Degrees of Wrong

by Anna Scarlett

  couldn’t get far on the confines of the island.

  I trudged up the stairs, my legs barely able to move with the terror.

  Memories of the summer of the shark—that’s what the natives had called it ever

  since—replayed over and over in my mind. I was nine years old when they

  pulled the first little boy from the water without his leg. He bled to death on the shore, had already lost too much volume for my father to save him. Two hours

  later, a diver was hauled up after giving a distress signal. He surfaced with

  chunks taken out of his side, his intestines spilling into the boat. Reports of

  similar incidents spread like a rash.

  In twenty-four hours, we had sixteen bodies to bury. An investigation team

  sent out discovered a huge migration of tiger sharks lurking everywhere around

  the island, numbering in the thousands. Swimming and diving were banned—an

  unnecessary request given the hysteria. Even from shore you could see them in

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  swarms, shadows flitting just under the surface of the water. When fishermen

  began to haul in empty nets—their usual catch obliterated by the new

  predators—they decided to fish for sharks. I ate myself sick on shark meat that

  summer. After a few months the swarms vanished, leaving behind no trace of

  their existence, as if we imagined the whole thing. But after the summer of the

  sharks, I never ate fish again—and I never stepped foot in the water.

  When I got to my room, I slogged to my dresser and pulled open the top

  drawer, still in a trance. The shock hit me like ice water when I retrieved the red two-piece—although the word piece may have been saying too much. I couldn’t wear this…this… shoestring on my body.

  I heard Dr. Folsom call from the stairs, “Elyse, dear, I just passed Nicoli on

  my way in. He said if you’re not on the dock in five minutes, he’s coming after

  you, hon.”

  I gritted my teeth and put the thing on. I stared at the mortified woman in

  the mirror, tried to make her move toward the door. She shook her head at me,

  pleading with her eyes not to make her go.

  “He’ll come up here,” I told her. “He cannot come up here.” The woman in

  the mirror sighed in defeat, growled even. She turned away from me. I headed—

  stomped—down the stairs.

  I met Dr. Folsom with a scowl. Surprise registered on her face. “Oh. Well.

  That’s what I would call a perfect fit.”

  “That’s the amazing thing about strings, Dr. Folsom. They’ll wrap around anything,” I ground out.

  “Uh, well, have a good time, dear.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked toward the door, taking care to slam it shut. I

  punctured the sand with my heated march. As I got closer to the shoreline, I saw

  Nicoli had parked the pod along the dock about halfway up. He stood in it with

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  his back turned to me, busying himself with what appeared to be netting. His

  torso glistened in the sun, his broad back flexing with his exertions. I groaned.

  This was going to be a long day.

  He turned to face me just as I reached the pod. He started to smile, but then

  gasped up at me. “What are you wearing?”

  With one smooth motion he landed on the pier next to me, regarding me

  with balled fists placed on his hips. In a moment of self-conscious terror, I

  glanced down at my ensemble to make sure it was still properly intact. My relief

  couldn’t be measured when I saw that all the pertinent regions were still

  covered.

  “Um, a swimsuit. The swimsuit Dr. Folsom picked out for me.”

  He grabbed my wrist and whirled me around, dragging me like a child back

  toward the shore.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I asked between the exaggerated steps his stride

  forced me to take.

  He stopped us both and jerked me around to face him. He pointed his finger

  toward the shore with slow deliberation. “Run,” he said simply.

  “Why?” I glanced around us for the danger.

  He growled low and ran his hand through his hair. “Remember in the

  transport room, when I told you that your virtue was safe with me?”

  I nodded, wide-eyed.

  “Well, right now, it isn’t. Run.”

  I took an unsteady step back.

  He stepped toward me. “This is criminal of Dr. Folsom. And you’re wasting valuable escape time. We both know I can run faster than you. If you leave right

  now, I think I can walk the other way. If you wait any longer, I guarantee I’ll

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  come after you. If that happens, I can’t make any promises as to what may

  transpire between us.”

  “Are…are you serious?” I couldn’t really believe he would send me away—

  postpone my swimming lesson, no less—because of my swimsuit, or the lack

  thereof, really. Still, I saw the frustration in his eyes. And the desire.

  Something inside me burned in response to that look. I fought it, knew it was

  wrong. And knew it would never go away. The fire would stay as long as Nicoli

  did.

  “I can show you just how serious—”

  I didn’t give him time to finish. As he reached for me, I turned and ran

  toward the beach as fast as anyone’s bare feet could take them on a wooden

  dock.

  As I passed Dr. Folsom in the kitchen, I yelled at her, “You are in so much trouble.”

  I didn’t stop running until I was in my room behind the locked door. I peeled

  out of the stringy offender, bunched it up and shoved it in my top drawer. I

  dressed as quickly as possible, in case he decided to pursue after all. He didn’t.

