Or, god help me, both of them.
“We should wrap him in one of those blankets and leave him there,” Ivy finally says.
“Like a baked potato?” George mutters, makingmechuckle.
We fist bump, ignoring Ivy and Sarah’s disapproving frowns. Lisatsksat me.
“We’re adrift in a goddamned life raft in the middle of thefuckingocean,” I snap at her. “If you think I’mnotgoing to make jokes, then just jump your happy little ass out and swim for it and pick another life raft. Be my guest.” I look around. “Oh, wait—”
Connie lays a hand on my arm. “Susa,” she implores, “please.”
It’s the first words she’s spoken in over a day.
I sigh. “Fine. We should search him, find out if he has a wallet, keep anything like that, take his jewelry, and give him a water burial.”
“Why take his jewelry?” Ivy asks, giving me a suspicious glare.
“If he’s got family who wants it.”
Ivy blinks. “Oh.”
“What? You think I want to steal his wedding band and hustle my ass down to a pawn shop?Look around!” I sit up on my knees and hold my arms out, sweeping them in a circle. “We’re in themiddleof afuckingocean!” I scream, close to snapping.
“You don’t have to berude,” Sarah scolds.
Yep. I can see it now. When we get out of here, evvvvveryone will hear about the Florida biatch. I’m sure Kevin Markos willloveto nod sympathetically andtsk-tskwith them as he gets them to recount how the mean woman yelled at them.
Ifwe get out of here.
Pleaselet us get out of here.
“Susa’s right,” George says. “He’s going to decompose.”
Ivy wrinkles her nose. “That’s disrespectful.”
“It’sbiology,” George says. “And as he decomposes, it putsusat risk of diseases.”
He moves to do exactly what I suggested—stripping the body. I help. A few minutes later, we’ve recovered his wallet, passport, $22.48 in cash from his pockets, sugar-free breath mints—the rat bastard was holding out on us—his wedding ring, watch, a dead cell phone, and one of those small souvenir pocketknives, withPatemblazoned on it, likely purchased at our last stop. Since we were on charter flights, they weren’t dinging us for little shit like that.
“We might need that,” I whisper, and George nods and pockets it. The rest of the stuff, except for the breath mints, we put in one of the zipper cases for the rescue packs. The mints go into the community pot, which isn’t much.
“What about his clothes?” Allen asks.
I might regret this later, but I shake my head. “I don’t want them. Does anyone else need something?”
They shake their heads.
I share a glance with George and we realize it’s time.
“Don’t tell my voters, but I’m a hard-core atheist,” he whispers, nearly cracking me up. “You want to say something?”
“I’m not…anything,” I admit. “But I can wing it.” I clear my throat. Maybe it’ll help rehab my rep for later. “Heavenly spirit, we release Pat to you, and hope his soul has found its way to whatever eternal reward he believed in. Please let him go in peace, and…blessings. Or whatever.” I admit I sort of stumbled at the end, not knowing what else to say. “Amen,” I add.
Softamensfrom the others echo through the raft. Then George and I roll Pat out of the raft through a dip in the side where a mounting ladder is. There, his body slips into the water with a gentlesplash.
As we watch Pat’s body slowly disappear, sinking below the surface, George sighs and catches my eye. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” he whispers…
And Icackle. Making him smile, at least.
