21. BLUE
BLUE
It’s been three full days since we were stranded on the island, and food is running low. In all that time, Oliver hasn’t left my side. He’s held me, looked after me, carried me over sharp rocks because I still don’t have shoes. Today is the first time he’s gone somewhere without me.
I was supposed to stay in the lighthouse, but we were running out of water. While he went diving to try and catch fish for us to eat, I wrapped my feet in strips of navy fabric from the discarded uniform lying nearby and decided to head towards the den, where there’s fresh water.
I placed four empty bottles into my purse, tied it shut, and slung it over my shoulder.
Two nights ago, I finished mapping the island, and Oliver and I made a deal.
If either of us left before the other woke up, we’d mark our location with a small X on the map.
So when I woke up today, I saw he’d gone to fish in the shallow waters on the right side of the island, near the shipwreck.
I picked up the pen and drew a small X with a smiley face near the neutral zone so he’d know where to find me.
Ready, I left the lighthouse and carefully picked my way across the rocks until I reached the path leading towards the middle of the island. It would take me about two hours to get there, but I planned to walk as quickly as my feet would allow so I could make it back before Oliver.
As I walked, I couldn’t stop thinking about the letter we’d found in the lighthouse among so many others.
Especially the one from Gianni. He’d written back to our father, who had asked him to help recover the things he’d hidden in the lighthouse.
In the letter, Gianni mentioned the map, and our father said it was more accurate than he thought, and promised that money would follow.
I realized that although I blamed my brother for leaving and disappearing, he’d done it all because he wanted to pay for the art school in Paris that he and Isabella had found for me.
For so long, I’d convinced myself that, in some alternate version of life, they are both alive and that he’d move there with Isabella.
My father is still alive, and living somewhere in Greece. He admitted he’d bought an entire island with the money he’d received and planned to leave it to us, but he never wanted to come back. Not once did he mention me or Gianni.
The truth was, money corrupted people. All this time, he could have come back. He could have made life a little easier, no matter how much he hated our mother.
So many questions remained unanswered, and part of me believed Oliver knew some of those answers. But I let it go. I let the past drift away with all the sadness that had built up over the years.
A person only gets one life, and they decide how it ends.
I wanted mine to end with Oliver.
Because for all these years, I’d tried to hide every version of myself.
The frightened version who cried herself to sleep most nights.
The depressed version, haunted by dark thoughts that appeared without warning.
The version who needed a steady hand and someone to whisper that everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t true.
I needed someone who would let me be exactly as I was, even when I was tearful, when I couldn’t hide behind a smile, when the strong version of me was anything but strong.
And he held every one of those versions of me. He never tried to tame me. He simply wrapped his arms around each one and let me exist.
I want to hold on to that. To us. For the rest of my life.
Maybe that’s why fate brought us together. They say people come into your life either as a lesson or because they’re meant to become part of your story.
Life sent him to me because it knew I needed someone who could be my safe haven. My lighthouse, always there to guide me home. Somehow, every path led me back to him.
Life knows more than we do. We just have to let it unfold.
Now I understand why Italians talk about dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing. Maybe we aren’t meant to force life. Maybe life has its own timing, and when the moment comes, it will carry us exactly where we’re meant to be.
Two hours had passed when I heard the rill again. A cool breeze drifted towards me, lifting strands of my hair into the air. It felt like an old friend welcoming me back.
I made my way to the fresh water and slowly crouched down. Taking the bottles from my purse, I dipped them down in the water, filling them one by one.
As the water rose inside each bottle, I let my eyes wander, searching for anything else I could add to the map. Then my gaze caught on something to the right.
A forest of pines and spruces.
Just before the trees grew thick, two tall pines crossed high above the ground, forming a perfect X.
The sight tugged at something in my memory.
I knelt and unfolded the map Isabella had shown me. There it was. The very same symbol, marked on that part of the island.
I waited for the last bottle to fill, tucked all four safely back into my purse, then stood and brushed the dirt from my knees.
I wanted to explore that part of the island. Something deep inside me whispered that whatever had been hidden here hadn’t been found yet.
I followed the narrow path towards the forest, passing beneath the two crossed pines.
The trees closed in around me, their branches weaving together overhead until barely any sunlight reached the ground.
The air grew cooler, carrying the sharp scent of pine and earth.
I searched for anything that matched the markings on the map, but nothing looked even remotely familiar.