  Still, I didn’t come downstairs for a very long time.

  Someday, somewhere across the world, some anonymous woman had damn

  well better appreciate the great lengths I took to resist the advances of her

  irresistible fiancé. And the way I would suffer on her behalf when I had to leave him behind.

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  Chapter Twelve

  Today is our last day on the island. I should be relieved. So why am I disappointed?

  I glanced beside me in the bed. The slight impression his body had left on the

  covers became all too symbolic. And I was definitely, undeniably, irresponsibly

  disappointed.

  He hadn’t brought up swimming lessons again, and I was grateful for it. The

  physical tension between us had subsided, although—for me, at least—the

  attraction had intensified. I could barely keep my eyes off the man, so the fact

  that he stayed at my side all day and slept next to me at night worked out to my

  extreme convenience.

  He tried to keep us busy with different activities, wanting me to experience

  as much of the Maldives as I could in our short visit. We took the pod to the reefs around the islands. The underwater scenery appealed to me more than anything

  on the land masses, man-made or not. He took care to point out each species of

  fish, to acquaint me with the marine plant life, to inundate me with endless facts about the Indian Ocean in general and the Maldives specifically. Some of them I

  already knew, and some I did not, but a more willing pupil there couldn’t be

  fo
und—he was by far the most captivating teacher I’d ever had.

  Also, what he said was interesting too.

  When he wasn’t hauling me to our next adventure, he went out of his way to

  attend to my comfort. He constructed an old-fashioned hammock between two

  coconut palms outside the beach house so I could read in the warmth of the sun.

  Anna Scarlett

  When I came inside with shiny red cheeks, he built a small lean-to of palm

  branches to protect me from the rays.

  He took me deep-sea fishing on one of the tourist charters, despite my

  insisting there would be no point in catching a fish since I wouldn’t be eating it.

  The captain of our boat accidentally snared a small—by the standard of the

  species, according to Nicoli—whale shark. That I almost climbed overboard to

  get away from it made him nervous, and he kept his hand at the small of my

  back or his arm touching mine the rest of the day. Against my will, I tried half-

  heartedly to pull away from him several times. To my delight, he didn’t take the

  hint.

  Knowing I would be tormented with the loss later didn’t stop me from

  enjoying my time with him now. Even if I could collect the willpower to stay

  away from him, Nicoli was too attentive to be ignored. Still, it didn’t matter.

  With each second, our time left together dwindled. Both of us would need to

  adjust to life back on the Bellator.

  With this thought, I flung off the covers and dressed. If my sleeping habits

  were any indication, it was already midmorning. Nicoli refused to wake me,

  insisting my late-night research earned me the right to sleep in. I wasn’t bold

  enough to tell him I considered sleep a squander of my time if I could be awake

  doing something with him.

  I took the last step into the kitchen and found him at the counter behind a

  mountain of white cloth grocery bags. He was pulling out the contents of them

  when he saw me and smiled.

  “Good morning, love. You woke up just in time. Come over here and make

  yourself useful.” He winked.

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  I stood next to him and stared in awe at the spread. There were loaves and

  loaves of bread from the market on a neighboring island, two netlike bags full of oranges and pounds of sliced lunch meat, which looked like some sort of poultry.

  “What are we doing?” I asked.

  He handed me a knife and a loaf of bread. “Start cutting slices. There’s a

  baseball game every Sunday on the island of Dhoonidhoo. It’s my turn to bring

  lunch.”

  “Will the population of China be there, then?”

  He laughed. “Nope. Just a bunch of lanky teenage boys who eat a lot.”

  “How many are there?”

  He shrugged. “At least a dozen show up regularly. Sometimes more. You

  might have to sit out.”

  “All of this is for a dozen people?” It could feed thirty and their next of kin.

  “And you mean you would actually let me play?”

  He eyeballed me. “Can you play? I mean, let’s face it. You’ve lived a

  sheltered life, love.”

  I turned my nose up at him. I knew how to play baseball. Was pretty good at

  it, in fact. Baseball was a recreational staple back home. “That’s where you try to get the ball in the goal basket, right?” I asked, percolating with sarcasm. “Or

  wait. It’s not the one with the puck, is it? Oh, I do hope it’s an indoor rink.”

  He rolled his eyes and muttered something low that sounded like, “Can play

  baseball but can’t swim…” And something else about “irritable”, but I couldn’t

  quite make it out.

  We loaded our cargo in the pod and descended. When we surfaced, we were

  approaching a small dock alongside which Nicoli pulled the pod to anchor. He

  jumped up and lifted me out, and jumped back in to hand me the smorgasbord

  we brought.

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  He began to hand me the first box, then snatched it back, glaring at me. “This

  water isn’t very deep. If you fall in, just stand up. Think you can do that for me?”

