by Marni MacRae
I began sewing.
The sun beat down on my turban and the back of my neck. I had reapplied sunscreen on both of us and hoped it did its job, since the tube was already half empty.
Lucas picked up his binoculars and sat, turning slowly, looking out to sea, scanning the calm water for any anomalies, a bump, a shadow, anything. We discovered almost right away, I had been right. The ocean was filled with debris. Every time Lucas said, “I got something!” I would put down the sail, secure the needle, and we would paddle, me on the port side, Lucas on starboard, toward whatever treasure or trash he had spotted.
In the first two hours, we found an old Styrofoam buoy that was crumbling apart, a huge beam that at first we had thought was a stick but found once we were upon it, that it was like an iceberg. It was so waterlogged that only the tip showed above the water, and the giant length of it floated below. We found a ragged fishing net that held the decomposing remains of a bird tangled in its knots, and a couple dozen tiny little sticks that had been trapped in the mass of rotting rope. We found a tree, impossible to tell what species it had been. Its trunk was smooth and spongy from the amount of saltwater it held, and its branches were short and stubby, all the limbs having broken off close to the trunk long ago. But we found nothing that would serve as a mast. Yet.
I was still optimistic, so after each discovery and each disappointment, I went back to my stitching, and Lucas went back to scanning the great wide ocean.
The day went by slowly. I finished the sail and held it up to the sun, letting the sunlight beam through the orange, and light up the white turtles in the black. The slight breeze ruffled it, and I felt certain it would do well once we found our mast and rigged up a line.
Lucas and I traded off searching the water. I sat roasting, eyes straining through the magnification, looking at small swells, floating masses of seaweed and lots, and lots, of nothingness.
We talked about Jok and the Lady Sun, trying to come up with theories as to why we had ended up here. Why Jok had been willing to give the pirates the yacht. We tossed around ideas of drug-running, or an inept yacht builder who ran out of the appropriate emergency rafts and stored Ducky to pass inspection. We thought maybe the pirates had someone Jok loved, and so he was willing to scout out booty for them. Lots of colorful explanations, but as we talked, we both knew that it didn’t matter. It didn’t change our situation, and knowing the answers wouldn’t save us. So we kept looking for our mast, and Ducky kept floating. Keeping us alive, for now.
By the time the sun began coloring the western sky, my arms and eyes were tired, I had a headache in the front of my skull again, and I was pretty sure the back of my neck was beet red.
Lucas took the binoculars from me and pulled me into the bottom of the raft. We shared a bag of mixed nuts and half a bottle of water. The nuts were salty, and I knew they made me thirstier but they were delicious, and I ate each one slowly, letting my stomach enjoy them as I swallowed and sipped warm water to wash them down.
“If I had known I would be stranded on a raft I would have brought some fruit or a cheeseburger.” I popped the last nut into my mouth and settled back against Lucas.
“I would have brought a mast.” Lucas leaned over and began pulling off my jacket. ‘You don’t need this anymore,” he said softly, his breath tickling my ear. In fact, I'm pretty sure you would do better without any of it.” He kissed my neck and nibbled at my ear, and I felt the rush of heat between my legs that his touch always brought on.
I stripped off the jacket, and then we both pulled the rest of our clammy, uncomfortable, clothing off. We let the breeze dry our skin, as the sky turned to a dusky blue-grey and slowly faded into black.
We made love on the pillow of life vests, and I sank into him. Lucas’s strong arms and sweet mouth wiping away the soreness of the day. I forgot my sunburn and my hunger, I forgot about the sail and the mast. There was only him, the taste and feel and sweetness of him. We fell asleep with our arms wrapped around each other, the gentle, lulling ocean rocking us, like children in a bassinet.
Chapter 12
We slept till dawn. I opened my eyes to see that the sun was beginning to peek out of its blanket of water, and the sky had put away all the stars.
