Unbroken Connection (2 page)

Chapter 2

HOMESICK

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10

D
IVE
B
UDDY
: nobody

D
ATE
: 09/23

D
IVE
#: not diving

L
OCATION
: Khoa Lak, Thailand

D
IVE
S
ITE
: Queen Nautica (my dive boat)

W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: monsoon

W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: 6’ swells

D
EPTH
: 20’ under the keel

V
ISIBILITY
: 0’

W
ATER
T
EMP
.: 72

B
OTTOM
T
IME
: none

C
OMMENTS
:

Rain. Tropical downpour. Sheets of it. Every day—endless. Fierce. Not like when I first got here—gentle evening rainfall that cooled down the steamy world. The Queen Nautica, my dive boat, ran overnighters out to Phi-Phi and Krabi Islands. Nice and hot. Okay diving. So different from the Caribbean. Limestone cliffs jutting out of the sea. Vibrant soft corals. You feel like you must be at the end of the earth—all alone in the wild beauty of it—until six other dive boats show up at the same spot.

It’s still steamy hot, but the monsoons have come—sheets of water that bring Isadore back every night.

Before I took this job, no one bothered to tell me that the Similans are officially closed until November 1st. Guess I should have researched better. They say it’s too rough. Too wet. Powerful winds. An operator who ran illegal trips out there during the summer sunk his launch. The Thai government made the islands a national park, and now they close it up from mid-May to November. Rumor is illegal fishermen slip in and lay traps. I don’t know if the rangers stay out on the islands year round. Sounds like they should.

With all this rain, there’s not much diving anywhere for a couple more weeks—if you take the forecasters at their word. I’m supposed to be working on my Captain’s license. Can’t do the water stuff in this weather. Can’t concentrate on the written crap. I spend my days trapped in the belly of the Queen Nautica organizing and fixing the tangled mountain of scuba gear the last guy left behind. The QN is docked at dumpy, grimy, nowhere’sville Khoa Lak, a blip on the coast surrounded by endless rubber plantations. I sleep on the boat, but at least we’re not out on the water, so I get off at dinnertime. I’ve tried to chat with Leesie again, but she’s never online. Always in class or out with her roommates. I hope it’s her roommates.

I hate that bar—all those pretty girls prowling for white men with full wallets who aim to retire on Phuket with Thai girlfriend benefits. Every white guy I’ve met so far is divorced and living with a Thai woman. Even my boss, Claude’s dad, Captain Jean. But the bar is the closest place to Khoa Lak with internet. McDonalds? Is Leesie kidding? Closest Mickey D’s is at least ninety minutes south.

Two more days, and she’ll be waiting for me. Friday. Soon as I’m off.

She promised.

LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 09/23 1:45 AM

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #50, WHAT IF?

What if I’d smiled at Troy and said, “Okay.”

Avoided his hand and the make out bushes,

but treated him like a person instead of temptation?

What if I accepted his feelings

as true, ate Hot Tamales and explained

the rules? Invited him to church?

What if I wasn’t so afraid of the way

he made me feel when I looked in his dazzling blue eyes

that all I could do was scream, “No,” and run?

He would have laughed and moved on,

made fun of my sacred pearls of great price,

hassled me all through high school anyway.

Or

Maybe he would have listened.

Maybe he would have changed.

Maybe he would have said, “Yes.”

High school life would have been so different:

popular, accepted—

protected.

His life, too—changed, blessed.

What did I rob him of?

I was too afraid, too weak, too righteous

to try—

No way

will I mess up

like that

again.

Chapter 3

LIFELINE

LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 9/23 3:41 AM