Once Upon an Island

“Never better,” he says.

“Ha.”

We start to swim toward shore again. But this time, instead of doing the freestyle, I keep my head above water and do a modified breaststroke. I can’t see below the surface of the gunmetal gray and black sea, but I think Declan is doing the same. He tilts his head to me and the moonlight drags across his face. His eyes glint in the light.

“Did you know?” he begins, then he stops.

“What?” I ask, curious as to what could make him stop mid-sentence.

“I’ve never had a gold digger go to such lengths to entrap me,” he finally says. I quickly look over at him and the moonlight shows the smirk on his face.

I scoff, “You’re the one who jumped in after me.” I splash water at him and he chuckles, and his laugh is as opaque and unreadable as the ocean water.

“I didn’t ask for you to spend another night with me,” I say, just to make it clear where we stand.

“Noted,” he says.

Then, I gasp. Because the water lights up. Literally lights up. Everywhere I touch, neon blue lights spark through the water. Declan is surrounded by ripples and waves of electric blue dancing across his skin and in the water around him.

“It’s the bay,” I say excitedly. Then I realize that doesn’t make sense. “The bay is bioluminescent and these little microorganisms light up and…isn’t it beautiful?”

Declan looks at me, then down at the aura of electric blue surrounding me. I’m treading water again, and it looks like I have trailing blue angel’s wings.

“I never come out here,” I say. “I mean, when I was a kid, my mom brought me. I thought the lights were fairies and that they were going to pull me underwater to live in their kingdom. I used to dream about it.”

I glance over at Declan to see if he’s laughing at me. He’s not, he’s watching me with that same, neutral, stoic expression. I pull my hand through the water and watch the trail of blue sparks flash and pulse everywhere I touch. I imagine the lights as little fairies flying around my fingers. I look back at Declan. He’s not watching the water, he’s watching me. I lick my lips nervously. They taste of salt and the sea.

“My dad finally told me they weren’t fairies, they were Pyrodinium Bahamanse, a microorganism. After that, I didn’t ever feel like coming back.”

I stop and look at the blue lights shining around Declan.

“Why not?”

Now that he asks, I’m not really sure. I swim closer to him.

“I’m not really sure,” I admit. “I used to think it was because the magic was gone once my dad told me the science behind the lights. But now…” I look around at the bioluminescence. “I see that’s wrong. It’s still magical, even though I know there’s a scientific explanation. It’s still magic.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns over and floats on his back, spreading his arms and legs so that he looks like a glowing blue angel floating in the water.

Then, he turns his head toward me and says, “Come on then.”

I let out a surprised huff. “Alright,” I say. “But it’s not because I’m interested. It’s only because it’s magical.” Then I spread my arms and legs out and float on my back.

The moon spills silvery light over us, and from the corner of my eyes I can see the field of blue fairy lights sparking in and out of existence around us. It feels like we’re floating in the middle of the deep, black universe and stars and planets are being born in brilliant blue flashes and then fading quietly away, only to be born again. And again.

The night is quiet. Neither Declan nor I speak. We just float together in bioluminescence. My arms extend out and I startle when my hand brushes against his.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

Instead of pulling away, I leave my hand next to his. It’s sort of lonely in a universe of floating blue lights, and it feels comfortable to have his hand close enough to hold, even if I never actually do reach out and take it.

He doesn’t pull away either. So we float there, staring up at the crescent moon, a minute, two, five passing by. Touching, but not.

Finally, the draw of the bioluminescence fades and I remember that Kate and Arya and everyone else are probably frantic, that they’ve likely mobilized the coast guard.

“We need to go,” I say. “We have to call and let them know we’re okay.”

“Right. Of course,” Declan says. He flips over. The lights stir up as he starts to swim toward shore. I quickly follow after him, leaving the magic behind.

In less than five minutes we’ve made it to the beach. I stand on the shore in an ankle-deep pile of sargassum and my legs feel heavy and jellylike.

Declan stands up straight and stretches his arms behind his back. His shoulders are stiff, and the closed expression on his face reminds me of the look he had after we spent the night together on the little island.

I take a breath of the sulfur scent of the sargassum and cough it back out.

“Come on, my place is this way,” I say.

I expect now, after we make it to my cottage, Declan will return to his usual behavior. That stand-offish, rude, closed off man I don’t understand.

It makes me cranky just thinking about it.

I start to jog up the beach path. Bartlett Bay has a public beach with a few picnic tables, benches and a bathroom. Just up the long, sandy path is the road that leads to my cottage. It’s less than a mile away.

There’s a slight breeze, and because my shorts and T-shirt are wet and clinging, I shiver. So, even though my legs feel like a jellyfish squishing across dry land, I jog faster, trying to keep warm.

Annoyingly, Declan doesn’t have any problem keeping pace. In fact, I think he could easily run faster.

“Your boringly normal house is near here?” he asks.

I glance over at him, surprised that he remembers my description of it.

“Just up the hill,” I say, ignoring the fact that I’m short of breath. Swimmer I am, runner I am not.

He gives a short grunt, apparently understanding that I’m not able to talk and run. We’re quiet for the rest of the way. My feet are bare and the concrete, sand, and rocks scrape at the bottom of my feet. I’m embarrassed that I’m barefoot, I hate that I kicked off my shoes in the water. It’s appalling how often flip flops and shoes wash up on our shores. But I couldn’t swim nearly two miles with them on. As penance, I’ll take a trash bag and do a beach cleanup this weekend.

Somehow, Declan managed to keep his on. Every step sends a squishy, squelching noise up to match the slapping of my bare feet on the pavement.

A few cars pass us, their lights shine over us, and some honk hello, but no one stops. Not that I flag them down. We’re only a few minutes from my cottage.

My porch light is on. It shines bright in the dark night, a beacon on the hill over Bartlett Bay. I’m one of the few houses in the area.

“Just up there,” I say.

I point to the top of the hill. I turn up the narrow, curving road, and Declan follows. I look at him from the corner of my eyes, to see if he’s showing any emotion now that he’s spied my “boringly normal” cottage, but he doesn’t look any different than usual.

I’m glad to see it. A warm feeling courses through me when I see my porch light filtering through the sea grape leaves and the wispy pines. It’s like that happy, expectant feeling you get when you see someone you love after they’ve been away for a long time. I get it every time I come home. Which, I suppose, is why it’s home.

At my porch I open the front door and hold it wide for Declan.

“Come in. The bath is down the hall on the right. Grab a towel. I’m going to call Kate.”

Declan nods. “Thanks.”