Once Upon an Island

12

The sailboat has longsince disappeared around the eastern tip of the island.

By mutual agreement, Declan and I stayed in the general vicinity of where we went overboard for a good fifteen minutes, but the boat hasn’t turned back. Unfortunately, no fishermen or other boats have happened by.

In the evening, you can see Venus and Mercury near the horizon. The two planets look like large, brightly shining stars. Once it’s dark enough, the real stars start to appear.

It’s dark enough now. There are stars popping into view in the indigo blue sky. The water has shifted from translucent blue to opaque metal gray. I shiver and my teeth chatter a bit.

I’m cold now that the sun is down and the wind has picked up. But also, I hate not being able to see what’s swimming in the water with me.

There could be barracuda, jellyfish, lionfish, sharks. I stop my mind from going down that path. If I start thinking about everything that could eat, maim, or menace us in the water at night, I’ll not be fit to swim to shore.

“They aren’t coming,” I say. I swim a lot, but my arms are getting tired from treading in place.

“No,” Declan says. It’s just one word, but I think I can hear self-recrimination in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it. I think it’s time to swim back. It’s only three thousand meters or so. If we keep Venus in front of us, we’ll hit Bartlett Bay. Then we can walk to my place and call Kate. Let them know we’re okay. You can swim that far?”

Three thousand meters isn’t quite two miles. A fit swimmer can manage that in open water in less than an hour. A not so fit swimmer…well, I’m hoping Declan’s a good swimmer.

“I’ll be fine,” he says in a tight voice.

I don’t question him. Luckily, we’re on the north side of the island, in the wide bay where the water is shallow-ish and calm. There aren’t any rip currents or other hazards to be concerned about. Except, you know, the sea creature variety. I try not to think about sharks.

Arrgh. Planes and sharks. My two fears.

“Which one is Venus?” Declan asks.

“It’s the brightest body in the sky, that one that looks like a star, near the horizon. It’s to the south. Do you see it?”

“Alright,” he says.

“We’ll keep each other in sight,” I say. “Stay next to me.”

“Are you worried about me?” he asks, and there’s a smile in his voice.

“Not at all,” I lie. “Why would I be worried? It’s not as if I like you or that I’m interested in you. In fact, if we hadn’t both ended up in the water, I may have pushed you off the boat from sheer dislike.”

He makes a disbelieving noise.

“Stay close,” I say. “I’ll be extremely upset if I have to save you.” I try not to let any worry leak through into my voice.

“You’re strange,” he says.

Tell me about it.

I’m about to start swimming, when suddenly, a cold, slippery thing slams against my calf. I shriek and kick out.

“Shark! Shark!”

I take quick strokes and try to swim away from the shark I’m sure is circling.

“Isla,” Declan calls.

“There’s a shark,” I call. I spit the sea water out of my mouth that I pulled in when I shrieked. “It hit me in the leg. It’s testing to see if I’m good to eat.”

Oh no. Oh no. I hate sharks.

“Isla. That wasn’t a shark.”

“How do you know? You’re not from here. Come on. We have to swim.”

Oh jeez. Oh no. I’m going to be eaten by a shark with Declan Fox. Then we’ll both end up in its belly, mixed together, a tasty shark appetizer of limbs and organs and ack.

I start to swim.

“Hurry,” I shout over my shoulder.

I kick my feet and do a quick crawl. I look back to make sure Declan’s coming. I’m moving at a fast pace. Thankfully, Declan seems to be a pretty good swimmer. He has short strokes that chop at the water and he easily keeps pace with me.

After five minutes of my frantically paced swim, I slow down. I’m breathing hard, my heart thuds against my chest, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s either from my fear of sharks swimming below me unseen in the opaque water, or because I swallowed a few mouthfuls of sea water. Take your pick.

Declan slows his stroke and we pull close together, swimming with our heads above the waves.

“I think it’s gone,” I say. I haven’t felt the shark bump me since the first time.

Declan looks over at me. The moon rose while we were swimming and its light reflects off the surface and paints his face in silvery color.

“Isla. There was no shark,” he says. His voice has a tinge of humor. I’m not used to there being humor in his voice, so it takes me aback. Especially because I think he’s laughing at me.

“How do you know?” I ask. “I felt it hit me. That’s what sharks do. And there are plenty of sharks here. Nurse sharks, reef sharks, lemon sharks, hammerhead sharks—”

“It was me,” he says.

I stop my recitation of all the sharks in the local waters. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I accidentally kicked you when I was treading water. It was me.”

“You…you…”

I had been cold, but embarrassed heat rushes over me at the realization that I just swam like my life depended on it, because of a foot.

“You…weren’t a shark.”

If I weren’t swimming, I’d smack my forehead. But maybe not, I’m too relieved. My heartbeat slows and the feeling of nausea fades.

I grin at Venus floating in the sky ahead of us. “It wasn’t a shark.”

“If you like, we can call it a foot shark,” he says.

I scoff. “Stop joking around and swim. Like I said, I’m not in the mood to rescue you.”

He laughs, and the low, gravelly sound makes my stomach clench.

We’ve made farther into the bay, where the water is calm and shallow, although not shallow enough to touch bottom. The taste of salt lingers on my tongue. My lips are cold, but if we keep moving I’ll stay warm enough.

“Not that I’m making excuses,” I say, “but I don’t like the dark.”

He reaches a hand up out of the water and tugs on a lock of my hair.

“I know,” he says.

My stomach clenches again. The intimacy of that gesture shocks me so much that I have nothing to say in response.

We keep swimming toward the beach at Bartlett Bay, the sound of our strokes splashing in the water. The moonlight flows across the water like a waterfall. It seems like it should be making a noise too. But it doesn’t.

After a few minutes we start to swim freestyle again. We move quickly through the water. Declan swims next to me and we settle into a rhythm. Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe. Check that he’s still close. Stroke, stroke, breathe. It’s almost like when we were paddling the kayak. I stay close to him, he stays close to me, and we move in the same direction, with the same cadence.

Time speeds by, moving past us like the water running over our skin. The only reason I know nearly an hour has passed is the crescent moon rising higher and Venus dimming and sinking lower. And because of my arms and legs, even though I’m in buoyant salt water, they feel heavy and fatigued. I can make out the dark outline of the palms and pines on the shore of Bartlett Bay only a few hundred meters away.

I reach out and touch Declan’s shoulder. He slows and lifts his head.

“We’re almost there. You still okay?” I ask.