“But the void—”
“She’s a survivor. She’s smart. Plus she took the bullets out of Victoria’s gun, so they might need her.”
I laugh.
My laugh dies in the wind, and I listen to waves crash in the desert. I wish I were back in the water. I don’t want to go into the house. I won’t be able to sleep, not knowing if Victoria and Sean plan to cooperate with the plan or betray us immediately.
It’s a good plan. But I bet there are plenty of people in town who think killing me is an even better plan. I’m glad that Claire is following them, even though I would have stopped her if I could have.
Standing on the porch, I make a decision. “Grab pillows and blankets. We’ll sleep in the art barn tonight. I’ll leave Claire a note, in case she comes back before dawn.”
Peter obeys without question, which I think means he thinks it’s the right call.
He comes back with backpacks stuffed with bedding, as well as snacks. I leave a note, deliberately vague and cryptic so only she will understand, stuck to one of the spines of the puffer fish. We then strap the packs on our backs and head out, after locking the door with even more care than usual.
We spend the bulk of the journey on the rooftops. He runs across the roofs in a low crouch, and I mimic him, walking across several of the boards rather than scooting like I usually do. Peter helps me onto the zip line to cross to the abandoned Laundromat, and I help catch him and undo his harness when he crosses. We move silently and quickly, and I try not to think about how I’ve become used to this life.
Several roofs later, I look back over my shoulder. “Wait,” I say softly. The sun is setting over the ocean. I haven’t seen that sight in literally years. I can’t remember when I last drove down to the ocean purely to see the play of orange and red on the waves. It’s more stunning than I remember, even with the void obscuring the actual horizon. Peter says nothing, but he watches with me. I have tears in my eyes. I wipe them away with the back of my hand.
As the last dollop of sun vanishes, I turn and lead the way across the final rooftops. It’s not too dark yet, though the ground below us is shadowed. We make it across the roofs as the first stars come out.
Peter drops to the ground, and I join him for the last part of the journey. We skulk through the shadows until we reach the barn, and then we wordlessly check the booby traps that we’d set around it. None have been triggered. No one is interested in an old hay barn. We slip inside.
It’s dark already in the barn, but I want the masterpieces exposed. I like the idea of having them around me as we sleep. By feel, I go from piece to piece and remove the sheets over them. The sheets flutter to the ground as I pull them, and the breeze whooshes in my face.
Finishing, I look for Peter. His silhouette is barely visible from the stray moonlight that seeps between the boards of the walls. He hasn’t unpacked the backpacks yet, so I do it by feel, pulling out the pillows and blankets. I lay the sheets that I’d pulled from the artwork on the dirt floor and then I put the pillows and blanket on top. Only when I finish do I realize that I’ve put them side by side, whereas we could have easily slept apart or in different corners.
I look again at Peter and then at the blankets.
I can’t move them without being obvious about it. Besides, I’m not sure I really want to be alone asleep in this cavernous barn, even with the Monets and Rembrandts watching over me.
I am aware of him in the darkness as I kick off my shoes and slide in between the blankets. I didn’t pack pj’s, so I’m sleeping in my clothes. I hear him lie down beside me.
“Your plan isn’t a permanent solution,” Peter says. “At best, it will buy some time. Keep the void at bay for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, until people begin to doubt again.”
“Maybe that will give the Missing Man enough time to return.”
Peter doesn’t respond. In the darkness, I can’t guess what he’s thinking. I listen to him breathe. It reminds me of the waves, the steady crash as the water folds under and embraces itself. At last, he says, “Tell me about your mother.”
I’m startled. He rarely asks about my life before Lost. He’s always about the moment, the now. It’s one of the things that’s great about him. Everything is about surviving the moment and wringing as much joy out of it as he can.
Lying beside him, I realize I don’t want to think about the past, either. Not right now. It hurts too much. So instead of thinking and instead of answering, I turn toward where I know he is, I scoot closer until our bodies are touching, and I kiss him.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s like kissing sunlight. His lips are warm and soft, and I feel his body against mine. His hands are in my hair and then on my face, cupping my cheeks.
For an instant, I am not lost.
But then he draws back.
I feel his body shift away, and I’m cold. Air drifts between us. He doesn’t speak. I hear him turn, and I think his back must be toward me. I reach toward him but stop before my fingers can brush his skin.
I touch my lips and feel more alone than I did before.
I lie still and stare at the dark rectangles that I know are the masterpieces. I imagine that I’m on that ship in the Sea of Galilee, and I’m pulling on the rigging with my full weight, waiting for the clouds to break, waiting to be saved, trusting I will be saved. I listen to Peter’s breath as it slows. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in... I mimic that, trying to will myself to sleep within the rhythm of his breath.
I dream of the crash of waves and the feel of water on my skin and the softness of Peter’s lips. I don’t wake until dawn.
