by Marni MacRae
So I did.
I hunted down some fresh fruit, stuffed myself full with respect to my baby, and Lucas’s effort to keep me alive and healthy. Then I drank enough water to make me pee a gallon, and went back to the church to find Lucas still sleeping. I brushed his hair off his brow with my fingertips and noted is skin was not as hot as before. I didn't really know if he was sleeping, or if he was in the grip of his illness, as I didn't know how to differentiate between the two states. So I left, feeling a tearing in myself the further I got from him.
I cried almost constantly now. I couldn't think of a joke, or a witty quip that pertained to anything I was now living, and the tears just leaked out.
I returned to the pier where only a smoldering pile of coals remained of my labors of the day before. I began dragging and piling and heaving and resting. Repeating yesterday, excusing the tears with the internal defense that it was the smoke. I didn't care to argue with myself, so I let me fool me and let the tears flow as they chose.
When I returned to the church, I now refused to call it home -- I didn't want to give it that power, this was not my home -- Lucas slept. At some point, he had rolled over in his sleep, perhaps from thrashing, or shivering, but had ended up lying on his face. I rushed to him, crying out, the sight too close to death for me to handle it. I rolled him violently over, sending his arm flailing to the side.
He didn't stir. I could see his chest rise and fall with his shallow breathing and sweat slowly dripping from his brow. The fever and chills had taken so much from him. His face was hollowed out, his eyes sunken in dark shadows, his beard and hair matted and tangled. He didn't look like my cowboy. He looked like a man who had been lost at sea, and starved on an island, and died of a fever, and was only just breathing to keep me from melting down.
But it didn't work. I melted. Way down.
I began sobbing so heavily I couldn't catch my breath. I wrapped my arms around his wasted body and clung to him, I wasn't thinking of anything. I couldn't form a thought. I was completely lost to the overwhelming rush of emotion. You can say it was hormones if you want, or hysteria or too much sun, but I knew what it was, really.
Fear. The real kind. Not - I don't like spiders, or, snakes creep me out, fear, or afraid of getting a bad grade or falling and breaking a hip. This was the fear that I would lose Lucas. I knew the chances were beyond high. He could, right now, stop breathing. It was more likely that I would lose him than not, now. I was terrified I would lose the baby. That the stress, the survival, or trying to, would trigger a miscarriage, and I would watch my baby bleed out of me. Alone, here on this stupid, cursed island.
I was afraid too that I would lose me. That very real fear that deep inside, survival wouldn't be enough. Going home wouldn't get me back, not after I had lost so much.
So I cried, and I gave up fighting not to. And then, thankfully, I slept.
* * *
I awoke to the sound of rain on a roof. Thank goodness Lucas built one.
All of me hurt, but I opened my swollen eyes and looked to see if it was February. Today was day thirty-two.
The rain got louder, and I cringed, hoping it wasn't another storm, I couldn't build a fire in a storm, Lucas may not last long enough to wait it out.
Lucas. I looked beside me. He was there, no fever, or shaking, his chest rising and falling, but I could tell just by looking at him that he wasn't sleeping. He wasn't awake either. He was gone to someplace inside where sickness takes you. A retreat.
A surrender.
I felt nothing. I felt hollowed out. I rose and sat and placed my hands in their familiar spot over his heart.
And then suddenly I heard.
Not rain. Engines. A rotor. And I felt everything.
I flew to the door. Flew.
Outside I looked up, and in the dawn’s pearly light, there hung the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen.
A helicopter.
Chapter 28
Chaos hit me.
Not only from the large metal bird hovering over the trees, its angry sounding engines and rotors screaming through the peace of the island air, but from within. My mind was racing, my heart beating in a fierce rhythm, forcing blood through my veins to rival the noise and cacophony of the wind and dust and droning of the helicopter. It hung there for a moment, black against the blue sky. My eyes squinting, my arms raised against the wind that buffeted me creating a flurry of leaves and dirt, whipping my skirt against my legs, my hair into a tangle around me.
As I stood in the chaos, wondering how I could climb the air up to the noisy black bird, get it to come down, to give me what I need. To save him, please save him. It turned and veered away. Toward the beach, toward the pier and the wind, and dust, and noise, followed it as it disappeared past the trees surrounding the broken village.
My body took over. My legs were running, my arms pumping at my side. I was leaping over fallen logs, my weight nothing, for now it truly was. I was so thin now I could only wear my dresses, my shorts wouldn't stay on my hips. The skirt of my once pretty sundress flew behind me like the wings I felt I had as the jungle blew past my peripheral in my mad dash to the beach.
They had come. Rescue. Had they seen the smoke? Had they already been looking? Was it a patrol? Would they speak English, would they have medicine, food, where would they take us? My mind was separate now. My body did the work to get me through the trees, along the path, don't trip, don't stop, don't let them leave, go. Go.
Inside, where the panic and fear lived, where the shell of me functioned to only just barely hang on to the shredded and frayed hope that I knew in truth was a lie, there was the storm. The questions that ran screaming and bouncing in my mind were only serving to distract me from the one question I wouldn't ask. Would he live?
