Cross Currents by John Shors Page B

boat, and she tried to repeat his motions, sitting on the edge of the gunwale and rolling backward, somersaulting underwater. She surfaced smiling, surprised at herself. “What now?”
    Patch hurried to the back of the boat, then opened up a plastic sack and removed three slices of bread. He glanced at the distant form of his brother before walking back to the bow. “Have fun,” he said, ripping off a chunk of bread and tossing it next to Brooke. Within seconds, dozens of small fish, many with vertical yellow and black stripes, darted to the bread. Patch tossed another piece closer to Brooke—prompting scores of other fish, some brown with white spots, to rise from the reef and nibble at the offering.
    Brooke was about to put her snorkel in her mouth when Patch tossed her a slice. She caught it, positioned her snorkel, and looked underwater. Hundreds of brilliantly colored fish surrounded her, seeking the falling bits of bread. She lowered the slice into the water, and the competing fish seemed to rise as one, countless miniature mouths pulling the bread from her hand, causing her to gasp into her snorkel. The fish churned below the surface, flashing like so many moths around a flame. Only the fish were every color—twisting bolts of yellow and blue, green and red. Several nibbled at her fingers and she laughed, brushing them away. Undeterred, they came at her again, and she kicked into deeper water, fleeing what was left of the bread. From five feet away, she watched the cloud of fish dart and devour, amazed by their patterns of color, the genius of their design.
    She heard a splash and realized that Patch had jumped from the boat, holding a rope. He swam over to her, tossing more bread in her direction. “No!” she said, laughing, the fish materializing near her once again.
    â€œThey like you.”
    â€œThey’re incredible.”
    â€œI know,” Patch replied, ducking his head below the surface, smiling as she shied away from a large parrot fish that seemed interested in her toes. “Want to help me with something?”
    â€œSure.”
    He motioned for her to follow him, and he kicked into deeper water, pointing out highlights of the reef—massive clams, a school of squid, and wondrous displays of coral. It took him only a few minutes to locate Lek’s anchor, which lay in a sandy area next to the reef. The anchor was about twenty feet down, and Patch wondered whether he could retrieve it, understanding why Suchin had asked for help.
    Removing his snorkel, he nodded to Brooke and handed her one end of the rope. “I’ll be right back.”
    â€œBe careful.”
    Filling his lungs with as much air as possible, he leaned toward the anchor, then lifted his legs above the water, which propelled him downward. He kicked hard, the rope trailing behind him. Grabbing the anchor’s midsection, he pulled himself lower, tightened his knees on either side of the steel, and then secured the rope.
    The ascent took longer than he would have liked. His lungs ached, and his instincts urged him to inhale. He blew out air slowly, trying to appease his body, swimming with all his strength. He saw Brooke staring down at him, her silhouette seeming to block out the sunlight. She appeared almost naked, as lovely as any of the sea creatures he’d just seen.
    Bursting through the surface, he gasped, filling his lungs with the sweet, humid air of the tropics. Brooke reached for his hand, holding him up, supporting him. He didn’t need her help, but her hand felt reassuring against his, and he squeezed her fingers, thanking her.
    â€œNow what?” she asked, letting go of him.
    He saw that she was still clasping the other end of the rope. “Just a second,” he replied. “I’ll bring the boat to you.” Swimming fast, he approached Lek’s longboat, climbed an iron ladder hanging from its side, and pulled up his makeshift anchor. He started the