“But—”
“Enough!” he cuts me off tersely. “Jesus, Jo, you’re smarter than this. You’ve spent more time on boats than anyone I know. You really think we’re better off staying here?”
My chin cocks like a loaded gun. “I think getting in that water is insanity!”
“So is bobbing here like a cork, hoping for the sky to clear in a magical burst of rainbows and sunspots.”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“You’re the one yelling,” he points out with infuriating calmness.
“You… I…” I try to modulate my tone, but I’m practically shaking with anger. It flares to life in my chest, rising from long-simmering resentment to blind rage so fast I can barely process it. “I’m not leaving the boat, Archer.”
“Still stubborn as a damn mule, I see.”
“If anyone here is livestock,” I say cuttingly. “It’s you, jackass!”
We glare at each other for a long moment. In the silence, waves rock us up and down, down and up, an unpredictable undulation. I don’t generally get seasick, but these conditions are enough to make even an iron stomach toss. Keeping one hand on the rail, I press the other to my midsection to quell the queasiness.
“Look — it’s not just the storm,” Archer informs me flatly. “We’re almost out of fuel.”
I whip my head around to examine the fuel gauge behind the wheel. The red indicator hovers below the quarter-tank mark. “We have enough to get to shore.”
“Not in this weather, we don’t. We’ll burn twice as much powering through these rolling swells.”
I look back at him, eyes narrowed. “Since when are you a maritime expert?”
“Since when are you so reckless?” he counters, tone thick with frustration. “You must’ve hit your head when you went into the water. Or did you block out the fact that your sailboat just sank? Because that’s about the only explanation I can fathom for why you’d ever risk heading back out into open water, right now.”
“You don’t have to be such a jerk! I’m just trying to talk through our options—”
“The time for talking is over. This is my boat. That makes this my call. We’re going to ride out the storm here, on the island.”
As if on cue, the sky rattles with thunder, a sinister underscore to his words. I glance toward Great Misery. The shore isn’t far, but the prospect of swimming does little to thrill me. I can still feel the scorch of leftover seawater in my lungs. Each breath burns with the heat of my all-too-recent brush with death. “We’ll never survive the swim — not in these waves.”
Archer sighs. “Then we won’t swim.”
“What?”
“You said you’re not getting back in the water. Fine. I’ll drive the damn boat right up onto the beach. There’s a sandy stretch — we should be able to avoid most of the rocks.”
“You can’t do that,” I gasp, jaw hinging open in horror. “The damage to the keel—”
“Fuck the damage! I don’t care about the boat right now. I care about—” He breaks off, swallowing down whatever he was about to say. Swallowing down whatever he’s feeling inside. When he speaks again, his voice is remarkably steady. “I already had to pull you out of the water once today. I thought you were dead. Hell, you were dead. So forgive me if I’m not willing to risk your life, or mine, again.”
My jaw, still agape, shuts with a sharp click. I don’t have a single valid counterargument left at my disposal, so I simply give a small nod to show I’m in agreement.
“There’s a poncho in that compartment on your left. Put it on before you freeze to death,” Archer instructs flatly. “I’m going to release the mooring lines. Assuming they haven’t already snapped.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes as he walks out of the wheelhouse, into the relentless rain. Overhead, the sky snarls as another bolt of lightning cracks down on the horizon. I wait until he’s out of earshot until I release the breath from my lungs — a great, rattling whoosh of air I’ve been holding for far too long.
Even if we make it out of this storm alive… we may wind up killing each other long before help arrives.
TWELVE
archer
Tommy is going to fire me — that is, if he doesn’t strangle me first.
I wince, recalling the crunch of fiberglass against the seabed as I steered his beloved Ebenezer up onto the beach; the sound of splintering wood as I purposely ran us aground. I probably punched a dozen holes in the hull. I don’t look back at the pathetic sight of her keeled over in the shallows, slowly taking on water, as Jo and I cut a path inland, leaving the rocky shore and pounding waves behind.
There’s no point dwelling on it.
What’s done is done.
Alone, I might’ve left the boat on the flimsy day-mooring and risked the swim, even with my damaged hand slowing me down. But once I saw Jo’s face… once I realized how scared she was at the prospect of getting back into the water…
I couldn’t put her through that again.
In the choice between Josephine Valentine and a floating rust-bucket, I’d choose Jo every single time. Frankly, in the choice between Josephine Valentine and just about anything… I’d still choose her.
Not that there was a plethora of good choices at my disposal, or anything. Our last communication with the Coast Guard — “Just hang tight, we’ll be there when we can!” — didn’t inspire much confidence in a timely extraction, and the storm has only intensified since we made it to land. I’ve no doubt the Ebenezer would’ve ended up on the rocks regardless. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Above us, a thick band of thunderheads rip apart the sky in savage strokes of light. Even here, beneath the shelter of sparse trees and scraggy bushes, the ground is slick with water from the deluge. I barely feel it anymore. My entire body is saturated — seawater and rain soaking into my clothes, sloshing around inside my boots. My skin is clammy with cold, my fingertips pruned and bloodless. A handful of steps away, Jo is shaking like a tambourine, borderline hypothermic. The chattering of her teeth is audible. We need to find dry ground before she freezes to death.
I glance around, trying to get my bearings. I’ve been to this island before — freshman year at Exeter Academy, our science class came by chartered ferry for a field trip. Officially, we were here to learn about local marine biology; unofficially, it was an excuse to spend a sunny spring afternoon away from the stuffy classroom. No one was particularly interested in actually learning anything — not even the teacher chaperones who’d tagged along to supervise.
The sole exception was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Josephine. Class Valedictorian, incorruptible nerd. While the rest of our classmates snapped selfies near the shipwrecked steamer decaying on the rocks, lounged on picnic blankets, and passed around smuggled joints in the ruins of the abandoned 1920s casino that sits atop the island, she dragged me down to the tidal pools on the opposite shore, determined to examine the unique ecosystems of each one.
Look at this, Archer! she commanded, crouched beside one of the larger pools, awe in her voice. A whole world exists in this tiny little puddle, with its own food chain and social hierarchy. Predators, prey. Life, death, decay. Isn’t that amazing? Her grin was brighter than the sun.