Lady Sun: Marni MacRae

by Marni MacRae

  “After two weeks, we all began to accept that you were dead.”

  I let that sink in. I had no reply, no way to take away a hurt that deep. Even my survival and return home wouldn't fix those weeks of loss felt. We were quiet for a while and then Clara finished her story.

  “Last week Mom got a call from the lead investigator. He said that they found Jok, the last known person to see you, and he was in custody. He told Mom that Jok claimed you and Lucas were alive, that you had gone overboard, but he didn't know where. The officer claimed it was a lie that Jok was trying to save himself from a sentence of murder. Everyone convened again, but we didn't know what to do. There had been a lot of publicity about your disappearance, and so I contacted the paper, the news. I called the Maldivian government and threatened to go national with my story if they didn't send out a search party. At least try.”

  I realized then what my lawyer had been referring to. The Maldivian yahoos had been afraid of my sister. My family. I knew it wasn't an empty threat. Clara would have done it. She would have brought hell and rain-fire down, and every camera in America to sensationalize the lack of effort made for an American woman taken by pirates in Maldivian waters. I smiled now. Way to go Clara! But I didn't interrupt.

  “I booked a flight and took all my vacation days and flew in. They searched the Maldives islands by plane, some by boat, I could tell they weren't throwing everything at it, but all I could do was watch the small effort and hope. They were going to expand the search until they finally got Jok to confess where the pirates had taken the yacht.”

  This I was curious about and turned to face her in my seat.

  “The Seychelles.”

  “Oh, that's perfect. The notorious pirate coves and hideout?” I shook my head but didn't laugh. Pirates held no humor for me any longer.

  “Yep, he claims they were running guns, and that he had been helping for a few months, but for some reason he didn't explain why they decided this time to take the boat too. Or why they had been so far afield from said hideout. Anyways, when they realized that you could have gone over at any point in the ocean, they were reluctant to expand the search claiming you would have never survived deep ocean with no land for hundreds of miles.”

  “Why would they assume that?” I asked. It didn't make sense. That's what life rafts are made for after all. To float and wait for rescue.

  “Jok confessed that he stripped the Lady Sun of anything he could sell to fund the first run of guns months ago. The life raft was one of them. They sell for upwards of tens of thousands of dollars, not to mention a list of other items he pilfered off the yacht. He had come out with a tidy sum but had to replace a few items with dummy items to fool an inspection.”

  “Ah... so if someone looked, they would see a raft but not know it was a piece of crap.”

  “Exactly. Inspections are rare and lax, but he couldn't take the chance. He couldn't remember the details of your raft, but the authorities hunted down the purchase. They confirmed there was no way, without food, water, cover from the sun, and with any heavy weather at all, that you could survive in the open ocean. They concluded you had been lost.”

  “You mean dead.”

  “Yes.”

  “Again.”

  “Yes. Again.”

  How horrible, to cling to a scrap of hope and then again, be told you had to return to mourning. I refused to correlate the situation with my hope for Lucas. My heart couldn't take any shadow of doubt. He's alive, my stubborn inner voice insisted.

  “What did you do?”

  “I delivered on my threat.” At this Clara smirked proudly. “I called every reporter who wanted to fly to Malé to interview me, investigate the lax search, and bring down a spotlight on the dangers of vacationing in the Maldives. I was actually surprised at the response. I was answering my phone every hour to talk to some reporter, and then I would give them the number to the lead investigator, the American embassy in Sri Lanka, and the mayor’s office in Malé city. They quickly changed their tune and expanded the search. The next day a plume of smoke was spotted in the Chagos island chain, and a copter was sent to investigate.”

  “What timing.” I whispered. It seemed strange how it all fell together as it had. If I had started a fire when we had first washed ashore, it would have been futile. And we most likely wouldn't have tried again. But after Lucas fell ill and insisted I try as a last resort, it was, in the end, what saved us.

  I mulled over everything Clara told me and sorted through my internal questions. Turning back to face her I reached out and took her hand. “Thank you. For not giving up, for doing all you could even when they told you to give up.” I leaned over and hugged her, truly thankful my older, bossy, sister had been the one the officials had to deal with. No one else would have persevered so ruthlessly.

  “Thank you.” She whispered. Still holding on to me. “For not being dead.”

  I grilled Clara about her contacts with the Maldivian government, her contacts in the media. Did she know any way to get a hold of Lucas or his family. She had no answers that would help. The police confiscated all contact information from Tropic Escape. The ‘contact in case of emergency’ list. I had put my mother, her phone number, her relationship to me.

  I had already called the office hoping to glean the same information, but it went to voice-mail again and again. Closed while under investigation, perhaps never to reopen.

  In the end, I let the hours go by. I napped, and nibbled at the airline food, and drank a ton of water, and fought off the constant niggling of nausea. I didn't know if the rolling stomach was brought on by the flight, the stress, or the baby, but I held down each bite. Stubbornly refusing to relinquish any nourishment that was intended for the life inside me, and maybe as a side benefit, for me to gain back some weight and not look like a well-tanned zombie.