I lay still, enjoying the rocking of the raft, the temperature before it turned to blistering levels, and the feel of the man beside me. His gentle breathing told me he was still asleep, and I was grateful. He needed to rest; we had both needed the full night’s sleep. Doing the math quickly, given when we drifted off soon after sunset, to now, Lucas and I had gotten ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. No storms, no rain. But without rain we can’t catch water. I sighed, hoping that maybe we would be gifted with a light deluge, not a full-force hurricane. I wished for rain with the warning of; be careful what you wish for, tempering my prayer.
I closed my eyes again, in no hurry to rise and begin the day. I could sense my natural optimism fading. Today was day three, Three and a half if you counted our first night aboard Ducky. I tried to do nautical math in my head. How far had we drifted so far, with the storm and the hour or so on the Lady Sun. How fast had we been going then, how fast were we going now? I couldn’t put numbers to speeds or even miles to ocean, so I gave up and turned into Lucas, who was better than math. Better than anything, except rescue. Even a cheeseburger. I smiled at that thought. Choosing a man over a burger, but Lucas was a no-brainer. What would I do when we got home?
I would have to go back to the farm; spring was coming, and my mare had a foal due in April. The sheep would be popping out little lambs around the same time, and I would have to schedule the shearer to come, the farrier, and the vet. Spring is always the busiest time. I don’t make much money on my little farm. Enough to get by, save some, buy hay, firewood, pay for repairs to the truck, but I loved my life. I work for no one, I was surrounded by animals, ate from my garden, canned in the fall, knitted in the winter and rode my horse through every season.
I had the perfect life, and I missed it terribly. But the thought of returning home, to the cold of January, to the mud of February, with no Lucas … well, it almost seemed better to stay in the raft. Silly and very female of me, but aside from the life-and-death stuff, I was actually very happy, right now, at this moment.
Lucas was someone I could see myself growing old with. He's easygoing and capable, kind and funny, terrific in bed. OK, mind-blowing in bed, (even though we hadn’t encountered a bed yet) and he farmed like me. Or ranched. You couldn’t find a man anymore who wasn’t concerned with being ‘metro’ or the competition with the Jones’s, the ladder-climbing, the cars and suits and hair products. The Snake used more hair product than I did and had more shoes. What kind of man has more shoes than a woman? Lucas was a salt of the earth kind of guy, and I wanted to learn about him, not lose him as soon as we found land.
I wrapped my arm around his waist, and he stirred. He put his arm around me and nuzzled the top of my head, his beard catching in my braided hair. The Snake never cuddled. No man I ever dated had cuddled. As if touching me was too annoying, or inconvenient, after the deed was done, and they had gotten what they wanted.
No, I resolved, I was not going to lose this man. When we got home I would drive to Montana, we would ride to that creek and I would profess my love for him there as we made love in the grass.
Love? I felt my heart clench, and my blood pressure begin to rise. Really? OK Sophia, no worries, I’m sure he has no idea, just calm down.
I got a hold of myself and sorted through my feelings. Yes, I loved him. He had saved me, and he treated me with care. It may have been only three days, but I hadn’t experienced this level of emotion or attraction in the six years I’d been with Jon. So yes, I fully admitted to myself. I loved Lucas.
I felt a stirring between us and pushed away all thought. I opened up to him, and Lucas took what I offered. We came together as the first rays of light crept over the edge of the raft to warm our already heated skin.
* * *
>
The day dragged by. The heat had brought back my headache, and I wondered how it didn’t affect Lucas. He seemed to be comfortable and relaxed, scanning the water with the binoculars, paddling to spotted debris. Usually, the discovery consisted of sticks that were too small and rotting, or trash that was broken bits of things that held no use to us. By midday, my head was throbbing, and Lucas urged me to lie down. He draped the sail over the edges of the raft to keep the sun from beating on me, and insisted that I take two of our precious supply of Tylenol and an extra mouthful of water. I dozed on and off until I sensed dusk was coming. The light beating through the orange material, lighting up the dolphins in a bright blue, had faded, and I climbed out of my cave, folded up the sail and stretched.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you,” I gave him an apologetic smile. “How are you? I left you to do all the work, you must be roasting.”
