twisting away from his tiny tool of torture. A string of curses erupts behind me.
“Look, honey.” His voice is shaking almost as much as my body. “If you don’t stop moving you’re gonna hurt yourself worse. Understand?”
“I’m TRYING!” I shout, sounding so much like Josh it surprises me. Tears of frustration fill my eyes.
“No, no, no . . . don’t start crying. Good GOD.” He throws up his hands and slaps them down on his legs. “Dave, get over here and be useful for once. Sit in front of her and hold her in place.”
Dave rushes over and slips in front of me so we’re sitting face-to-face. “You can do this, I know you can.” That little worry crease is back. The pain makes me want to yell You don’t even KNOW me! But instead, I nod.
“Are we ready yet?” Kent growls.
“What’s the rush, Kent? You have an appointment to get to? No? Then give us a moment,” Dave says with confidence before taking my head and tucking it expertly into the crook of his neck. He rests his head on mine casually, like we’ve been doing this for years. His day-old stubble scratches my ear.
Tracing down my arms, he takes my hands determinedly, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of my palm. Like he’s pushed a button, my whole body falls against him, as if his fingers distributed a dose of morphine.
“Lillian, are you ready?” His voice is as smooth as wave-worn driftwood.
“Uh-huh.”
“Go ahead,” he tells Kent.
The first stitch flames through my skin like a hot poker, but when I tense up Dave pulls me in closer. “It’s okay, you’re doing great.” Somehow I believe him.
The next stitch is tight but fast, like Kent’s getting the hang of sewing through human flesh. I’d be lying if I said that the rest of those evenly placed ties go in easily or that I can’t feel the stab of metal gliding through my tender skin, but I can say that in Dave’s embrace I learn to endure the pain. It takes eight more stitches: poke through, pull tight, tie, snip, and repeat.
“Done.” Kent moves away.
The wound still throbs, and any sudden movement makes me want to scream, but it’s better. Definitely better. “Thank you, Kent. I appreciate it.”
He waves me off, digging through the bag till he comes up with a prescription bottle.
“Here, take these.” He tosses the bottle across the raft and it lands in my lap. The name Margaret Linden and the number 2006 flash up at me. Old antibiotics are probably better than a bacterial infection.
“Let me help you with those.” Dave unscrews the top and hands me the open water bottle. I take a tiny sip and toss in the oblong off-white tablets.
“Thanks. You’ve been amazing today.” I hope that the smile I give to Dave says the words I can’t find.
“You need to rest.” He puts the repacked JanSport above Margaret’s head. “Here, try to sleep.”
I curl up on the bench, barely aware of my legs being pulled onto his lap, the warmth of his touch making my lids so heavy I can’t even try to open them to investigate. Instead I give in, retreating into sleep, pretending I’m home.
CHAPTER 11
DAVE
Present
“How long were you in the boat, Dave?”
“It felt like forever but, from the time we crashed until we found land, it was almost three days,” Dave answered succinctly, recrossing his legs so his left foot now rested on his right knee. “To tell the truth, we had some dark moments when I was sure we’d never get off of that boat.”
“How did you make it through those days?” Genevieve asked, rubbing her fingertips together like they were covered with a greasy residue. She didn’t even sound curious anymore, but Dave was careful to leave his walls up. She wouldn’t get in that easily.
“It was mostly luck. When we left the plane, Lillian brought her backpack. In it was a bottle of water and a few other supplies that came in handy. I can’t forget the first aid kit that Kent brought with him. Without those two items we wouldn’t
“Look, honey.” His voice is shaking almost as much as my body. “If you don’t stop moving you’re gonna hurt yourself worse. Understand?”
“I’m TRYING!” I shout, sounding so much like Josh it surprises me. Tears of frustration fill my eyes.
“No, no, no . . . don’t start crying. Good GOD.” He throws up his hands and slaps them down on his legs. “Dave, get over here and be useful for once. Sit in front of her and hold her in place.”
Dave rushes over and slips in front of me so we’re sitting face-to-face. “You can do this, I know you can.” That little worry crease is back. The pain makes me want to yell You don’t even KNOW me! But instead, I nod.
“Are we ready yet?” Kent growls.
“What’s the rush, Kent? You have an appointment to get to? No? Then give us a moment,” Dave says with confidence before taking my head and tucking it expertly into the crook of his neck. He rests his head on mine casually, like we’ve been doing this for years. His day-old stubble scratches my ear.
Tracing down my arms, he takes my hands determinedly, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of my palm. Like he’s pushed a button, my whole body falls against him, as if his fingers distributed a dose of morphine.
“Lillian, are you ready?” His voice is as smooth as wave-worn driftwood.
“Uh-huh.”
“Go ahead,” he tells Kent.
The first stitch flames through my skin like a hot poker, but when I tense up Dave pulls me in closer. “It’s okay, you’re doing great.” Somehow I believe him.
The next stitch is tight but fast, like Kent’s getting the hang of sewing through human flesh. I’d be lying if I said that the rest of those evenly placed ties go in easily or that I can’t feel the stab of metal gliding through my tender skin, but I can say that in Dave’s embrace I learn to endure the pain. It takes eight more stitches: poke through, pull tight, tie, snip, and repeat.
“Done.” Kent moves away.
The wound still throbs, and any sudden movement makes me want to scream, but it’s better. Definitely better. “Thank you, Kent. I appreciate it.”
He waves me off, digging through the bag till he comes up with a prescription bottle.
“Here, take these.” He tosses the bottle across the raft and it lands in my lap. The name Margaret Linden and the number 2006 flash up at me. Old antibiotics are probably better than a bacterial infection.
“Let me help you with those.” Dave unscrews the top and hands me the open water bottle. I take a tiny sip and toss in the oblong off-white tablets.
“Thanks. You’ve been amazing today.” I hope that the smile I give to Dave says the words I can’t find.
“You need to rest.” He puts the repacked JanSport above Margaret’s head. “Here, try to sleep.”
I curl up on the bench, barely aware of my legs being pulled onto his lap, the warmth of his touch making my lids so heavy I can’t even try to open them to investigate. Instead I give in, retreating into sleep, pretending I’m home.
CHAPTER 11
DAVE
Present
“How long were you in the boat, Dave?”
“It felt like forever but, from the time we crashed until we found land, it was almost three days,” Dave answered succinctly, recrossing his legs so his left foot now rested on his right knee. “To tell the truth, we had some dark moments when I was sure we’d never get off of that boat.”
“How did you make it through those days?” Genevieve asked, rubbing her fingertips together like they were covered with a greasy residue. She didn’t even sound curious anymore, but Dave was careful to leave his walls up. She wouldn’t get in that easily.
“It was mostly luck. When we left the plane, Lillian brought her backpack. In it was a bottle of water and a few other supplies that came in handy. I can’t forget the first aid kit that Kent brought with him. Without those two items we wouldn’t
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