  At 4:25 Pacific time, our plane landed in Spokane.

  Chapter 33

  My mother’s house was full. So many cars lined the streets that we had a hard time parking close enough to not have to walk far in the snow.

  Snow. The second week of February, and snow covered everything. I loved it. I stared at the dirty piles along the street as we drove from the airport and wondered at the sweeping blanket of it on all the yards and homes in my mother’s neighborhood. It was lovely and refreshing, and I reveled in loving the snow. Something I hadn't felt for this season since my school days.

  When we walked through the front door, I got the feeling everyone was going to yell surprise! But that felt completely wrong. Instead, they all stood and stared. No one moved, no one spoke. I heard the door close quietly behind me as Clara came in, and then I just looked around.

  I stared back at all the faces, the pale, white, winter, faces of my mom, and sister, and Anna. My eyes locked on hers, and I broke out in tears. Then we were across the room, hugging and crying, and Anthony and Evan were hugging me, my legs wrapped in Evan’s strong little arms. Audrey quietly approached and joined the hug, and soon everyone came forward, all at once, as if the spell was broken and it was my birthday, not a return from the dead.

  My cousin clapped me on the back and said. “You look tan.”

  My brother-in-law pulled my braid and said, “You look skinny.”

  And then my Mom was there, hugging me, whispering, “You look beautiful.” and we all cried again.

  What followed was food, more food, coffee, tea, sweet treats the women had brought, and questions, questions, so many questions. I answered as many as I could make sense of, but overlooked the ones about pirates, and Evan asking me if I could drive a boat now. There must have been some confusion in his little mind at the explaining of my disappearance.

  After hours and hours of catching up, more tears, a lot of touching, and some hugs that lasted longer than a slow dance, people began to trickle out. First the friends, then the cousins, then the in-laws. What was left was my mother - it was her home, after all - Lily, Audrey, Clara, and Anna. The princes had left wit
h their father to go be tucked into bed.

  With these women, I could be honest. We settled into the living room and slowly, I began to tell them my story. From the beginning. I shared with them my meeting Lucas, his rescue on the boat. The storm, the sex (not in detail), the island and the reef. I showed them the scar and told them of our days, the boiling of water, catching fish, the storm Fury, the village, the church, the baby. At the last I could barely speak. I was weeping openly, and my heart was twisting, my breath coming in hiccups and gasps.

  “I love him. I have to find him. How do I find him?” And then I cried while Anna softly stroked my back. I felt someone lay a blanket over me, and soon I felt sleep come.

  * * *

  I woke with the dawn. Coffee was brewing, I could smell the heavenly aroma drawing me to it like a siren. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table but rose when she saw me in the doorway. She said nothing, she simply poured me a cup of coffee and handed me a set of keys. The spare set I had given her before I left.

  “Your truck is out front. I had your cousin fetch it yesterday and bring it here for you.”

  “Oh, thank you.” I hugged my mother and then sat at the table with her to enjoy my coffee.

  “I know you're anxious to get back to the farm, check on things there. Frank from next door has done a great job in maintaining it for you. I don't know why you didn't just ask him instead of me when you left.”

  “Because Frank would have wanted payment I didn't want to give. But I'm glad you handed him the reins, he's a good farmer.”

  The idea of going home, my home, was drawing me to the door. “Do you mind, mom? I promise I'll come by tomorrow, but I would like to get home and settle in. Make some calls.”

  “Of course, honey,” she waved her hand in a shooing motion, “you go, feed your animals, change your clothes, and settle in.” Her smile was sincere and encouraging. “Go find your man.”

  I paused at that and crossed the room to lean down and kiss her cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

  She smiled up at me, her eyes soft, and full of the love I knew was there, had always been there my whole life. “I love you too, Sophia.”

  * * *

  My driveway had been plowed. Again, I was grateful my mother had called Frank. He would plow and feed the animals and call the vet if needed. He would even order hay if it ran low. He was a good neighbor, I made a mental note to get him a proper ‘thank you’ gift.

  As my truck wound around the last bend in the drive, my home came into view. A two-story farmhouse with a wrap-around porch. Quaint and idyllic. Country chic. I have always been proud of my home, my farm, but no more so than in this moment when the view of it hit me full force.

  I slowly came to a stop and shut off the engine. Sitting behind the steering wheel, I took in the farmhouse, the fields, the barn, the garden, all of it covered in snow, waiting for spring, waiting for me. But now, although it still held my heart, my home seemed empty. Without Lucas, each moment went by with something missing, a conversation unspoken. A touch not felt. I had truly lost a part of me.

  After so long together in every moment, with the intimacy we had shared, and the connection built, everything seemed less now. I caught myself turning to ask him questions this last week. Forgetting he was not there. He had always been there, right beside me, available to hear any little thought, laugh at all my stupid jokes. Now I held back on experiencing the world for he wasn't there to marvel at it with me. No one would understand the thrill of coffee the way he would. The appreciation of ice, or convenience of a drive-through.

  Now I stared at my front door and wished he was beside me to turn the key. Let me take him on a tour, show him my history, share this Sophia with him, away from the island. Begin planning, sharing our dreams for the future.

