The Ones We're Meant to Find(46)

Hero notices. “We can walk it, too.”

I take a breath. “Her.”

And so that’s how we end up strolling the moonlit shore, a mattress in tow between us.

Genevie is not as into the walk as we are, and Hero runs out of breath before I do.

“She’s heavy,” he says when I smirk.

“Not as heavy as a real boat.”

“You’ve carried a boat?”

Carried, pushed, climbed a ridge with a hull tied to my back. “Yeah. And Hubert was made out of metal.”

I say it to sound impressive but Hero actually looks concerned. “Wouldn’t that weigh…” A pause. “One-point-five tons?”

I laugh at the specificity of the number. “Want to know what I think?” I take the rope from his hand. “I don’t think I’m strong. I think you’re weak.”

“Am not.”

“Prove it,” I say, and yelp as he sweeps me into the air, only to lose his footing in the sand. We both go down.

“Thanks, love.” I roll myself onto my back beside him, arms spread wide. “Really needed to have my point demonstrated to me.”

“It’s the sand,” he insists, but there’s an undercurrent of laughter to his words and—sure enough—a smile to match on his face when I turn to look at him. The moonlight glosses his brown hair to black, an ink spill on the sand. His upturned right palm is mere millimeters away from mine. I could take it. I could roll over and take from him more than just his hand. But tomorrow, I will travel light, without him or his emotions. I may not know what the standard protocol is for leaving someone behind on an abandoned island, but this, this distance, feels right. This night feels right—clear and crisp, the polar opposite of the night that heralded his arrival.

Perfect departure weather.

“First impressions of me,” I say before my throat can close. “Go.”

“When I found myself tied to your bed?” Hero pauses. “That you were going to eat me.”

“Very funny.”

“Maybe I come from a scary land. A place where people eat people. Maybe I come from there.”

“The stars?” I ask, both our eyes on the night sky overhead.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Which one?” I ask, and look in the direction of the finger he points.

“The thing about stars,” says Hero, voice soft, “is most of them appear close together, but not many actually are. None are meant to pass each other in orbit.”

“That’s not true,” I surprise myself by blurting. “Binary stars.” Then: “My sister.” Hero will know what I mean. I’ve told him about our differences, from our hobbies to our personalities. Kay’s the one who would use terms like binary stars. I, in contrast, hear Hero talk about the stars and can’t help but wonder if he’s making some metaphor about us.

“We’re not stars,” I declare. We’re already in each other’s orbit. Hero’s business is mine, whether he likes it or not. “We get to choose the places we go and the people we find.”

“Do we?” Hero wonders. “I don’t think either of us came here by choice.” Fair enough. “And I think we have even less choice over the ones we’re meant to find.” He lowers his arm and folds it beneath his head. “That first day, I kept trying to put myself in your shoes. Couldn’t. It frustrated me, seeing the way you lived your life. Then I realized it was because I could never do it. I might have survived, but you … you kept yourself alive. Kept her alive, too. In here.” He taps two fingers to his chest. “So I know you’ll find your sister. Even if it takes you far away from here.”

I miss Hubert, I decide. I miss the simple emotions he inspired in me, nothing like this hopelessly tangled mess I feel now. “You could sound more sad.”

Hero doesn’t say anything. I peek over at him and see his half-lidded eyes on the moon.

I look to the moon too.

Minutes later, he reaches for my hand.

His fingers say what his voice does not.

More minutes later, his voice drifts through the night. He asks if I plan on staying out.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I think so.”

I don’t want you to see me go.

My hand goes cold as he releases it. He sits up, gets to his feet, and says, “Be right back.”

I sit up too, twisting around to watch as he jogs across the shore. He disappears inside the house and remerges moments later, stuff piled in his arms. A pillow and blanket, I see once he nears. He props the pillow against Genevie’s side and spreads the blanket on the ground. Then he stands there, for a silent beat, and it takes everything in me to stay sitting, to not run after him when he finally turns and walks back to the house, a solitary figure in the dark.

Swallowing, I lean against the pillow, pull the blanket over my shoulders, and face the sea. Hours pass. The surf recedes. The sky peels back, the horizon gum-pink. I stare at the colors changing, and remember doing something similar from a glass cone of a room, way up high. Watching sunrise. With Kay.

It’s time to go home.



* * *



U-me rolls down to the shore as I’m pushing Genevie into the surf.

“Take care of him, U-me.” Just in case.