Shipwrecked with Mr. Wrong

chapter THIRTEEN



‘THERE ya go, love.’

Mark, the boatman, passed the last of the supplies from The Journeyman onto the reef, where Honor received them absently. The waters were rougher today and waves splashed relentlessly onto the reef where she stood.

‘Thanks, Mark.’ She didn’t know his last name, she realised. Even after four years, he was still just Mark-the-Boatman. She’d never asked. In truth, she’d never even wondered. He was simply the guy who got her here and brought her food and got her home again eight months later, just before monsoon season hit.

He didn’t need a second name.

‘Hey, Mark?’ Honor looked at him from the reef, conscious of how fragile and pale she probably looked to him. It was how she felt. ‘How’s your family?’ A tiny voice whispered that he might not even have a family. She didn’t care. It seemed worse never to have asked before.

The burly boat-operator paused in the midst of what he was doing and looked at her with surprise. ‘They’re good, love. My little one starts school after the holidays.’

She waited for the sickening lurch, the inevitable immediate image of Justin as he might have looked on his first day of school. It didn’t come; or, if it did, it fled again, realising there was no more room at the Inn of Self-Pity.

‘Congratulations.’

She surprised herself by meaning it. She turned away, ignoring the furrow creasing Mark-the-Boatman’s brow. Further along the reef, Mark’s Malay deckhand worked with Rob repairing the damage to The Player’s hull. He stood on deck monitoring the air that fed down beneath the surface where Rob welded over the hull. The young deckie’s thick curls blew around his face in the stiff breeze coming off the icy ocean. Behind him, she could see billowing, grey soldiers amassing on the horizon. The choppy water around the boat flickered iridescent orange from the underwater welding and a large shadow moved gently within the glow.

Rob.

Honor knew she’d have to get used to not saying his name. Not thinking it. As soon as his repairs were finished, The Journeyman would be heading back to Cocos, shepherding The Player safely back to dock. Then he’d get his permanent repairs and set course to the south and his home in Perth.

She guessed she had about ten minutes left before she never saw him again. Unable to bear the wait, she turned and pulled the first of the three buoyancy sacks filled with replacement supplies over her good shoulder.

‘Ms Brier?’ Mark called as she turned. ‘There’s a letter from Parks Australia in one of the sacks—came in on yesterday’s Q-Star flight. It looked important so I just shoved it in one of the bags as we left. Hope that’s okay?’

What? She rarely got mail at home, let alone out here.

‘That’s fine, Mark. Thanks for letting me know.’

She slipped gently into the lagoon, turned and dragged the buoyancy sack into the water behind her, towing it slowly back to shore. Intentionally taking her time. The coward part of her hoped that she’d get to land and see the two boats heading out to sea, to avoid the inevitable awkward farewell with Rob. After everything they’d said yesterday, what more was there to cover? It had been hard enough watching him swim out to The Player to spend their last night together apart.

Her breathing came heavily and not from fighting the choppy lagoon waters. Her pulse had been racing ever since she’d seen The Journeyman plough towards them around the far edge of the island earlier that hour. An anxiety she was too frightened to name crouched in her stomach, pushing on her diaphragm and robbing her of air.

Loss. She easily picked out her old adversary from amongst the confusion and despair. That, at least, she knew she could deal with, but she also knew with nauseating certainty how she was going to feel tomorrow, and the next day.

And the next.

She’d been on this train a long, long time.

As she pulled herself upright and out onto the shore, she realised that she was tired of feeling that way. Sorrow was exhausting. She hadn’t noticed until just then how light she’d felt these past few days. It wasn’t until the old familiar weight settled back in that she realised she’d been living without it for days. Since Rob crashed into her life.

Honor lugged the sack up the shore to the high-tide line and quickly opened it to check the contents. Two things caught her eye from amongst the goodies within. A box of hot cocoa sachets—she closed her eyes and prayed thanks to the chocolate gods for that one—and a folded envelope. Her letter.

She shook the sea water off her hands and flapped them in the air to dry before pulling the envelope out to examine it. Mark was right; it was from her work. A frown creased her forehead. There wasn’t a problem with her research...?

‘Honor?’

She spun around, crumpling the unopened letter in her hands as Rob emerged from the surf. Beyond him, she could see Mark’s deckie loading the welding gear back onto The Journeyman.

Here it comes... She forced a tight smile to her face. ‘All done?’

He looked out to the horizon. ‘I don’t like how this weather’s looking. I don’t want to leave—’

‘I’ve weathered storms here before, Rob. You’d be surprised how much shelter the pisonia trees provide. Besides, this isn’t a big one.’ Nature made a liar of her as a strong gust blew dried seaweed along the beach and yanked strands from the ponytail high on her head.

Tropical or not, the zephyr blew in straight off the ocean and had cooled as it travelled. It hit Honor’s wet skin and birthed goose bumps wherever it touched. She shivered in response.

‘I’ll get these in as quick as I can, though, just to be sure.’

He nodded and looked up the beach towards camp. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. She took the plunge just as he swung his head back around. They both spoke at once.

He smiled and it was like the sun breaking through the grey clouds. It tore another shred off her heart. ‘You first.’

She shuffled her weight to the other foot. ‘I was just going to say...goodbye.’ Her voice was much steadier than she felt. Years of faking it were paying off.

‘You’ll be okay?’

He wasn’t just talking about the storm. ‘Yes. Thank you, for everything.’ For ten days of lightness. For letting me have you. She willed him to understand. He didn’t let her down.

His eyes bled down into hers. ‘You’re so welcome.’

Another gust tugged at her body. She crossed her arms across chilled flesh.

‘Goodbye, Honor.’ He stepped in towards her and wrapped his arms around her before she could protest. Before she could beg him not to. Her folded arms trapped her like a straitjacket against the steel of his chest. He dipped his mouth to meet hers.

She twisted her face away, not willing to risk a final kiss. He didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink. He just stood still and waited, as enduring and patient as the shipwreck he was leaving behind.

Her will faltered, as he must have known it would, and she relaxed in his grasp, the letter almost fluttering from her trembling fingers. His lips met hers halfway in a gentle kiss that caused a painful ache behind her sternum. It was like their first kiss. Soft and tender, full of promise. Only this one was full of sadness.

An ending.

Grief robbed all the strength from her and she sagged in his arms. He took her weight as his kiss deepened. She felt his body stir against hers, couldn’t help responding, but at the last second she dragged her wits back around her and pushed away.

Not cruelly, but finally.

She struggled for composure, to keep the tears at bay. It took a monumental effort to wipe the grief from her face and leave it blank. She knew that he’d blame himself for whatever he saw there and she wanted him to see...nothing.

By contrast, his eyes burned into her. Anger, hurt, rejection and loss all mingled to make for a painful mix. But there was no hate, for which Honor was deeply grateful. She wouldn’t have coped with seeing that in his beautiful blue depths.

He stood straighter in the brewing storm and looked at her impassive face. When he spoke, she shouldn’t have been able to hear his whisper, but she did. The words eddied around her before whipping off down the long shingle beach.

Find the sky, Honor.

Although there was no malice in his words, no intent to be cruel, they gutted her like a fish because of the sheer impossibility of ever crawling out of the place she was in. She sucked in her breath and held it as Rob turned and waded back out towards The Player. He was halfway across the lagoon before she let the grief out on an animalistic groan. She tipped her chin up and held fast in case he looked back at her. She didn’t want him to see her cry. Or sag onto the sand still clutching her letter.

She needn’t have bothered. He vaulted the reef, climbed into The Player, fired the boat up and motored out to deeper waters in The Journeyman’s wake.

He never once looked back.