“The book,” he says, swallowing hard. “The one my mother gave me… it was her Bible.”
The punishing rainis exactly what I need to hide behind. No one will see my tears. No one will bear witness to the last breath I take. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’ll never see my sister again—or meet my brother.
I guess that shouldn’t matter. He never even knew I existed. But I hope America tells him about me—that I loved him. Really loved him.
I hope that one day I’ll dance in his dreams—pull a smile from his face when he closes his eyes. And I’ll keep him safe. I promise I will. He’ll never have to hide in the rain.
And if by chance he does… I’ll be there.
To dance with him.
I hum deliriously, giving myself over to the pelting rain, letting my mind drift to its soothing rhythm. “Take me away,” I whisper, surrendering to the storm’s power of protection.
It will be over soon.
I’ll be free.
With that final thought, I spread my arms wide?—
And surrender?—
“Son! Are you okay?! Can you hear me?!”
My eyes fly open through a blur of tears.
“Son, let’s get you to safety! Hop on!”
A hand grips my arm, yanking me forward. I tumble headfirst into a small rowboat, the wood cold and slick beneath me. The sky above is black, but the moon burns bright as a spotlight. I squint as the waves thrash against us, the boat rocking in wild, uneven jerks.
I think I’m going to puke.
“Hold on!” the man shouts over the wind. “I’ll get you to shore!”
Putain! Why is he yelling? My head throbs, skull splitting, and the salty air sears my eyes.
And the rain?—
What happened to the rain?
I drag my wrists across my face, wiping away the tears that won’t stop. Except—they’re gone.
I jolt upright, heart pounding, and the yacht looms in the distance, lights flickering against the waves.
“Putain! I need to get off this boat!”
“Settle down, son,” the man says, voice steady, roughened by age. “I’m an old man. I’m rowing as fast as I can. We’ll be back on shore shortly.”
He reaches behind him, uncaps a bottle of water, and hands it to me. “Looks like they didn’t find anything.” He nods toward the yacht as he rows.
“W-what are they looking for?” My voice cracks as I pour the water down my throat too fast. I forget to swallow and double over, coughing.
“Careful there.” He pats my back with a heavy hand before picking the oars back up. “Probably drugs,” he says simply. “A yacht that size’s gotta be owned by a drug lord.”
The sand grinds under the hull as he hits the shore. The man hops out first, tugging the boat higher onto the beach.
“Come on, son.” He offers a hand, patient and kind. “Let me give you a hand.”
But the moment my feet hit solid ground?—
