Uncharted (10 page)

But maybe it was better if she slept. Maybe that was her body’s way of dealing with the stress. I lay down next to her, listening to her slow and steady breathing. At one point she cried out in her sleep, and my body tensed, preparing for another round of tears. I put my arms around her and drew her close. She didn’t wake up, though. She clung to me and finally her grip loosened as she drifted into a deeper sleep. I held her all night long, dozing fitfully, trying to erase the memory of the terrible things that had happened on the beach.

•   •   •

When Calia woke up early the next morning, I helped her out of the tent. She shielded her eyes against the bright light of the sun and her knees buckled. I caught her before she fell. “Let’s get some water,” I said. She let me lead her over to where we kept the water. Once she sat down, she looked around, scanning the beach as if she was searching for someone. I crouched beside her, uncapped the water, and held it to her mouth. She drank reflexively at first, but then her thirst kicked in and she took the bottle from my hands, draining it. “Do you want some more?” I asked.

“No, thank you,” she said. Her eyes seemed unfocused and her voice sounded raspy from the crying. I put my arm around her, which seemed to comfort her. “After I hear back from my pilot I’ll have him come get us and take us to the hotel, okay? I left him a message. I’m sure he’ll be calling very soon.”

“Okay,” she said. I hated lying to her, but maybe it didn’t matter because her tone was apathetic at best. I could have told her anything and she probably would have responded the same way.

“Do you think you can eat something?” I asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to rinse off?” She was covered in James’s dried blood. Her arms and legs were streaked red, and her shorts and shirt were tacky with it; it seemed to be everywhere. There was no way she’d go in the water, but I could have put her under the shower and dressed her in clean clothes.

“I just want to sit, Owen.”

So we sat in the shade under the tree all morning, not talking. At one point I realized Calia had fallen asleep again, slumped against me, so I laid her down with her head in my lap. I stared out at the water, and I no longer noticed the vibrant color or the clear shallows. I could only see the image of blood staining the water a cruel red.

The sky became overcast an hour later and at first I didn’t think anything of it. During the rainy season, it wasn’t uncommon for there to be periods of showers off and on throughout the day. Sometimes the rain fell while the sun still shone, and sometimes the clouds rolled in suddenly, rolling out just as fast when the rain ended.

But the sky darkened and the rain didn’t come. The wind picked up a little and churned the water in the lagoon, and I could almost feel the drop in barometric pressure. I’d thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse, but of course they could; they always could. I felt like screaming at the sky.

I roused Calia, but she didn’t seem to register the approaching storm. I had to start preparing, which would be more difficult since I’d be moving everything by myself.

“The weather’s turning a bit,” I said, trying to downplay the situation. “It will probably blow through fast, so don’t worry.” I didn’t want to alarm her, but Calia looked at me with fear in her eyes, and I remembered the tears I’d seen in them during the last storm. “It’ll be okay,” I said. But I honestly didn’t know how much more she could take.

I stood up and had taken a few steps toward the tent when I heard the sound: the twin engines of a seaplane. The relief that swept through me was immeasurable, and it grew as the plane suddenly came into view, dropping out of the clouds and landing in the lagoon. When I looked back on it later, I wondered if there had been some kind of divine intervention. Like the universe had decided we’d suffered enough, so it sent us the one thing I had always dreaded but actually needed right then: a storm we couldn’t ride out.

“Stay here,” I said to Calia, though I probably didn’t need to, because she didn’t seem as if she had the ability to follow me.

The door to the seaplane was already open when I reached it. He took one look at my face and said, “It’s okay, son. I told you I’d come get you if the weather got too bad. I tried to call but you didn’t answer.

“James is dead,” I blurted. “He got bitten by something, a shark probably, and bled to death.” I thought telling someone would make me feel better, but it didn’t. It made it seem more real, more horrifying. Especially when I saw the expression on Captain Forrester’s face. I’d never seen him look shocked before, but that’s what I was seeing now. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do,” I yelled. “I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

“Okay, calm down. Listen,” he said, glancing toward the beach where Calia was lying slumped over on the sand. “The first thing we’re going to do is pack up and head back before this storm really lets loose. We’ll worry about what to do next when we get there.” He jumped into the water and looked over his shoulder at me. “Come on, son.”

It took several trips. We hurried back and forth to the seaplane carrying the camp stove, the tent, Calia’s and my suitcase, James’s backpack, and the tent. The beach showed no sign of anyone having been there except for the large red stain on the sand that the rain would wash away.

The first crack of thunder came when I was about to walk into the woods. “There are some things in the house,” I said.

“Anything you can’t replace?” he asked with some urgency. “We really need to get going.”

I mentally inventoried the contents of the house: Calia’s guitar, my toolbox, James’s sleeping bag, and a few of his clothes.

“No.”

“Then leave it behind.”

