by this motion. A fully grown adult just gets sea sick and tries to keep their mind on other things. The sun is bright in the sky. I close my eyes, and we float, letting the current take us wherever it will. This seems easier on my back. I let my legs dangle instead of fighting to keep them afloat. Before long, Dillon’s legs settle on top of mine and she slowly relaxes. I think she’s fallen asleep. I whisper her name, but there’s no response.
I close my eyes and try to sleep as well, but it’s futile. I’m too struck with the knowledge that no one knows where to find us.
“I’m thirsty.”
Dillon’s ragged voice jolts me awake. Hours have passed. The sun is beginning to set. I fought sleep for a long time, watching the sun move in a slow arc across the sky. The occasional seagull flew overhead, and each time I imagined having the ability to strap a note to its leg in some Biblical form of communication. I tried to will one to land in front of us, but it never happened. Just as well. I didn’t have any paper.
You can only fight against a rocking motion for so long before you lose the battle. Coupled with fear and imagination taking over all the rational parts of my mind, I grew exhausted and gave up. The sky was still bright when I fell asleep. Now, I have no idea where we are or what may be lurking beneath us. I squint through the slate gray horizon, but there’s nothing to see but water.
“I’m thirsty, too.” Water everywhere, and nothing to drink. It’s a special kind of hell.
“My face hurts. I think my lips are bleeding.”
“I know. Mine are too. Just keep leaning on me. Keep your arms locked together with mine, okay?”
“Okay.”
Only a minute passes before I feel her relax again. She sounds so tired and weak, and it’s only been a few hours. Six. Maybe seven at the most. All I can do is float and pray for rain. It’s an awful feeling, wanting to do so much but being unable to do anything at all. If I ever find Oliver again, I’ll kill him. Dillon’s bag wasn’t that valuable, nothing worth exchanging our lives for. Yet here we are, our futures up in the air without any way of—
Chad. My eyes fly open, my pulse pounds out a battle cry of hope, because he knows we left with another tour guide. The ship is due to set sail at midnight, still a while from now. But when we don’t show up, he’s bound to tell someone what happened. If he tells anyone at all, they’ll be looking for us. My excitement spikes to the point that I almost wake Dillon up. I don’t. Better to let her sleep. Misery may love company, but to wake her up would be selfish. I close my eyes again, thinking about Chad and the boat that should come rescue us any second now. I’ll tell Dillon when she wakes up.
It’
s getting colder. I wrap my arms tighter around her, locking my wrists together.
CHAPTER 8
Onboard the ship
The woman paced back and forth, gnawing her fingernails down to ragged stubs and generally driving him insane. She’d been in his station for a solid three minutes—she and her husband both—and showed no sign of leaving. He felt bad for her, he really did. But he’d seen this sort of thing before. It was the reason for the rules. No matter how many times he manned a ship, he could never get used to this sort of behavior.
“We can’t sail yet,” the woman said again. “I’m telling you we’ve looked everywhere and she still isn’t on board. What kind of people are you that you would just leave her out there alone? She’s only twenty-eight, and she gets scared very easily. Someone find my daughter!” She wasn’t shouting at anyone in particular. She was desperate. He had three daughters of his own, so he understood it. Although in his case, if any one of his girls displayed such a blatant disregard for time and other people’s schedules, they would get a serious lecture. Besides, he still believed the girl was somewhere on board. Considering the overbearing example the mother had displayed in the past few minutes, he couldn’t exactly blame her.
He swallowed a sigh and focused on the water, hoping the couple might get the hint and leave. He supposed he could pull his weight and mention the legalities of them being in this room, but cruises didn’t have the same rules as airlines. Visiting a captain’s desk doesn’t pose the same security risk as bursting into a plane’s cockpit, so there wasn’t any use in pretending otherwise.
These were anxious parents. If he were in their place, his behavior would be on the firm side of terrible.
“I wish I could give you a different answer,” he told them. “We don’t really have a choice but to sail. Cruises work on tight schedules so that one line doesn’t disturb another. This ship is no different.” The boat’s engines were fully engaged in preparation to leave; he wasn’t about to stop it. They had to be at the next port in twelve hours. If the girl found her way to an airport, she could meet them there. If she was hiding onboard, the crew would locate her. Likely in one of the bars.
