That was good—it almost felt normal. Or at least the most normal that things have felt since he got kicked off the boat.
It was Admiral Hickey’s decision. He came to the Keys around the end of October, and the Committee figured who better to be on the boat than a formal navy admiral. The crew didn’t realize thatmeant one of us would be kicked off. There are only two bedrooms—berths—on the sailboat and the dining area converts into a bed as well. So with just Cara, Daria, Andrew, Trevor, and me, it all would have worked fine. Andrew and I could share a bed. Cara and Daria could figure out which other bed they wanted, and there would always be someone awake to sail the boat by night, which we’d make a schedule for. Sailing the forty-two-foot boat alone was difficult, but not impossible. And whoever was sleeping in the dining area would be on call in case of emergency.
With Hickey’s arrival, things got more complicated. It also didn’t help that Andrew jokes around all the time and Hickey is a no-nonsense naval officer. It would work perfectly in a Daphne De Silva novel, but in real life they butted heads nonstop. Andrew put a target on his own back.
I told him over and over to be careful, but he said he already knew he’d be booted off, it was just a matter of time.
Which is when I told him that if he didn’t go, I wouldn’t go either. Cara, Daria, Trevor, and Hickey could go on their own to bring Henri down here. Besides, Andrew and I had been talking about leaving and heading back to the cabin my mother had in Pennsylvania. Fort Caroline had sent people as far as northern Florida to hunt me down, all because one of their leader’s sons tried to kill us. Of course, they didn’t care about that part, just that I killedhimto save ourselves. So for weeks we talked about running back to the cabin. Alone, in the woods—just the two of us—it’d be harder for them to find us again. And maybe we should just go already before winter really hit.
That’s when we started fighting. He argued with me in front ofeveryone and stormed off. When I chased him we kept arguing. Back and forth for over three hours. At the time I thought he was just pissed at Hickey and taking it out on me, but the longer we argued the more I wondered if it was something else. Something that had been brewing between us but had never been said out loud.
The next day when he avoided me, it only cemented that feeling.
And now I’m too afraid to ask him what it is.
Andrew
I’M TRYING TO FORCE MYSELF TO HAVEfun but I’d rather be spending my time with Jamie. Rocky Horror is right: I need to talk this all out with him. Not the sex stuff; that’s obviously on an indefinite hold until we work out our issues. But talking to him before the social wasn’t so bad.
“Why don’t you stop being a little bitch and ask your man to dance?” Rocky Horror plops down on the picnic bench next to me with a glass of hooch. The smell turns my stomach. They don’t call it hooch, but it’s absolutely hooch. Basically the cheapest, easiest way to make alcohol: citrus, water, sugar, and yeast that they bury in the sand for five days to ferment.
I look over at Jamie, who’s talking to Daphne. “He’s doing his goodbyes, in case he doesn’t see people before Sunday. Probably pawning me off on grub duty with Daph while he’s away.”
“Grub duty?” Rocky Horror waves away the flies that have already gathered around us because of the hooch.
Daphne is an Islamorada local. She spent her winters here even before the bug, and the greenhouse behind her little bungalow is oneof the few places in the Keys—maybe even the world—still growing tomatoes. This past year has been a nightmare for her with the bugs. Apparently every time she picks off a cluster of grub eggs, there’s at least one more she misses. Jamie helps her on Saturday and Sunday mornings—when he isn’t doing boat stuff—in exchange for some tomatoes. I explain all this to Rocky Horror, who nods.
“Well,” he says, “I have it on good authority that when this song ends, there’s a slow one coming up.”
The band is actually good tonight. No singer, which I sometimes think makes it better. The only electricity is being used for the string lights hanging from the big tent’s ceiling, so the band is just two acoustic guitars, a mandolin, an upright bass, and a viola. The five musicians have clearly been practicing together, because their acoustic-bluegrassy version of either Sia or Ed Sheeran almost sounds professional.
When I don’t move, Rocky Horror adds, “I have it on good authority because I paid them tomakethe next song a slow one, so get up and ask Jamie to dance or you owe me fifty bucks.”
I sigh and get up, making it halfway to Jamie before I turn around and walk back to Rocky Horror. “Fifty bucks? In what currency?”
He wipes the citrus hooch from his beard and flicks his hand at me. “It’s a figure of speech. I just asked them to do it—what are they gonna do, say, ‘No, we have too much artistic integrity to play slow music’?” He blows a raspberry and turns his attention to Amy and Cara.
I laugh and, sure enough, as the fast song ends and everyone claps, a slow one begins. I walk up to Daphne and Jamie, and Daph smiles wider when she sees me.
“Would you mind if I stole you for a dance?” I ask.
Jamie smiles and his cheeks flush. “Yeah, sure.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I hold out my hand to Daphne, who lets out, legit, the best laugh I have ever heard from a human being in my life. Then she smacks it away and says, “You couldn’t handle it.”
“Wow! And I thought we were friends!” She holds her hands out to my face and I bend down to kiss her cheek as she kisses mine. Then she lets me take Jamie’s hand and lead him to the dance floor.
But from there he leads me. He pulls me close and holds my hand out as we sway on the tiny dance floor surrounded by picnic tables.
“I don’t want to ruin the moment,” Jamie says, and I already know what he’s going to ask. “But where is this coming from all of a sudden?”
“Here’s the deal. I’m a proud person and I really hate apologizing, so save this in your mind grapes for a rainy day because it doesn’t happen frequently: I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”
He feigns surprise. “He admits it.” Then he dips me, and I grab on to him tighter.
“I’m always surprised when I remember you can dance,” I tell him as he pulls me back up.
“Do I look like someone who can’t dance?”
