Chapter 20
When we reach the resort restaurant, a little wiser and certainly a lot wetter, I see that a table has been set up at the edge of a magnificent infinity pool that looks over the bay.
“Oh my god!” My sister stands up when she sees us. “What happened?”
I hold my backpack by the strap so it conceals my lightly shredded leg.
“A little off-trail exploring,” I admit sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late.”
Luckily, no one asks any more questions. I let Caleb take the empty seat next to Tracy and sit down across from them both. When I do, his godmother throws me a sly smile that tells me she might be a little more astute than the rest of the lunch party.
“I’m not surprised,” Tracy says with a mischievous grin. “When Caleb was little, he and his brother used to get into all sorts of trouble here. Chasing sea snakes, wrangling the wild goats—”
“Trace…” Caleb tries to stop her.
“One summer they decided they were going to learn to scale coconut trees like the local kids. It only took two days before Caleb slipped off a ten-footer and broke his arm.”
If the expression on Caleb’s face is any indicator of what I look like when I’m uncomfortable, I’m going to have to do a better job hiding my feelings. Guess Captain Perfect wasn’t always so good at everything.
“Stella was like that,” my sister butts in. “Always pushing the limits. She had a blanket fort built on our roof for three weeks that our dad only discovered when one of the pillowcases ended up on the front porch. Now you wouldn’t catch her dead climbing anything over five feet!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Caleb mumbles quietly enough that most of the table doesn’t hear. But when I turn towards him, it’s Tracy’s eyes that catch mine—and she’s smiling.
Patricia’s “near death experience” yesterday seems to have raised morale considerably, because everyone at lunch is in a surprisingly good mood.
Patricia and Tracy spend so long exchanging embarrassing childhood stories (my favorite being the one where Matthew confused a Hell’s Angel for Santa Claus and asked him for a power ranger costume) that lunch practically turns to dinner, and before we know it, the rain is back in full force.
We grab our wine glasses, laughing and screeching as the deluge hits the table and we’re forced back inside.
Even Matthew has a smile on his face as we settle into the dry sofas inside the open-air lobby.
“We’re going to have to split you up into two groups for the ride back,” Caleb says as soon as he finishes radioing Jim. “Our bimini only fits three.”
“That’s nauti for rain cover,” Steven leans over to whisper to me.
“Caleb, why don’t you bring the ladies back first,” Arthur suggests.
“So you four can drink yourselves to death?” Patricia says, looking at the well-stocked bar behind Arthur’s head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll stay for the second boat,” Caleb nods to her. “Steven? Can you escort the girls back?”
“I’ll go,” Matthew offers, hooking his arm under his mom’s. “I need to make sure the Wicked Witch of the West doesn’t get wet and start melting.”
Patricia glares at him, but I can see the hint of a smile playing at her wine-stained lips.
“I’ll remember that remark when your next trust distribution rolls around.”
Armed with two large umbrellas from the front desk, Caleb chauffeurs us out across the dock.
The formerly non-existent swell has gone rogue.
Frothing white caps snap across the grey sea, slapping against the dock and rocking the tender like a little toy boat.
Jim passes us raincoats from beneath the newly raised bimini, but there isn’t much point in wearing them.
The rain is coming from every direction.
“We’ve got ourselves a proper squall!” Jim shouts as he helps Patricia and my sister load up. I can barely see his eyes from beneath the drawn hood of his raingear—just a soaking blonde mustache hanging limp out of the corners.
He motions for me to board after Matthew. But Caleb, who is no stranger to my lack of coordination, doesn’t risk it. He grabs me from beneath my armpits and lifts me into Jim’s waiting arms.
I let out a very embarrassing squeak as my feet touch down.
“Time to earn your sea legs!” Jim elbows Matthew playfully as I duck under the rain shield towards Jules and Patricia. But Matthew’s grimace tells me he’s as ready to get wet as a spool of cotton candy.
I jump up and grab his arm as Jim unties us.
“You sit under the bimi-thingy, Matthew,” I tell him, cocking my head towards the rain cover. “I’ll stand.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m already soaked,” I tell him. “What’s another ten minutes?”
He doesn’t protest. Soon Matthew is wedged between his mom and future sister like Oreo cream.
I stand beside Jim in my rain gear, gripping onto the metal bar beside the helm as the warm wind snaps my hair against my shoulders.