  I heard the horses whinny and turned to look toward the corral. A truck was pulled up alongside the barn, and I realized Frank must already be feeding the livestock. Well, best to get back to it I suppose. I opened the truck door and stepped out into the cold February air.

  I was bundled up in one of my mother’s snow parkas, topped off with a pair of her gloves, worn from years of use. My light jacket had made it back with me but was not sufficient enough to combat the winter air. I breathed in the scent of home and began my walk to the barn.

  Gypsy trotted up to the corral fence and gave a nicker, most likely recognizing my truck and the scent of me on the cold air. I didn't have a treat, but made a note to get some from the barn and reward her for putting up with my Mom and Frank in my absence. I reached the fence and leaned over the rail to give her nose a pat.

  “Did you miss me, girl? I sure missed you.” I scratched under her chin and inhaled her horse smell. It reminded me of Lucas. The cowboy. I wondered how his gelding, Boomer, was doing. Who was feeding him, did he miss his master? I shook my head. Determined to wrap up the chores and begin my search in earnest. I turned toward the barn in search of Frank and saw him striding toward me.

  Shoving my gloved hands into my pockets, I approached slowly, hoping he wouldn't assume a hug was in order. Frank had been doggedly pursuing me for a date for a year now, and I couldn't think of a nice way to turn him down that wouldn't hurt his feelings. I just wasn't in the mood to deal with that right now, so I kicked at the snow and averted my gaze as he drew closer.

  “Thanks for plowing the drive while I was gone.” I turned toward the house, giving him a side view in hopes of further deterring a welcome home hug.

  “I didn't plow it.”

  Franks's voice sounded different, familiar, but deeper, perhaps he has a cold. But if he didn't plow it, who did? I turned to look under the brim of his cowboy hat, his face in shadow in the early morning light.

  “Then who ...” He raised his head and the sun over the hill caught his face, lighting him up, making him glow, like an angel, a Cowboy angel. Not Frank. Lucas.

  Chapter 34

  My mouth still hung open with the question.

  He stood only a foot or two in front of me, but my mind couldn't compute it. Like the moment with the orange on the island, reality was taking it's time catching up with me. How can he be here? How did he find me when I couldn't find him? And then, He's alive. He's alive and here!

  And I launched myself at him. Two feet disappeared in the blink of an eye, and I was in his arms, holding him to me, fiercely squeezing him into my chest, making sure he was solid, he was real. And then he lost his footing, and we were in the snow. I was on top of him, still wrapped around him, and his mouth caught mine, and the world was gone.

  No snow, no horses. We were on the island, in the sand, under the warm sun. His mouth tasted like honey, and coffee and his familiar scent, that hint of leather, of home, it was all around me. I was crying, and laughing, and kissing, and the island melted away slowly, leaving me laying on top of a tan, skinny, Lucas in a snowbank.

  “You found me.” I whispered in amazement.

  “Your attorney assured me you wouldn't mind seeing me.”

  “How are you?” I looked at his face. It was gaunt and tan, but I could see the strength in his eyes, determination.

  “I'm better. Almost perfect. And you ... how are you? How is the ... baby?” This last he said almost as if it was a secret.

  “I'm perfect, now. And our baby is fine. I saw it on a scan at the hospital in Malé.”

  “So you’re both OK?” He sounded scared, or as if he needed badly to hear it again.

  “Yes, Lucas, we are both OK.”

  Lucas reached up and cupped my face in his hands. The hands that have touched every part of me, the hands that rescued me, healed me, fed me. Loved me.

  “I missed you. Pumpkin.”

  Chapter 35

  Sixteen months later

  June is the perfect month for weddings. Cliché, yes. But clichés get a bad rap. Just because everyone is doing it, doesn't mean I should be different.

  June is perfect, and so I chose the thirteenth for my wedding.

 
More than two hundred guests are packed onto the green, mown field behind my home. Lucas and I come from big families. Loving families, and every invite had been returned with a RSVP. Of course, I believe a little bit of that response is due to our minor celebrity status. Everyone still questions us incessantly about our deserted-island adventure.

  But today I am not thinking of the island. Today I am not thinking of the flowers or the caterers, or is Lucas’s mother OK with the baby.

  I have found my Zen and stand now at the end of the aisle.

  Music is playing, but I don't hear it. All the guests turn to see the bride as I move forward, but their faces are a blur.

  I only see him. Standing there, waiting. Tall, and handsome, and mine.

  I almost lost him. The island came close to claiming my one true love. It had been malaria. A simple mosquito bite. Had it been me, I would have died. I was already too thin, too weak and malnourished. Lucas had the stamina, and the body mass and the strength. It took months for him to finally get back to normal. He had left the hospital in Sri Lanka, transferring to Seattle. After two days there, he had checked himself out, against the doctors advise and come here. To me.

  We healed together that winter. We hired help to take care of our farm and ranch, and we curled up and let the winter thaw, our love flourish.

  Now I walk toward him, forcing myself to not run. And all I can see is him.