“Ohhh.” I moaned aloud, gasping for air as I reached the break in the trees that led to the pier. Don't say it. Don't say it. I cursed myself as my feet slapped against the sand. Go. Go.
The bird had set down at the base of the pier. Its rotor winding down, the wind settling, the noise slowly turning to the familiar breeze of the island once again.
I stopped suddenly. Fifty feet from the large aircraft. I stood still, my chest heaving, my hands clenched into fists, my heart seized in a tight knot in my chest. The door on the side of the helicopter slid open, and a woman jumped down to the uneven surface of the old pier. She began walking toward me.
I waited.
I stood in the morning sunlight, registering that behind her, two other people disembarked from the large helicopter, but my eyes remained on her. Her dark slacks, white shirt, olive skin. Black hair. Kind eyes. The details of her soothed me. Her red lips formed a questioning half smile, her neat brows furrowed with concern. She reached me in moments, but by the time she reached out to take my hand, I felt I loved her, this stranger. This pretty lady who had come, who was here and we would be OK.
Please, please, please, please, please. She took another step forward, still looking at me, a question in her eyes that I could clearly read; Are you OK?
No. My answer was no. I am not. But we will be.
She took my hand in hers, my fist unclenching, my grasp reasserting itself on her. I held her soft, golden hand, tightly, and as she opened her mouth to ask her question, the one with the answer that was 'No'. I pulled her. Toward me. And I moved toward Lucas.
I was running again, pulling the pretty lady behind me, her feet as agile as mine as we leapt the fallen logs, following the now familiar path. To the village. To the church. To Lucas.
Chapter 29
They took him.
The two men who had chased after us, who had landed with the pretty lady.
One had gone back for a stretcher, and they had loaded him into the large metal bird.
They strapped me in beside him, sitting against the wall on a hard seat with shoulder straps and a lap belt. I held his hand and noticed nothing. Not lifting off from the pier, not leaving the island. Not the man who worked on Lucas
on the other side, or the pretty lady who was talking, asking me something. I heard only the blood in my ears, and the constant prayer I had begun to chant in my mind. Please, let him live. Please, let him live. Please, let him live.
The island released us without ceremony or tears, no goodbyes, no ‘see you laters’. We simply were there, and now we were gone. Going. Home.
I felt a pinch in my arm and looked down to see the pretty lady was inserting a needle. The needle led to a line, the line to a bag that hung above my head to the left. Fluids. She must have been telling me she was going to give me fluids. That's fine. The baby needs fluids. Let them fix you. I lectured the Sophia whose first impulse was to resist. But the lady didn't make me let go of Lucas’s hand, so I let her tend me.
I wondered how long it would take to get there. Get where? And I realized I didn't know where we were going. I hadn't asked. I had actually only said one thing that I could remember now.
Save him.
Standing in the church, clinging to pretty lady’s hand, the men bursting in behind us. Lucas at our feet on the soiled woven mats, looking like he was beyond saving.
I turned to pretty lady now, to ask where to, and how long. She was bent over my I.V., administering something into the line.
“What is that?” I began to panic, I reached to pull the needle from my vein.
“You need rest.” Pretty lady grasped my hand, the one that wasn't grasping Lucas'. “It will help you sleep.”
She was stronger than me. Everyone is stronger than you. She's right, you need to heal, to rest, let her help you. I recognized the wiser Sophia as my mother’s voice. I was a mother now. Or would be if I went against my instincts to fight, to panic, and helped my baby to live. Helped me to health, which would help my baby.
I stopped fighting toward the needle, and the pretty lady placed my hand in my lap. She kept her hand in mine though, not as a restraint but as a comfort, and I held on to her. I held onto Lucas and pretty lady and felt the drug enter my vein, slowly seep through what was left of me. What the island had released, and I sighed.
Let sleep come. When I wake, everything will be better.
Chapter 30
I awoke in a bed. I registered sheets. Clean sheets that felt smooth and cool against my skin.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I worried about getting them dirty, I had sand in my hair still, and my skin felt rough and weathered compared to the lovely silk sensation of the sheets.
Then I opened my eyes, and there were four walls.
Four walls. They were painted white. A clean, cool, smooth white. There was a door, firmly on its hinges, and a window that held glass. Past the glass, a view boasted blue sky that didn't herald a sunburn to come, for the air around me felt cool. Air conditioning.
I had known, the moment I saw the helicopter, that I would return home to where these things were in abundance. But the feel of them, the sight, were luxuries, and I let them sink in slowly.
“How are you feeling?”
I knew that voice, not the pretty lady from the helicopter, then who...? I turned toward it and stared in shock.
Clara. My older sister. The solid one. The responsible sibling who always did the right thing, who never partied too much or wrote a bad check. Clara was here. Where am I?
“Clara?” I tried to sit up, and a wave of dizziness washed over me.
“Lie still, Sophia.” Clara was at my side, a hand on my shoulder restraining me gently, but in a no-nonsense way. It has always been useless to fight Clara.
“Where am I?” My voice sounded raspy in my ears, and I cleared my throat. “Where is Lucas?”
“You're in Malé. You were flown in yesterday.” Clara pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. She must have been sitting, waiting for me to wake. “Lucas, that's the man who you were found with?”
