three
T HREE WEEKS LATER, I’m lying on a built-in chaise at the front of Edmund’s fancy sailboat, enjoying the combination of sun and wind.
I’ve got a typical redhead’s skin—fair and easily burned—so I have to apply sunscreen to every exposed inch of my body each morning. I never tan at all, only get more freckled. But I still love lying in the sun sometimes as long as it’s not too hot and as long as I’ve got enough sunscreen on to keep me from burning to a crisp.
The wind and the light spray from the ocean cool me down enough to stay comfortable. I’ve been enjoying lying out here for a couple of hours most afternoons.
I almost never get seasick, and Edmund has been in a remarkably good mood, never even referring to the fact that I’ve resigned. So overall, the past weeks have been pleasant and relaxing. We’ve sailed down the Pacific coast, stopping every few days to restock supplies, walk around on dry ground, and get a good night’s sleep while safely docked instead of napping in shifts or trusting our navigational alarms to wake us up. Occasionally, when we find a particularly pleasant beach town, we’ve stayed a couple of nights so Edmund can surf.
Our original plan was to head to Panama and then angle down to the Galapagos Islands. But Caleb has been getting updates on the political and security situation in Ecuador. Even though he successfully got us a permit (something that evidently takes a lot of hassle with bureaucracy and not a small amount of bribe money), he advised against trying to sail there in a private yacht right now.
To his credit, Edmund listened to that advice and agreed to change our plan. So we’ve been taking our time and hitting a lot of surf spots down the coast instead.
I’m happy about the altered agenda since it means we stay closer to the coast and get to see something other than the ocean and our cabins.
And maybe Edmund has come to accept my decision and doesn’t hate me too much for it.
I really don’t want him to hate me.
More likely he’s simply pretending it’s not happening rather than coming to any acceptance of reality. But that’s his issue, not mine. I’m doing what I need to do.
My eyes have been closed, but I sense rather than hear a presence beside me. I peer up against the sun to see the silhouette of Edmund standing over me. “Hey.”
“Hey. Sorry to wake you up.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
He lowers his long body onto the chaise, stretching out beside me. He’s smiling when I turn my head to look at him.
I smile back, trying not to go too soft inside. He has this appealing way about him that makes it impossible not to like him even when he’s being infuriating. “Taking a rest?”
“Yeah. Put it on autopilot. We’re far enough out that there shouldn’t be too much shipping traffic.”
“That’s good.”
He’s wearing tan shorts, a white T-shirt, and a light blue button-up that’s unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is rumpled wildly from the wind, flopping over his forehead in that way it has. He must not have shaved this morning because I can see stubble on his jaw and down his neck.
I ought to be used to dealing with his attractiveness by now. After six years, it shouldn’t trouble me unduly anymore.
But I still want to feel the scratchiness of his jaw and run a hand down his chest and flat belly.
I don’t.
One thing I’m good at is resisting temptation.
“My parents used to take cruises on their yacht for two or months a year. I’d always convince them to take me with them even if it interfered with school.”
“I bet you did.”
He’s smiling as he closes his eyes, the sun burnishing his tanned skin with a reddish-gold glow. “I used to lie out like this for hours, daydreaming of all the places I would travel to and adventures I’d have when I grew up.”
I chuckle, a clench of emotion in my chest. “Well, you’ve done pretty well in that regard. You’ve made it to every continent and crossed off eighty-two countries from your list.”
“Yeah.” He sounds almost poignant.
“Although I’m not sure adventures are all they’re cracked up to be.”
“That’s my Autumn,” he murmurs, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “Always practical.”
I blush at the way he said “my Autumn” although there’s clearly nothing particularly intimate about what he’s saying. “Well, one of us has to be.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Who’s going to keep me from falling apart when you’re gone?”
A sharp pang slices through my throat. “You can hire someone to replace me.”
“No, I can’t.”
We’re both silent for a minute. I have to take a couple of deep breaths to make sure the surge of emotion doesn’t push me into tears. “Then I guess you’ll have to figure it out on your own.”
He doesn’t reply, but not because he’s angry or resentful. He’s upset, but he’s trying to contain it.
I appreciate the attempt. Clearing my throat, I say, “Well, we have more than a month left for adventures that are carefully planned and implemented by me.”
He chokes on a laugh, then stares up at the sky, shaking occasionally with lingering amusement. “That’s better than nothing.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
After that, we lie in silence for a long time. At least ten minutes. Then he says, as if we never had the break in conversation, “Speaking of adventures, one of my buddies told me about an island we should hit.”
“Oh dear. What buddy?” I’m well acquainted with every one of his friends, and about half of them I wouldn’t trust.
“Jon.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jon went to the same private high school as Edmund, and he’s turned into a mostly stable, rational man.
Edmund’s mouth twitches at my reaction. “So you can’t immediately discount the idea.”
“All right. What island?”
“It’s off the coast of Panama but pretty far out into the Pacific. It’s uninhabited.”
“If it’s uninhabited, why would we—?”