  “Yes, yes,” I snapped. “Just stand you up,” I said, convoluting his request.

  He grinned. “I don’t think you’re sleeping well enough at night, love. You’ve

  become so moody. Instead of researching tonight, maybe you should try some

  physical exhaustion.”

  “You mean like running?”

  “No, I was thinking more of an indoor sport.”

  The fire roared in my stomach. “Hand me that bag, Nicoli. And be quiet.”

  He laughed but handed it to me. After unloading, he jumped on the dock,

  and together we carried our burden to shore. As we climbed up the small dune

  leading to the flat land, an old ruined building came into view. It was several

  stories tall, gray with dilapidation, and at least the first two floors were

  overgrown with a jungle of cascading vines.

  “What is that?”

  “You mean what did it used to be? A prison. They shut it down over half a

  century ago, when they realized the island was eroding. Bad things happened in

  that building at one time.”

  I shivered in the tropical breeze. “I can tell. Looks like it’s still being

  punished for it too.”

  Nicoli smiled. “No one comes to this island anymore, aside from these kids

  who aren’t so superstitious that they would neglect the perfectly useful baseball field over there.” His hands full with our bounty, he inclined his head toward it.

  On the side of the haunting structure, tiny figures hustled behind a wire fence. I followed Nicoli, oranges in tow.

  When we reached the open field, about a dozen black-haired boys—who all

  could have been related in some way—greeted us. They chattered in a language I

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  didn’t understand, and circled around us so we all moved as one body toward

  the wooden benches lining either side of the field.

  This really had been a baseball field at some point, with the original bases

  still intact. Constant use kept the foliage away, although a fresh cut might benefit a short right fielder. I glanced at the building looming behind us and flinched as goose bumps sprouted on my arms. Prisoners had played on this field.

  The tallest boy spoke to Nicoli, and he laughed. “He wants to know why I

  brought a girl to the game. And he wants to know if you’re single.”

  I smiled at the boy, who grinned even wider. “Tell him I am single, if I can be

  on his team.”

  Nicoli relayed my message to him. “At least I don’t have to worry about you

  being the last one picked,” Nicoli told me. “You’d probably pout for weeks.

  Ouch! Why do you twist when you pinch? Are doctors allowed to do that? That’s

  going to bruise.”

  The tall boy took my hand and led me to our bench. He called something

  over his shoulder to Nicoli. “He said he likes feisty women,” Nicoli yelled to me.

  “Tell him there’s plenty more where that came from,” I called back.

  “I already did,” he said, rubbing his arm.

  The teams divided evenly, which always made for a better game. Since each

  team was short by one player, my boys suggested I cover centerfield. “Since
you

  have long legs, they think you’re fast,” Nicoli said.

  I sniffed at him. “I am fast.” Fast enough, anyway. We couldn’t all be

  endurance sprinters like the good captain.

  The sun siphoned the sweat right out of us, but no one complained. If I

  complained, it would be okay since I was a girl, Nicoli had explained. If any of

  them complained, it would be scandalous, because it would mean that they too were a girl.

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  After lunch we agreed not to drag the game beyond forty-five innings to

  accommodate curfews, sunburns and blisters. We had tied the score all day, but

  in the forty-fifth, my team gained a run. If our win came to fruition, I would

  never allow Nicoli to forget it.

  With loaded bases, Nicoli grabbed the biggest bat. Smugly, he pointed it in

  my direction and stepped into the box. I backed up an ample distance, figuring it was easier to run forward if his aim fell short than it would be to run backward.

  A wasted effort—he sailed the ball over me, farther than I thought was possible,

  and scrambled just to get it into play before he made it home. I relayed it to the shortstop, who threw it to our frantic catcher, who then breached the language

  barrier with the colorful expletives he screamed.

  Nicoli slid into home, colliding with the colossal teen like a bull. They

  crashed to the ground, and only after it was decided that Nicoli was safe did they untangle themselves from each other. It was then that I noticed the blood on his

  face. Mortified, I ran in to home plate.

  “You’re bleeding.” I closed the distance between us. A gash over his brow

  trickled blood over his already puffy right eye. I cradled his face in my hands

  and walked him this way to the closest bench, ordering him to sit.

  “Will you stop it?” he asked, grinning. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Nicoli, your eye is already black. It doesn’t hurt? I think you need a stitch or two.” I bit my lip as I examined my all-too-willing patient. I wiped the blood

  from his face with a corner of my shirt, and decided that although a single stitch might benefit him, it wasn’t worth fighting about.

  “If I say it does, will you kiss it and make it better?”

  “Maybe,” I told him, for shock value. When his smile vanished, I knew I’d

  landed my mark. I raised an I-dare-you brow.

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