“Yes.” I started to sit up again but stopped, not wanting the answers to stop, to be distracted by arguing about lying down. “Lucas, he was On the Lady Sun with me, we landed on the island together. Where is he?” A thousand questions were champing at the bit to get out, but I pushed them all aside, nothing mattered until this one was answered.
“He's not here. I'm sorry, Sophie.”
“Sorry?” I did sit up now. Lecture be damned. Clara rose again to try to convince me back down, but I held up a hand. “Don't touch me, I understand you're trying to help, Clara, and I love you for it, but you need to help me by answering my question. Where is Lucas?” Her apology had me spiraling. Please, please, please, please, please. He had to make it. He was here, in the next room, Clara is confused. I needed to find the doctor.
“He was here. He came in with you, he was in bad shape.” Clara sat back in her chair but reached out and took my hand. “His parents arrived early this morning and had him transferred. I don't know where to, Sophie, just to a hospital that could help him.”
“Back to the States?”
“I don't know.”
“To the mainland? To Sri Lanka?” I was pretty sure they were the closest big city, but had no idea about their medical care or insurance requirements for foreigners, or even if they would take someone with whatever he had. “Did you find out why he was sick? Have you talked to the doctor, to his parents?” I was crying, the tears trickling down my cheeks, my helplessness overwhelming. He was gone. Not in the next room, not even nearby. Lucas was gone, and I knew nothing.
“No, Sophie, I'm sorry, I've been focused on you, calling home, talking to the authorities. I'm sorry.” She said again.
I could tell she really was. She always hated it when people cried.
I wiped at my tears. Sniffling and trying to calm down. I needed a plan. A plan to find him, make sure he was OK. “I want to go home, I need to go home. Clara, can we leave?” I began throwing back the thin blanket that covered me and she rose to her feet again.
“Yes, we can go, but not yet. Sophie, this is a big deal. You've been missing for a month, it was all over the news for weeks back home. The police will need a statement, and the hospital won't release you until you have a clean bill of health. The Maldivian government doesn't want to be held responsible for you leaving without being in perfect health.” Clara smoothed the hair off my brow and gave me a gentle smile. “Calm down and we'll take this a step at a time.”
A step at a time. I didn't care about the police or the damn Maldivian government or the damn hospital that wasn't good enough to cure Lucas that he was taken from me.
“And Sophie,” Clara was still talking, “about your health, I need to tell you something.”
Oh God. That got my attention, had I contracted whatever Lucas had? Would it hurt the baby? Oh please, let the baby be OK. “What?”
“I don't know how to say this, so I will just come out with it.” Clara squared up to me, reaching for my other hand. “You're pregnant.”
I was confused. Of course I'm pregnant, I already knew that, but how is the baby? Is it OK? Am I sick? I was about to let fly the barrage of questions when Clara spoke again.
“We know about the pirates. We found out weeks ago. We all thought you were dead.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. And I realized she was holding back tears. Clara, my big sister who never cried, never got a traffic ticket, paid her bills before they were due and gave birth in three pushes, was choking up over me.
Dead? Wow, that had to have been awful. I hadn't actually thought about my family mourning me. I felt guilty all over again for having loved the island for a brief time, for wanting to stay even for a moment. And now here my sister assumed I was pregnant by rape of pirates. A fierce protectiveness rose up in me. A need to protect Lucas and his child against the claim of this life being formed out of anything but love. I prayed Clara hadn't told the family.
“Clara,” I squeezed her hands, looking her in the eye. “I know I'm pregnant. This baby is Lucas's, not the pirates.” The word was like filth in my mouth, and I had a sudden urge to spit. Gone were the days of romancing buccaneers, comparing pirat
es to Johnny Depp's portrayal was silly and thoughtless, for all those who suffered at the hands of real ones. Lucas had saved me from that suffering. Oh God, where are you?
“Clara, I have a lot to tell you, but I need some answers, I need to find Lucas, he saved my life, more than once, you owe it to him to help me find him.” I knew guilt and obligation would work far better than pleading with Clara. She would repay a debt come hell or high water, and the debt of her sister’s life would motivate her to help me.
“Oh thank God, I am so glad you knew.” She reached out and hugged me to her. “I've been wringing my hands over how to tell you, I almost feared you would have a meltdown, and I just couldn't handle that, not after a month of mourning you.” She hugged me again. And then sat on the side of the bed. “You love this Lucas.”
“With all that I have.”
She was quiet and sat looking at me. I could see she was sorting through trying to put herself in my shoes. Escaping from pirates, floating at sea together, landing on an island, struggling together to survive, becoming pregnant and having no way home. In only took her moments to calculate the bond, the debt, the love.
“We will find him. What do you need me to do?”
Chapter 31
As it turned out, I needed an embassy.
Clara explained that the Maldivian police wanted a report on the capture of the Lady Sun by the pirates. What had occurred, how we escaped, when we escaped.
Everyone had assumed that we had perished at the hands of the pirates. Jok had been found a week ago after a long search and pressure on his family. He had told the police nothing, only that Lucas and I were alive, that we had escaped, and that we had not been killed.