It’s so rainy I can barely see the waves around us.
I can certainly feel them, though, pulling us down and upwards like a rocking horse.
Patricia and Matthew screech in the same octave as one splashes over the rubber and sprays them in the shins.
“I can see why it would have been hard to land this on Sunday,” I yell to Jim over the sound of the waves. “Was the swell this bad then?”
“Sunday? Nah, trip’s been smooth sailing since you got here. Pretty lucky break so far!”
I wrinkle my nose in confusion.
“Caleb said the waves were too high on Wayasewa. It’s why we skipped our picnic.”
Jim shakes his head.
“Don’t think so, mate. We haven’t had a wave over two feet all week, until now.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
“I’d be a pretty crap First Mate if I wasn’t!”
As he speaks, I watch his blonde mustache bounce across his lip like a waterlogged squirrel. Caleb definitely told us we couldn’t land on Wayasewa safely. Did our illustrious captain, lover of all things strict and regimented, lie?
“I must have misheard him,” I cover. If Caleb was lying, the last thing I want to do is out him to Jim. But why would he make that up if it wasn’t true?
When we pull up back to the yacht, our disembarking a little rougher than usual, Gia is there to meet us with fresh towels.
“Are you alright, Stella?” she asks me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Just a little seasick, I think,” I lie. It backfires on me when she starts running through all the possible cures: ginger, Dramamine, electro pulse bracelets…
“Thanks so much, Gia, but I’ll be fine. I think I just need to lie down for a second,” I tell her.
I powerwalk downstairs and sink into my bed, still soaked from the ride, to run back over every single minute of the past week in my mind.
Running into Caleb on the bridge after dinner.
Caleb kissing me in the elevator. But something’s not adding up.
What reason would golden retriever-level loyal Caleb have to lie to his precious employers?
I remember something Caleb said on our Patricia recon mission. Gia told him about dinner, about the whale. Probably about the way I stormed out as soon as our plates were cleared.
I chew on my bottom lip. Caleb knew the only way the Warrens would agree to visit the Conservation Center was if their other plans fell through.
Did he lie about the swell for me?
Last night in the lagoon, I told Caleb that whatever we were doing wasn’t worth the risk. But if my theory about the tides is true, he’d already taken it. Caleb was willing to risk his job for me even before he knew if I felt the same way.
If it’s true… maybe whatever this is between us isn’t so meaningless, after all.
I pull the corpse of my phone out to see if I can get it to turn on.
Nothing. All I want is to talk to Marianne—to find someone to help me pull out the spoon that’s stuck churning in my garbage disposal brain.
There’s only one person on this boat who can know that I know about the tides.
One person who can give me the answers I’m looking for.
If I can’t talk to Marianne, I have to go find Caleb.
I wait what feels like an eternity before I deem it safe to creep up to the bridge.
It’s empty. I do, however, notice that one of the futuristic panels shows the feed from the boat’s many security cameras.
And as grainy as the picture is, I can see that someone much taller than Yara is moving around in the engine room.
I trot down the back stairs as quickly and quietly as I can in my manic state of over-analysis.
If I’m wrong and the person down there is Remi or Russ, I’m in for a very awkward conversation.
But luckily, the lanky man logging engine temperature readings inside the half-lit room is just who I wanted to see.
He whorls towards me as he hears me come in, blinking when he realizes who’s interrupted him.
His voice is gravelly and confused as he says, “Stella?”
“Why did you lie about the swell?” I bark out.
I had, of course, planned a much more graceful approach.
Hi, Caleb. Are you well? Interesting weather we’re having.
But now that I’m in his orbit, staring at the man who just yesterday had his calloused hands around my thighs, I seem to be fresh out of tact.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” he says. But something in his eyes tells me he’s not going to enforce it.
I take a step closer.
“Tell me why you lied to them and I’ll go.”
He looks away from me, jaw clenched. His nostrils flare as he tightens his grip around the railing.
“Stella, you know why,” he says almost angrily. “Are you really going to make me repeat it? Make me humiliate myself again when you’ve made it painfully clear you don’t feel the same way?”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but Caleb is right. The only thing that’s changed since yesterday is me. Why did I come down here when I already know what he’ll say? When he’s already told me just how strongly he feels and been turned down not once, but twice?