I carried Calia to the seaplane and once I got her inside I buckled her in tight. She laid her hand on my arm, gripping it tight.

“We can’t leave him,” she said.

“We have to, Calia.” I picked up her hand and held it between both of mine. “We don’t have any choice.”

•   •   •

The wind and rain battered the small plane and the lightning lit up the sky. If I hadn’t already been dealing with one traumatic event, I might have worried about the thunder that sounded like a bomb going off every few seconds. Maybe I should have worried that the plane would crash, but I didn’t.

If you’d asked me right then, I might have said I was pretty sure Calia wouldn’t have cared if it did.

When we finally landed I helped secure the seaplane to the dock.

“I got you a room at the hotel,” Captain Forrester said. “Go. Take care of her and call me when you get settled.”

Inside the seaplane, I unbuckled Calia. “I need you to come with me,” I said. I hated that my voice sounded so stern, but she had to walk under her own power because I’d have my hands full until I could get us checked in.

I slung my duffel bag over my arm and pulled our two suitcases behind me as the rain pelted us. The only positive is that it washed some of the blood from Calia’s skin so we wouldn’t look like something out of a horror film when we walked into the hotel.

I sat her on a bench in the lobby and once I had the room key I motioned her to follow.

•   •   •

When we entered our room I closed the door behind us, went into the bathroom, and filled the tub with warm water. Calia was sitting on the edge of the bed, not crying, not speaking. Just sitting there. I pulled her gently to her feet and she put her hand in mine and let me lead her to the bathroom. I took off her clothes and helped her step into the tub.

“Please don’t leave,” she whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” I said. Using my cupped hands, I scooped up water and let it run down her scalp until her hair was wet. I washed her hair and her body and when the water turned pink I quickly drained the tub. I turned the taps on again and filled it with fresh water, which stayed clear this time. “Are you warm enough?” I asked.

She nodded and laid her head against the back of the tub, so I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the stall shower on the opposite side of the room. After quickly washing myself, I wrapped a towel around my waist and knelt down beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Let’s get you dried off,” I said, helping her out of the tub.

“Okay.”

I patted her skin with a towel and grabbed one of the robes from the closet, wrapping it around her and leading her back to the bed. After I pulled back the covers she slid between the sheets and curled into a ball. “I’m going to order some food and it would really make me feel better if you could try to eat something.” Neither of us had eaten since breakfast the day before, and though I had no appetite, my stomach felt empty and hollow. “Do you want to try some soup?”

She nodded. “Can you order me some hot tea?”

“Of course.”

She tried, she really did. She managed to swallow some of the soup and all the tea. After that she burrowed down into the covers and went back to sleep, and eventually I joined her.

•   •   •

When I opened my eyes the next morning Calia was already awake. When she felt me stir she turned toward me. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she didn’t start crying again. “I miss him, Owen. I just miss him so much.”

“I know you do.” I pulled her closer. She rested her head on my chest and I rubbed her back. “Tell me what you want to do and I’ll make it happen.”

“I want to go home. I want to be where everything is familiar. Where James’s things are. Pictures of him. Things of his that I can smell and touch. I need that.”

“Then I’ll take you there,” I said.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know it seems like I’m barely functioning, but I can do this. I can get there on my own. I feel a bit better now, really.

“What about your uncle? Do you want me to call him? He may want to make arrangements . . . send someone to retrieve the body.”

She winced when I said that. “He won’t care,” she said. “He won’t want to be bothered. Mum has a friend named Sally. They’ve been close since they were young girls, like sisters almost. She always told me I was like a second daughter to her. I’ll call her. She’ll know what to do.”

“Do you still have your plane ticket?” I asked.

“It’s in my suitcase.”

“I’ll take care of switching your flight.”

“It’s my fault,” she said suddenly, like the knowledge had been pressing down on her and she couldn’t hold it in one more second. “I told him I wanted to go to the island and when he said he wouldn’t let me go alone I begged him to come with me. What have I done, Owen?”

I pulled her into my arms, and this time, her tears did fall again. “You didn’t do anything, Calia. You didn’t do anything at all.”

Because if James’s death was anyone’s fault, it was mine.

Anna

I feel as if my heart will break in two. The look on Owen’s face is almost more than I can bear, and I can tell without a doubt that his remorse runs miles deep. T.J. holds me in his arms as I cry silent tears for Owen, and for Calia, and especially for James.

I think about how many times T.J. and I were in danger and probably didn’t even know it. How many times were there sharks nearby that decided to leave us alone? Was the shark that bit James simply reminding him that he was in their territory? Maybe it was an exploratory bite but in the worst possible place, resulting in an injury far beyond Owen and Calia’s lifesaving abilities. James took risks the same way T.J. sometimes had while we were on the island. I’d been so angry the day I discovered him standing waist-deep in the water when he knew it was dangerous. I accused him of acting as if he were invincible. Maybe James thought he was invincible, too.

