“What’s the longest you’ve ever been stuck on land?”
We’ve been lodged against the reef for eight days, and although I haven’t admitted it to him, I hope we stay longer. Maybe months, a year even. I like it here. A sandy beach only a short swim away, with plenty of fresh fruit.
We’ve rebuilt the chicken coop, planted seeds in the garden, cleaned up about a third of the island. Some of the mud and muck will likely take a good rain to wash away.
“A few days. Never this long.”
I’m quiet. And he senses it.
“Ye like it here,” he says.
“Don’t you?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “Been at sea so long, suppose I got used to it.”
“We could make a home here,” I suggest, dropping my arm from my eyes and looking at him.
“Aye.” But he doesn’t sound so sure.
“You might start to love it—even someone as salty and sea-mad as you.”
He laughs, and the sound makes my chest feel buoyant. “What about ye?” he poses. “A woman from Seattle is nae kin of the sun.”
“It’s because I’m from Seattle that I love the sun.”
He laughs again, and I pull both my legs from the water, turning to kiss him on the cheek. “I’d go to the Arctic with you,” I say playfully, as if we are two teenagers who’ve run away from home, deciding where to go next. Hoping to see the whole world. Carefree and aimless.
“Arctic is jeelit, skin feels like it’s sloughing from the bones.”
“You’ve been to the arctic?”
“Bloody close enough. Prefer not to drift that way anytime soon.”
I cross my legs under me, tilting my head back to savor the warmth of the afternoon sun.
The rod in his hand tugs downward and he stands, reeling in the line quickly until he yanks the fish free from the water. I’m ready with our bucket, maneuvering the slippery thing inside.
I can see the satisfaction on his face, and I smile, loving how beautiful he is like this, standing over the turquoise water, his skin darker each day. I can’t imagine a life any better than this.
But as he gazes toward the open sea, there is something else in him. A thought. Tiny, diminutive. A secret in his eyes. Something so microscopic it may have been there all along and I never noticed. Like he’s holding back the ocean with his hands, keeping us from drowning, but eventually it will overtake us.
Out here, I’ve learned that the sea is neither friend nor foe. She is volatile, capricious. And she could rip us from this paradise whenever she decides.
A second later, Clay turns, stares back at the beach. And the thing I saw in him is gone.
Maybe I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist.
It’s still dark outside. The sunrise hours away.
I slide from bed, Clay sleeping quietly with only a sheet over his chest.
At the shoreline, I slip naked into the water. It’s warm, but the air is cool, and it sends goose bumps down my legs to my toes.
I wade forward until I’m forced to swim.
Clay would be upset if he knew what I was doing.Ye should never go to the beach alone, he told me days ago.
But this I have to do alone. Because he would never understand.
