The Girl from Everywhere (The Girl from Everywhere #1)(79)

His answer was immediate. “You know I would.”

I let my breath out; I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it. Then I grinned at him. “We could get our own boat.”

“I’ve never stolen a boat before.”

“You’ve stolen enough we could buy a boat,” I said, thinking of the pile of jewelry he’d given me over the years. All the treasure I hadn’t cared for at the time. I might not even need the map of Carthage.

“Who would be captain?” he said.

“Uh, I would.”

“Oh, no, no no. Guess again.”

“You can’t mutiny, we don’t have a ship yet.”

“I’m planning ahead.”

I grinned at him, suddenly feeling free—expansive—like full sails and an open horizon. “If you could go anywhere, where would you want to go?”

“Could we find a map of someplace perfect?”

“Like paradise?” I asked, teasing.

“Here? No.” He stared upward, the first stars shining in his eyes. “A better place. Someplace where nothing goes wrong. There must be a myth like that somewhere.”

I bit my lip; my shoulders fell. “Navigation involves the beliefs of the Navigator and the mapmaker. And I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who truly believes in a world without suffering.”

“Ah.”

I dragged my fingers through the soft sand. “You know, Slate was right. This place is dying. If I’d grown up here, I would be seeing it firsthand, like Blake is.”

“And you wouldn’t have met me, which is the main thing, of course!”

I laughed. “Of course.” I let go of his hand, and then, a moment later, I wished I hadn’t. “I will admit though. It was fun.”

He sat up, cross-legged, facing me. “Being in Hawaii?”

“Flirting with a stranger.” I ducked my chin, suddenly shy. “I can see why you like it.”

“You should have taken my word for it, and not wasted your time testing the theory.”

“It wasn’t a waste of time,” I said.

His mouth opened a little, closed again, and the muscles of his throat worked. But all he said was “Oh?”

“Don’t judge me,” I said, exasperated. “You and Bee and Slate and Rotgut, you all had lives, you all have stories and memories. You’re worldly and experienced.” I wrapped my hands around my knees and watched the rising moon lay a path of silver on the sea. “I’ve never had anything or anyone outside the ship.”

He reached into the bag for another orange, turning it over and over in his hands. “Why does it have to be someone outside the ship?”

I tensed, cautious—suddenly sensing the reefs only inches below the surface, but I couldn’t go back. I had to keep my eye on the horizon ahead. “Knowing something has an ending . . . makes it easier to begin,” I said carefully. “I never want to be stuck missing something I didn’t expect to lose.”

“Baleh, I understand.”

“You do?” I checked to see if he was making fun, but his face was earnest.

“Of course.” Kashmir started to peel the orange; the smell of citrus perfumed the air. “When I was young, I learned to expect loss. Every time you slept, something disappeared. Whenever you woke up, someone else was gone. But . . . I also learned that every day, you created everything anew. And whatever you had, you enjoyed as long as it lasted. Spend money when it’s in your pocket.” He took my hand and put the orange in it. “Eat fruit while it’s ripe.” His other hand found my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “Paradise is a promise no god bothers to keep. There’s only now, and tomorrow nothing will be the same, whether we like it or not.”

I bit my lip and tasted oranges; the juice was very sweet. “Is that really true?”

His smile was bright in the moonlight. “I promise.”

“Then I suppose . . . just tonight—”

This time I did not turn away, and so I discovered that his lips were even sweeter than the orange.



I woke naturally before dawn and went to stand watch at the water’s edge. The sky lightened from the color of stone to the soft purple of lavender blossoms, then to the rich blue and orange of a gas flame, all reflected in the mirror of the morning sea. As the sun began to glow gold, Kashmir came to stand beside me, very close but not touching, giving me space. Flecks of foam washed our feet. Words came to mind and then melted away like spun sugar on my tongue. Last night, there had been so much to say, but tomorrow had become today, and everything was different.

I turned from the sea and kicked sand over the coals of our little fire. Kashmir washed his hands and face in the Pacific. In silence, we gathered our things. Finally I spoke. “Breakfast?”

“Absolutely.”

We found a saloon that was serving eggs and hash to patrons who looked like they’d had a liquid supper. After we’d had our fill, we hired horses and bought shovels and torches from the general store downtown. Then I led Kashmir up into the mountains.

We took Nu’uanu Road, past the little stream, by the boxy white house, onto the track in the woods, through the empty clearing where we tied our horses, and up to the waterfall Blake had shown me.