I walked deeper in. Then, off to my left, something caught my eye.
There was a small stone well.
It wasn’t wide or particularly deep, more like a narrow shaft built from uneven rocks. Curiosity pulled me closer. I leaned over the edge and peered inside.
Two rolled envelopes rested against the stone wall.
My breath caught.
Dropping to my knees, I reached as far down as I could, stretching my fingers until they brushed the edge of the first scroll wedged deep inside.
I hooked it with my fingertips and carefully pulled it free.
The second came loose right behind it.
Clutching both scrolls, I leaned back against the cool stones of the little well, the quiet guardian that had hidden this island’s secrets for who knew how many years.
I opened the first scroll and realized it was a painting. Judging by the oils and the brushstrokes, it was very old. At the bottom, a signature read: Caravaggio’s Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence.
My hand flew to my mouth.
I remembered this painting. The memory pulled me back to the past, to a day when I sat in the garden with Sarah Sinclair.
It was early spring in 1990 when my mother brought me to the Sinclair villa while she cleaned. Sarah was in the garden, painting, with this very painting resting beside her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she copied every tiny detail, stroke by stroke, from one canvas to another.
“Sarah,” I asked, “what are you doing?”
She laughed softly without looking up. “I’m working, honey. What are you doing here?”
“Mom came to work,” I said, sitting beside her. “Why do you paint the same paintings?”
“So I can keep one,” she replied. “Sometimes we have to keep valuable things.”
“And why?” I asked.
“To preserve their value. When something is expensive, we keep it safe and never wear it. We forget we bought it to enjoy it. Paintings are the opposite. We buy them to keep them, because one day they’ll become valuable.”
I shrugged. “I have no idea what you mean.”
She dipped her brush into blue paint and gently dragged it across the tip of my nose.
“I’ll call you Blue.”
I laughed, wiping at my face. “Why?”
“Because blue people carry peace inside them, like the sea.” She leaned closer, her large green eyes, the same ones Oliver had, shining in the afternoon light. “And you, little darling, bring peace to me. I know that one day, if I’m no longer here, you’ll be peace for my Oliver.”
“And where will you go?” I asked.
“Far away.” Her gaze moved towards the sea, where the waves rolled lazily against the shore. “Sometimes we have to go very far.”
“Like my dad,” I said quietly. “My dad is far away too.”
She reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Don’t be sad, honey. Your dad loves you, no matter how far away he is.”
Memories pulled me back to the present, my palm still pressed against my lips as I tried to make sense of the words I’d long forgotten, only to remember them all over again. I had been only eight then, and they hadn’t meant anything. Now they meant everything.
Is that why I was Oliver’s Blue?
Because blue was the color that brought someone peace, and no matter how hard life became, we would always be there for each other. Maybe he was my Blue too. Maybe the color I’d spent so many years hating was one I was finally beginning to love.
I didn’t even open the second scroll. I already knew it probably held another painting. Instead, I carefully tied the first one shut and got to my feet.
I had to show this to Oliver.
I made my way back along the forest path when a sound drifted through the trees. A low, pained cry, like an injured animal.
I turned and spotted the little squirrel. Its tail was trapped between two iron bars, thrashing wildly as it tried to pull free. The trap had no teeth, but it held the tiny creature fast.
I approached slowly, careful not to frighten it any more than it already was. Crouching beside it, I gripped the cold metal bars and pulled them apart with all my strength.
The moment its tail slipped free, the squirrel jumped into the pine forest without looking back.
I stepped away.
My heel landed on something metallic. Before I could react, an iron trap snapped shut around my leg. Unlike the squirrel’s, this one was lined with sharp spikes.
They buried themselves deep into my calf. Hot pain exploded through my leg, blinding me. Every nerve screamed at once, and I screamed with them, so loudly a bird burst from the branches above.
“1Figlio di puttana!” I shouted. “2Cazzo!”
The curses spilled from my mouth between ragged breaths.
Blood streamed down my leg in thin rivulets, dripping onto the grass below. I grabbed my knee because I couldn’t bring myself to touch the trap clamped around my calf, let alone pry it open.
“Fuck.”
My eyes dropped to the torn flesh and the blood poured from the wound.
The color drained from my face. And a cold sweat broke across my skin as the forest tilted around me.
Then everything went black.
Whoever had hidden the scrolls had scattered traps all over the forest, making sure no one could take them and walk away.
1. Son of a bitch
2. Fuck