I began gathering our daily meal and ration of water just as the last light slipped below the horizon. Now was my favorite time of day. The sky was streaked with color, the sun no longer torturing us, and the wind always picked up some with the change of temperature.
“I'm just fine.” He said. He joined me against the life vests at Ducky’s nose and we shared a Snickers bar. The chocolate had melted completely, and the entire candy bar had turned into a mushy pile, but we wiped the wrapper with our fingers and licked the chocolate off like little kids. The bottle of water was finished, and we opened up Lucas’s thermos that he pulled out of his suitcase. Surprisingly, the water was cooler than the air, and I held my ration in my mouth, savoring the refreshing liquid before I swallowed.
“No luck with the mast?”
“No, but I found this,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bobber, bright orange and smelling of fish. It had a long string of fishing line attached to it that Lucas had wound into a tidy coil and a rusty hook on the end. “I'll rig up a fishing pole tomorrow and see if we can catch something.”
“Sushi,” I grinned. I love sushi, even though my choice ran the way of tempura, deep fried, I would happily eat whatever Lucas could catch, and I wouldn’t complain.
“Yeah.” He reached up to touch my face and then ran his fingers down to my jaw. God, I loved his touch. “You don’t look as red. More tan now.” His eyes held worry, and it touched me to see that he cared.
“Well let me look at your arm, I didn’t check it this morning.” I sat forward and turned, sitting Indian-style with his bicep at eye level.
“It doesn’t hurt; I think your doctoring did the trick.”
He was right, the wound had scabbed over nicely and the redness had receded, the skin was healing and there appeared to be no infection.
“Good, you're a tough nut.” I leaned forward and kissed his arm just beside the butterflies. “All better.”
He chuckled and pulled me back toward him. “You would make a good mother.” He turned his head suddenly to look into my eyes, “Are you a mother?”
He must have realized he didn’t know that much about me, we hadn’t exchanged stories other than our divorces, where we lived, and random bits that came up in conversation.
I smiled reassuringly, “No. But I would love to be.” I took his hand and leaned into him, deciding now was as good a time as any to share, and began to tell him about the princes, Anthony and Evan, about my niece Audrey and my family. The farm. He listened and asked questions now and again, and I found that as I told him about all the animals and my home, I was crying. Not sobbing or wailing, just a few tears jerked free from the tightness in my chest, the overwhelming homesickness, and the hope that dwindled each day. That I would get there again.
I wanted to change the subject. Stop crying, be happy again, so I wiped at my face, not ashamed that I missed home and wanted off this cursed raft, and asked him to tell me his story.
“Tell me about your ranch, your horses. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“My parents live in Billings, the closest town to my land.” He sounded reminiscent, as if he too wanted to remember home, but knew it would hurt, not knowing if either of us would get there. “And yeah, I have a sister and two brothers. They’re scattered around, but all within a day’s drive. We don’t talk as much as we used to. Now we just see each other on holidays, that kind of thing, you know how it is, you grow up, start your own life, your own family. Cassie, my ex-wife,” He paused, and I knew that sounded new to him, the ‘ex’ part. I was familiar with that feeling. “She didn’t like my family,” he continued, “so it got easier and easier to find reasons not to be there for birthday parties or barbecues. Now I'm out on my ranch, and it feels too secluded. Lonely.” He stopped talking for a while, and I turned and kissed his neck.
After a minute or two he went on. “I have five horses. A stallion, two brood mares, my gelding and a young filly. Boomer, my gelding, I trained him from a young colt. He was the first foal out of my mare Happy Life.” I smiled at the name; it made me think of Lucas as a young man, starting his ranch, starting his dream, and it made me love him more.
“Boomer saved me during the divorce.” His tone was quiet, it seemed he realized the fact as he told me. “I rode every day. Sometimes we would go out and not come back for days. Sleep under the stars, explore just how big Montana is. He was good therapy. He let me talk to him, and he never had a mean thing to say.” I chuckled and looked up at the blanket of stars above us.
“Like here, but different stars,” I whispered.
“Yes.” He said, and then we were quiet.
