hey, I text Dave once I’m alone. Dave’s been texting me this whole time, but I haven’t had it in me to answer. And since it might be a while until I have another chance to get in touch, I figure that checking in, letting him know I’m safe right now, is the least I can do. sorry i’ve been gone. we made it up here. we’re on a boat now. the reception is weird, i don’t even know if you’ll get this. but anyway, either way, i wanted to tell you that it might be a while before i text again. i’m in a place right now—mentally, you know—where i kind of need to be present. ok? i’ll call when i can. i miss you.
Bobby’s up top too, on the upper level, leaning out over the railing several feet away from me. I catch his eye and wave, and he waves back, but then just goes back to staring. I follow his eyes and see that they’re on Greta, and there’s something wrong with the way he’s looking at her. Like he’s happy to see her so content and at home with another girl just like her, whom she can communicate with in ways he could maybe only dream about, but there’s something else there that makes me think he’s worried or scared for her too. Like he knows this joy she’s feeling is going to lead to something terrible. And I just watch him for a moment like that, as he leans farther and farther out over the guardrail, staring at the sea and at Greta, his eyes not changing at all.
NINETEEN
I THINK ABOUT going back down with Emily and Stan but decide to go check on Bobby.
“You okay?” I ask Bobby.
“Just fine,” he says, dressing his face up like it’s full of cheer. Except I can see even more clearly from up here that something’s bothering him. He’s not looking down at Greta anymore but rather staring out to sea, and his hair’s blowing all over his too-stoic face. He looks as though he’s ruminating over a mistake he made, one that caused something irreparable. Or maybe I’m just making all of this up because in a way that’s really what I feel like, but then again I don’t know how I feel except still so utterly horrified by the amount of things I’m learning I don’t understand in this world.
“Okay,” I say. “Do you want any company?”
“Actually, Lorna,” he says, turning to face me only after he’s said my name, “I’d kind of really like to be alone right now.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. Of course.” And then Bobby doesn’t say anything, not even “Thank you.”
I head back to the first level, more than a little disconcerted by Bobby. What’s going on with him? What was that look in his eyes? Maybe he’s just going through what we’re all going through and I’ve been insensitive toward that because he’s older and because even he admits that Greta was more Alex’s than his. He dedicated his life to trying to find a way to communicate with Greta, and here she is, communicating away with a total stranger in ways he can’t fathom or quantify. Maybe that’s what’s eating at him.
But I don’t think it is. Not totally, anyway.
I’m making my way down the stairs when we hit a wave and bounce, and I have to cling to the railing to steady myself, and even then I almost flip over the other side. I finally get my footing back, and the boat’s still bobbing with the residual energy of the wave. I take a deep breath and keep going.
Downstairs there are some kids in a corner, crowded around a power strip and punching at their phones furiously with their thumbs. I scan the group quickly for Stan, and when I don’t see him I get out my phone and text him.
where, I type.
sitting down, starboard, he texts back.
So Stan and I can text, at least.
I find him sitting alone on a bench with a view of the water out a porthole. “Where’s Emily?” I say.
“Trying to find something to eat,” Stan says. “She said she was fully prepared to trade half the contents of her backpack for a goddamn Luna Bar.”
“Wow. That’s a real dedication to Luna Bars,” I say. “So . . . I just talked to Bobby.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s acting pretty weird.”
“Hasn’t he always been weird?”
“I mean weird for Bobby. He says he’s fine, and he seems happy for Greta, but . . . I don’t know. There’s something else going on, I can tell.”
“Of course there is. Lorna, what we’re doing here . . . everything that’s happening right now . . . it’s insane!” He gestures to a big group of Icelings gathered near the front of the ship, all of them paired off and engaging in some form of physical contact with another Iceling. They’re staring out ahead, to the island we’re approaching. He turns back to me. “And maybe really, really dangerous.”
“I know,” I say. “Of course I know that. And, like, we knew that. Sort of. But I think it’s something else.”
“Well, he’s a linguist, right?” I nod, and Stan goes on. “Well, maybe he had some theory about how the Icelings would be around each other, how they’d communicate, and it turns out he was way off-base.”
“It’s weird, right?” I say. “How they sort of just . . . ditched us? When we got here? I mean, maybe that’s what we should have expected, but still.”
“No, I know what you mean. It’s almost like—no, it’s actually definitely like—the Icelings know something we don’t.”
“Yeah. And now we’re the ones who need help navigating this weird place with its weird customs. But they don’t seem all that interested in helping us understand.” I spot Callie and Tara joining the group of Icelings we’ve been watching, and I feel my heart fall all over again. Stan follows my gaze over and sighs.