I’m torn between the relief that T.J. never had to pay for his actions with his life with the knowledge that James did. It all seems so random, arbitrary, unfair. A perfect storm of things that went wrong.

I simply can’t imagine what it had been like for all of them on the beach that day. Owen’s expression, full of heartache and pain and anguish, tells me that I probably never will.

Owen

Calia’s plane was scheduled to take off at 5:00
P.M
.

“I can go with you,” I said. “I’ll help you when you get home, make some calls, do whatever you need me to do.” I didn’t want to be in her way, and I sensed that she needed to be alone with James’s memory for a while, but it still felt wrong to just put her on a plane.

“I’ve got a few great girlfriends who will help me. I know I seem helpless, Owen, but I can do this.” She smiled at me. It was a weak smile, and it required some effort on her part, but it was a hell of an improvement from the almost-catatonic state she’d been in.

“I’ll go back and get him,” I said. It took a minute for my words to sink in, but then she seemed to understand.

“You will?” she asked.

“Yes.”

There was no disguising the hopeful expression on her face, and I realized that this was the one thing I
could
do for her. “When?”

“Whenever you want me to. I can go right away, or I can wait.” My words sounded braver than I felt. Maybe a better man wouldn’t have let anything stop him, but there was a part of me that could hardly stomach the thought of going back for James in the next couple of days, after the island heat and humidity had kicked his decomposition into high gear. But I would have, if she had said the word.

Calia must have been thinking about that, too, because she looked anxious and scared. “I don’t want to see him like that.”

“I understand.”

“He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

“Yes. No one is going to touch him or move him, or even know that he’s there. I can stay here, maybe bum around Thailand for a while, and then go back for him in early June, after you return from Africa. Then we’ll bury him.” I didn’t know how long it would take James to decompose fully, but that should be enough time to do it. I didn’t know the legalities involved in transporting human remains, either, but I had plenty of time to find out.

“There’s a small cemetery not far from my home. I would like to bring him there, Owen. I would like that a lot.”

“Okay. That’s what we’ll do then.”

Calia reached into her bag and pulled out a phone. “Program your number into my mobile.”

I typed in my contact information and hit
SAVE
, then handed it back to her.

“Thank you for being willing to bring James home,” she said.

“I’d do anything for you, Calia,” I said, and then I hailed a cab and we went to the airport.

•   •   •

Right before her boarding call, I took her face in my hands and kissed her softly. Then I pulled her close and whispered in her ear. She whispered a response in mine, hugged me one last time, and walked onto the plane.

•   •   •

She never called.

I expected her to let me know that she’d arrived in Farnham safely, and my cell phone was never far from my side those first few days. I checked it repeatedly, in case I’d somehow missed her call.

At first I told myself that she was probably busy trying to deal with all the things that would need her attention, and she’d just forgotten.

But how could you forget to make a call like that?

I also expected an outraged phone call from Calia’s uncle. She said he wouldn’t care, but how could you not care about something like that? How could you not attempt to bring your nephew’s body home, regardless of the relationship you had with him?

What I didn’t expect was to receive no call at all.

After she’d been gone a week I had my own version of a breakdown. I’d rented a small place in Malé after I checked out of the hotel, and it felt as if the walls were literally closing in. I was consumed by despair, and I’d convinced myself that Calia blamed me for James’s death, regretted ever crossing my path. That she didn’t have any intention of calling me but hadn’t wanted to hurt my feelings.

I felt utterly selfish and completely adrift. I couldn’t get past the fact that I’d ruined everything for Calia. My choices had inadvertently ended the life of the only person she had left in the world. The guilt and the remorse came crashing down and there were days when I could hardly get out of bed.

When it seemed like I had done nothing but sleep for weeks, I made myself get up. I didn’t want to, but I did. I took a shower and got dressed and I went outside for five minutes. Then I went inside and went back to bed. But the next day I got up again and I went for a walk through the streets of Malé. I made myself get out of bed every day after that, and eventually, I didn’t have to try that hard anymore. I did travel then, monthlong trips to Thailand and Sri Lanka, Vietnam and Cambodia. The traveling helped to pass the time.

At the beginning of June I made a phone call. “I need you to fly me back to the island.”

“Why, son?” Captain Forrester asked. “Why do you want to go back there?”

“Because I said I would.”

He didn’t try to talk me out of it. He agreed to help me, the way he always had. “Meet me at the seaplane dock at 9:00
A.M.
tomorrow, Owen.”

Just like old times.

I waited for him all morning, but he never showed. When I saw a group of pilots huddled together on the dock talking, I asked them if they knew anything.

And that’s when I found out that Captain Mick Forrester’s seaplane had gone down in the ocean carrying two people from Chicago.