Our kayak was almost done.
Our time was almost up.
So why couldn’t I shake the God-awful feeling that tragedy was once again coming for us?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
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E S T E L L E
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AUGUST
THREE YEARS.
Three long, incredible, trying, amazing, awful, blissful, terrible years.
29th of August, the day of the crash, loomed closer.
At least, I thought it was August.
After my phone died, I had to keep a record of the days by scratching each sunset into our umbrella tree, counting the strikes, knowing in my heart we were all getting tired.
We’d survived so much: storms, fevers, stomach bugs, and a virus we’d all succumbed to, most likely transmitted by a mosquito.
Through it all, we raised a healthy baby into a toddler, a child into a young girl, and a boy into a capable sixteen-year-old.
Conner had changed from scrawny boy into gaunt young man. His copper hair was more russet gold from so much swimming and his skin would never again be snow-white but forever bronzed like an Arabian prince.
I pitied the female race who’d missed out on such a brilliant specimen and kind-hearted individual. It made me proud that Galloway and I had (in some small measure) a role in raising him.
And because of those qualities, and the fact that he was so loved by us all, it made what happened next even more tragic.
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SEPTEMBER
“Help! G! Stel! Help!”
Ice water splashed down my spine as Pippa tore into the house, disrupting me in the middle of changing the tatty t-shirt that’d become Coconut’s diaper. Abandoning my child, I shot upright and grabbed her quaking shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Pippa could barely speak. Tears tracked down her face, horror consuming her completely. “Co. He...he...he’s hurt.”
Galloway charged inside, twigs and leaves sticking in his long hair, the Swiss Army knife clenched in his hand. “What? What is it?”
Taking Pippa’s hand, I shoved past him. “Conner. We’ve got to go.”
Together, we sprinted faster than we’d ever ran before to the water’s edge where Conner lay in the shallows on his back. The tide licked around him, almost as if soothing whatever had hurt him. Apologetic. Sympathetic.
I hated the water for touching him.
I despised whatever had hurt him.
Slamming to his knees, Galloway scooped Conner’s head into his lap, slapping his cheeks. “Conner, open your eyes, mate.”
I took his left hand while Pippa took his right. We all kneeled before him as if he were the alter accepting our final prayers.
No!
This couldn’t be happening.
The aura of dying wasn’t real. The stench of agony wasn’t true.
This isn’t happening!
Galloway tapped Co’s cheeks again, rousing him. “Conner. Come on. Open your eyes.”
Conner groaned; his face scrunched tight from pain. “I—can’t—breathe.”
“Co, no.” Pippa sobbed. “I’ll breathe for you.”
“Wo—won’t work, Pip...”
Terrible despair lashed her. “Come on. Don’t be a jerk.” Swatting at her tears, she bowed as if to give him mouth to mouth. “You’re fine, you’ll see.”
“Pip, don’t.” I held her back. I couldn’t fix him if she was in my line of sight. What did this? What happened?
There was no blood. No bite.
What dared hurt my son?
And that was when I saw it.
The spine, the deadly quill, the poisonous barb I’d hoped never to see again. But this time...it wasn’t a minor graze on his instep but a full quiver pinpricking his heart.
A stonefish.
He’d been so careful. He fished with flip-flops. He did his best to stay where it was safe.
My hands flew up to cover my face as hiccupping horror fell from my lips.
Galloway’s eyes wrenched to mine, dancing over my frozen features then to the death sentence on Conner’s chest.
“Shit.” He turned white. His hands fumbled on the spines of venom, ripping them from Conner’s flesh as if they were grenades about to detonate.
But it was too late.
The damage had already been done.
Last time, Conner had cheated extermination. This time...necrosis had won.
This can’t be real.
It can’t!
My shoulders trembled as I swallowed sob after sob.
No amount of hot water and poultices would save him this time.
Galloway shifted, laying Conner’s head on the wet sand and moving to his side. Weaving large hands together, he placed them over Conner’s heart, ready to palpitate him back to living, ready to resuscitate and revive and reverse the horrible, horrible catastrophe.
Conner grimaced, his lips dark blue, his eyes shot red. His fingers spasmed with toxins, clawing at his throat as his body succumbed to anaphylactic shock.
He suffocated.
Right before us.
“Conner, no!” Pippa blew air into his mouth as Galloway started CPR.