“Because it’s supposed to be paradise. Most people don’t even know it exists, so it’s never been developed or populated. It’s like the Garden of Eden with a natural spring of the purest water ever tasted.”
I sigh, thinking the whole thing sounds kind of sketchy. Some mysterious paradise island that no one has ever heard of? “So you know exactly where it is?”
“I know the general vicinity.”
“The general vicinity in the middle of the Pacific?”
“Yeah.”
“What if it’s dangerous?”
“Why would it be dangerous?”
“There could be wild animals. Poison snakes or frogs or spiders or whatever.”
Edmund snickers. “What if there are werewolves or vampires or swamp creatures?”
“I’m being serious.”
“I know you are. We can be careful. It will be one of those adventures we don’t have much more time left for.”
I’m not sure I would have agreed had I not already been feeling so bad about leaving him. I much prefer to follow carefully planned schedules and chart predictable courses. I’m absolutely sure that if I say no, Edmund will agree. He’s never dragged me into anything I tell him I don’t want to do. He might wheedle and try to convince me, but he respects my final decision.
“All right,” I say at last. “We can give it a try.”
He sits up, his expression brightening. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously. How long will it take to get there?”
“If we change course now, we should get there by the end of the day tomorrow. If the rough coordinates Jon gave me are accurate.”
“We should have plenty of supplies then. Let’s do it.”
Edmund pushes himself up to his feet.
“But I’m not agreeing to wander aimlessly through the Pacific. If we can’t find it by tomorrow night, we’ll have to turn back.”
“It’s a deal.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Just think. If you spent six more years with me, you might turn out as wild and spontaneous as me.”
I laugh as he heads back toward the helm and call out after him, “Don’t count on it.”
***
T HE FOLLOWING DAY I take an hour’s nap after lunch and get up feeling relaxed but slightly disoriented.
Needing to anchor myself somehow, I go to look for Edmund.
I find him behind the helm, frowning down at the computer screen above his instrument panel.
I can tell from the frown on his face and the hunch of his shoulders that something is wrong. “What is it?” I ask, coming over to sit beside him.
“There’s a storm out here. It looks pretty bad. It was supposed to be farther out, but it’s changing course and coming toward us.”
“Oh.” My chest clenches in disappointment—more for Edmund than for me. “Are we going to get into it?”
“I don’t know. We shouldn’t have, and we might still be okay. It’s not clear what it’s doing yet.”
“Can we go around it?” I peer at the screen he’s been studying that charts all the weather and wind advisories. I see the storm he’s referring to. “If it’s coming this way, we can just veer south for a while and get around it. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, probably. But you said if we couldn’t find the island by tonight that we’ll have to turn around. If we change course that much, there’s no way we’ll get there by then.”
“Oh. Well. That’s okay. We’ve got plenty stocked up for an extra day or two. If we can avoid that storm, I don’t mind still trying for it.”
“You sure?” He looks up and searches my face.
“Yes. I’m sure. I know this is a good boat, but I don’t want to risk sailing through a storm. But if we can get around it, I’m on board for finding that island.”
He grins at me. “Okay. Thanks.” His brown eyes are softer than normal. I really have no idea what he’s thinking other than that he’s pleased I still want to go on this adventure with him.
***
T HAT EVENING, I MAKE us sandwiches down in the galley, and I’m surprised by how strong the wind is when I come back up to the deck.
It’s been increasing in force all afternoon, but earlier it didn’t worry me. Now it’s blowing so hard I have trouble navigating the short route over to the helm with our sandwiches.
“This is crazy,” I say, speaking loudly to be heard over the wind and the waves. “Is it from that storm?”
“Yeah. We’re not sailing into it, but we must be getting some of the wind on the edge.” His hair is whipping all around his face, and there are faint shadows under his eyes. He still hasn’t shaved, so his stubble is dark and rough on the lower part of his face.
He didn’t take a break all afternoon because he wanted to keep watching the course of the storm. He’s got to be tired. He accepts the sandwich I pass him and takes a big bite without even glancing at it.
“Is everything okay?” I ask when he studies his computer screen again.
“Y-yeah. I think so.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. That damn storm keeps changing course. We’re okay right now, but I really can’t tell what it’s going to do.”
He sounds mostly matter-of-fact—not urgent or panicked—but he so rarely worries about anything that his words trigger alarm bells anyway.
“So do you think we should give up on the island and just get away?” I ask him.
He hesitates, his eyes moving over the screen and his controls. “Yeah. We better. That storm is rough, and I’ve never tested this boat in bad weather.”
I let out a breath. Relief mostly. “Okay. Then let’s do it.”
As he’s starting to adjust course, I add, “I’m kind of impressed you aren’t all excited about sailing straight into a storm.”
He’s distracted for a minute, plotting a different course and turning the boat. But he mutters under his breath, “Never with you on board.”
***
T HE NEXT FIVE HOURS are bad.
Really bad.
Absolutely terrifying.
Despite our changing course, the weather gets worse and worse. The storm has clearly shifted yet again and is basically moving right on top of us. Edmund never steps away from the helm for even a few seconds to stretch his legs or pee. I do my best not to distract him, but I don’t feel comfortable being anywhere but right next to him.