We made love again that night, but it was different. Less need and more sweetness. He was slow and tender, and my heart reached out to him, embraced him. I think he was healing, and I hoped I was helping.
Our fourth night floating at sea, I fell asleep in the arms of the man, I knew for certain now, I loved.
Chapter 13
In the gloom before the dawn, something bumped the raft. It must have bumped it before, because I was already coming out of sleep, thinking Lucas was moving, maybe waking up. I looked around, processing the darkness in the sky. The stars were still out, speckling the deep gray, but dawn would come in an hour or so. I rubbed my face stretching, and yawning, trying to remember what had woke me. Oh! It was a … Bump ... the raft moved again, and I sat up, fully awake, reaching for the side of the raft with one hand and shaking Lucas with the other.
“Lucas I think something is …” and suddenly the world turned upside down.
I was in the water; I gasped reflexively as my body was thrown out of the safety of Ducky’s small space, and into the great wide not-safe-at-all ocean. I inhaled water. Forcing my head up, my arms reaching, I broke the surface and coughed. Sputtering and choking, I gasped again, the air burning its way down my salt-lined throat. Something crashed, and I felt my leg being grabbed, bitten, pulled, and I was under the water again. I started to scream, but the water that rushed in my mouth made me clamp down. Whatever had grabbed me had let go, but my leg was on fire, the pain screaming through me, sharpening everything with the flood of fear it brought.
Again I scrambled toward the surface, got my head above the dark water and coughed out the lungful of ocean. For a brief second I was able to tread water, frantically looking for the raft, for Lucas, but I saw nothing, just a wall of dark water rising, cresting, crashing, and I went under again. Again my body was grabbed, dragged along by something with sharp scraping teeth, and again I was let go, the buoyancy of my lungs bringing me up to the surface to gasp and scream. The scream came out choking, and I tried desperately to get my bearings, where is the damn raft!
“Lucas!” I did manage that scream, choking out water and twisting in circles, my side and leg were growing numb with pain, the fire burning to a white hot that I blocked out, didn’t care, just the raft. I only wanted the raft.
Find it, find it, where … oh Jesus, another wave. I held my breath this time, tucked my legs up and let the wave crash me under, then stroke, push up to the
surface again. Breathe.
The next wave began rising; I saw it, creeping higher, eating the stars, eating me, I took in another breath, held it. Still hoping the raft was near, I kept my eyes open until the last second, and then, just as I went under the wave tossed me to my side, and I saw it. Not the raft.
Land.
* * *
I knew instantly I hadn’t been attacked by sharks, it wasn’t something grabbing me, dragging me. I was being crashed into a reef by the waves. Real fear and panic flooded through me, and I tried to stay calm. My head popped back up in the air, I spun till I saw the dark shadow against the sky and struck out toward it, keeping my body and my legs as high on top of the water as I could. When the next swell began to rise behind me, I rode it, surfing with its force and pull, but not letting it take me under. The wave crashed, and I relaxed, rolling in the water with the force, not fighting it, then I struck out again.
I was born in California before my family had moved to the north to ‘live off the land’ as my dad had said, and I had body-surfed along with the best of them. My brother and cousins and sisters and I would spend an entire day letting the waves roll us along toward the sand. The trick is, not to fight a riptide, swim with it, it always has an end, to not fight the waves; waves will always win. To not ever, ever be crashed on a reef. There are not a lot of reefs in California, but there are rocks. A trip to Hawaii with the Snake had ended when he had fought the waves and landed on a reef. He had been lucky to survive it. Many don’t.
Another wave; I knew now I didn’t have time to find the raft or to hunt for Lucas, I had to survive this, and hope he was a good swimmer. I had to focus. I went under, relaxed, rolled, kept my legs up, let the water carry me forward, do the work for me. Push up, into the air, breathe, stroke. I was getting closer. Another wave, and this one took me down. It crashed heavily with such force I couldn’t stay near the top, and I was dragged along the bottom of the seabed. I realized my feet were in sand and I pushed myself up with them, up, and forward, toward the shore, still riding the force of the wave, take me in, you bitch. I broke the surface.
