I shake my head. Not good.
My heart is so heavy inside my chest I can hardly catch a breath. I turn my head away from Ian, so he won’t see the tears trickling down my cheeks if his eyes crack open. I thought I’d cried every tear left in my body, that eventually the well would run dry, but still more come — an endless waterfall of grief seeping out over hours and days and weeks.
A big hand reaches toward me, as if to brush them away. I freeze. He halts a few centimeters from my cheekbone, catching himself just before his fingertips make contact.
There’s an apology in his eyes.
I turn my gaze out to sea, so I don’t drown in him. It’s stormy today. A rare overcast afternoon. The ocean is riled up with waves. I watch them crashing against the reef break a hundred yards offshore and wonder what we’ll face when hurricane season arrives in the fall. I can’t quite summon the energy to care what happens to us. Whatever we must face, at least we’ll still be here to face it. We’ll still be alive.
The tears flow faster.
On a normal day, with the bright sunshine turning the Pacific into a vast sheet of cerulean, it’s impossible to make out any details on the horizon, with the exception of the occasional heat mirage or optical illusion. But today, under the dim cloud cover, my eyes snag on an incongruous shape. A white block, drifting at the farthest limits of my vision.
“Beck.”
He flinches. It’s the first time I’ve spoken aloud in days and my voice sounds torn to shreds. Clearing my throat, I try again.
“Beck… is that a ship?”
I hardly dare speak the hope aloud, half-afraid just acknowledging it will make the vessel disappear from view. I never shift my eyes from the horizon as I slowly rise to my feet.
“Where?” He’s right by my side, hand lifting to shield his eyes. “I don’t see anything.”
I extend my arm, index finger shaking as I point to the tiny blob. “There.”
“Your eyes must be better than mine,” he murmurs. “I can’t see anything.”
“It’s there.” I jerk my chin stubbornly. “It’s a ship.”
He takes a few strides down the beach, eyes cast outward. I can almost hear the thoughts whirring around inside his head.
She hasn’t eaten in days.
She’s desperate to save Ian.
Maybe the ship isn’t there at all.
“It’s there,” I say, mostly to myself. “It has to be there.”
Beck turns to look at me, conflict warring in his eyes. “Violet. We only have two flares. We may only have one shot at signaling for help. If you say there’s something out there, I’ll believe you. But… you have to be sure. Damn sure.”
I sway on my feet, so exhausted I can barely stand. Tears trickle down my cheeks.
Is my mind playing tricks on me? Am I so desperate for rescue to arrive — not just for my sake, but for Ian’s — that I’ve conjured up the thing I most want to see?
The shape is getting smaller on the horizon. Fading from focus, the longer we stand here deliberating. I hear Ian struggling to drag in another ragged breath and, just like that, my decision is made. Brushing the tears aside, I sprint to the supply kit and grab the flare gun off the top.
“Violet, wait!” Beck yells, but I’m past listening.
I run down the beach to the water’s edge. Before he can stop me, I shove a cartridge into the barrel, snap it into place and cock back the hammer. My arm lifts from my side as I aim straight overhead. My eyes slam shut as my finger squeezes the trigger. There’s a loud bang as the firing pin strikes the back of the flare. The gun recoils in my hand with an intense jolt as the shell explodes from the tip of the barrel, shooting up into the sky several hundred meters overhead. I watch it light up the afternoon, burning red like a Fourth of July firework. It arcs through the air, sinking slowly over the course of about thirty seconds before burning out.
Please, I pray, dropping to my knees in the sand, the gun still gripped in my hand. Please, tell me someone saw it. Tell me someone’s coming.
But… no one does.
An hour ticks by, then two, without so much as a flicker of life on the horizon. Whatever I saw… it wasn’t a ship. It wasn’t our salvation. I’m flooded with shame and despair. I sit unmoving in the sand, full of loathing. For the island, for our fate… but mostly for myself.
I can feel the weight of Beck’s stare on me, but I don’t dare look up. I don’t want to see the stern set of his jaw, the disapproval blaring from his eyes. I’m already disappointed enough. After a while, I hear him sigh heavily. He crouches down in the sand a few inches away and waits until I glance at him.
I expect nothing short of fury. Instead, I’m greeted with compassion. His eyes are soft on mine, practically glowing in the fading twilight. There’s a furrow in his brow, but it’s not angry — it’s concerned.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper brokenly. “I thought… I really thought…”
“I know.” His big hand finds mine, slowly pulling the flare gun from my grip. “It’s okay, Violet.”
“It’s not okay! I wasted one of our flares on nothing. An optical illusion. A desperate hope. You tried to stop me, but I couldn’t face the possibility that I might be wrong.” My eyes lift to his, watering once more. “I couldn’t face the reality that, in a few hours, Ian is going to die, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing but hold his hand and say goodbye.”
It’s the first time either of us has said the truth out loud.
Beck, ever stoic, nods gravely as he sets the flare gun aside and reaches for my hand. His hold is tentative, as though he’s not sure, even now, that he’s allowed to touch me. Our fingers twine together like vines, clinging in a tight grip I feel over every inch of my skin.
“You’ve done everything you can. You’ve stayed with him through it all. Every spasm, every cough, every fever dream. You’ve fed him and washed him and kept him as comfortable as you possibly could.” Beck’s voice is rough as coral. “He knows exactly what you’ve done for him. And, if he could tell you himself, I’m sure he’d thank you for it.”
My tears leak faster. “I wanted to save him. I wanted so badly to keep him alive.”
His jaw clenches tight as he watches me weep. His free hand lifts and, with a tenderness that splinters my already bruised heart, he brushes my tears away. “I know you did, princess.”
The pet name is spoken with what I can only describe as reverence. I can’t believe I used to bristle whenever I heard it. Now, the sound is enough to mend my soul… or maybe it’s the look in his eyes when he says it, that inspires such a reaction. Maybe it’s just him.
All of him. Every facet.
Before I can figure it out, he tugs me to my feet.