The water is so choppy that I’d get sick for sure down in my cabin, but mostly I need to be where I can see exactly what’s going on.
It’s not even seven in the evening yet, but the storm clouds are so thick that it’s almost pitch-black anyway. It started raining about an hour ago, so both Edmund and I are drenched. And I have to hold on to the support rail to not get blown overboard from the wind.
Even out on deck, I’m nauseated. I’m used to the rhythmic rolling of the boat, but it’s being buffeted around right now in wild and unpredictable ways. I desperately need a short space of calm to recover my balance and stabilize my center, but there’s not much chance of that happening anytime soon.
“You okay?” Edmund asks after a minute. His knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel.
“Y-yeah. I think so. What about you?”
“I’m hating myself,” he mutters, glancing over at me very briefly. “I never should have done this to you.”
“You didn’t do anything. You had no way of knowing this storm would shift so far off course. You turned around as soon as we could tell it was going to be dangerous. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I mean everything I’m saying despite my rising fear. Not for an instant would I blame Edmund for this situation. It didn’t happen because of any mistake or risky choice he made.
“You’re doing a good job,” I add, reaching out to touch him gently on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t answer, and the silence feels like a knell of doom.
The next hour that passes is even worse. More terrifying and sickening. This boat isn’t a small one, but it’s being tossed around in the choppy water like it’s a dinghy. I actually do throw up at one point and am shaky and embarrassed afterward.
We just can’t seem to get away from the storm.
I’m trying to stay as quiet as possible so nothing I do distracts Edmund from sailing, but I really want to cry and whimper. I’m no longer convinced we’re going to survive this.
Then it’s even worse. Because I see a wave moving toward us.
It’s not a normal wave. In fact, I’m not even sure that’s the right word for the mountain of water approaching us like in slow motion.
“Edmund,” I choke out.
He’s steering like crazy, trying to get the boat out of the line of that wave.
But the wave is everywhere. Everything. Impossible to elude.
I watch in a weird daze as it overtakes us. The boat rises and rises and turns sideways at a weird angle.
It’s almost surreal. Can’t actually be happening to me. To us.
Then something hard slams into my head and the entire world goes dark.
Maybe it’s just as well.
***
T HE NEXT THING I’M aware of is choking on seawater. It fills my mouth. Pushes down my throat.
I cough and sputter and do my best to spit it out. Instinct more than any conscious thought.
I’m freezing. That’s the next thing that enters my consciousness.
“Autumn!”
Someone is saying my name. Screaming it. And the loud, hoarse voice is right at my ear.
“Autumn!”
“Stop screaming at me.” Awareness is finally breaking into the dark haze of my mind. I’m in the water. The ocean. That’s why I’m so cold and so wet and so close to choking on water.
I’m not swimming, but I’m also not drowning. Something tight is holding me around the chest, just under my armpits.
“Thank fucking God,” that same voice mutters from behind me.
Edmund. He’s got a grip on me. He’s half swimming and half holding me so my face is above the water. He’s somehow managed to keep me from drowning.
I start kicking my legs, trying to help him in any way I can.
“Good,” he gasps. “Good girl. We’ve got to try to swim.”
I can’t see anything but the night sky and the choppy waves of ocean water all around us. “Swim where?”
“There’s a piece of hull not too far away. If we can make it over there, we can try to climb on. It will be better than trying to tread water.”
I have no idea what would be better or where the piece of the hull is or what kind of chance we have to survive at all. But he starts swimming with his legs and one arm in a particular direction, so I do my best to help him.
He doesn’t let go of me.
We swim and swim and don’t seem to make any progress or move any noticeable distance. But suddenly there’s a big piece of boat right in front of my eyes.
I grab for it, managing to get my hand to grip a contour in the wood. It’s bobbing wildly in the rough water.
Edmund is moving too. He grabs on and shouts, “Hold on. Don’t you dare let go.”
“I’m not. You don’t have to yell at me.” I’m holding on with both hands now, and it’s a relief to use it to keep me above water rather than only Edmund and my own strength.
He ignores my grumpy words and manages to heft himself up onto the top of the large chunk of hull. Then he reaches down with both hands and drags me up too.
There’s room for both of us to stretch out flat on our stomachs, gripping the dubious security of the piece of wreckage like it’s our last lifeline.
It probably is.
I’m still freezing. And soaking wet. And my head hurts and my stomach is churning and every muscle in my body is aching.
“Are we going to die out here?” I hear myself asking.
“No,” Edmund rasps. He lifts one arm and drops it back down so it’s draped over my back. I’m not sure if he’s trying to comfort me or trying to keep me from being tossed back into the water. “We’re not going to die.”
“Okay.”
I’m not sure why, but I believe him. I just have no idea how we’re going to be saved.
There’s nothing left for us to say to each other. I’m so exhausted and weak I can barely keep my eyes open.
We stay there, clinging to part of what used to be our boat, and let the water take us wherever it wants to go.