A/N: Welcome back. I can't believe how long it's been since the last trip to the island. I'm so grateful to all of you who've reviewed and PMd and let me know you're anxious for an update and that you're still enjoying this story. This chapter took a long time for a whole mess of reasons, not just busy RL but also the complicated workings of this universe. The result is very long. We'll start with a flashback before we rejoin the foursome who, when we last left the island, were about to leave Reeds for ... somewhere. Thank you for going on this journey with me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the children of Israel, and all their transgressions in all their sins, putting them upon the head of the goat, and shall send him away by the hand of a fit man into the wilderness: And the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities unto a land not inhabited: and he shall let go the goat in the wilderness.
-Leviticus 16:21-22
.-.-.
Some Bright Morning
17. forget my sins upon the wind
.-.-.
At first she just watches him through the glass.
She's keeping time with one tapping toe on the linoleum floor that smells of bleach and pine-scented cleanser, ignoring the blurs of blue and green and pink scrubs passing behind her.
His office door is closed, but he hasn't drawn the internal blinds, so she has an excellent view of her husband: turned three-quarters away from her with every pattern in his work-rumpled hair traceable to some combination of scrub caps, finger-combing, and shoving a frustrated hand through it.
He's concentrating. Deeply, as only Derek can. He doesn't notice her presence; clearly, he's consumed by whatever he's reviewing – there are scans on the lightboard, multiple files open in front of him, and a large textbook split open in the middle.
To be the recipient of so much focus, so much directed knowledge, and passion, and care … there's nothing like it. His patients are lucky.
She folds her arms – it's chilly in the hallway – and watches as he frowns, moving a pen from thumb to two fingers and back again, the baton-style fiddling he's done since medical school. He's paying attention, but his fingers always need to move.
For another moment it's just his hand she's studying, watching the movement of the pen, watching the intricate patterns his fingers are painting. She feels her own fingers clench – maybe seeking heat from her warmer palm – and finally she lifts the fist she's made and raps lightly on the glass.
He glances up then and sees her; there's a flicker of something in his eyes – surprise? Recognition? – and she sees the hand holding the pen gesture for her to come in. His fingers barely move, but they don't need much to communicate, not after all these years.
She pushes open the door. It's slightly warmer inside his office. His lab coat hangs neatly on the tree by the window; he's in shirtsleeves and a deep blue sweater she bought for him a few years ago. It's mostly cashmere; it would feel soft if she were to touch it.
"Hey," she says, for lack of anything better. She finds herself leaning back against the door.
"Hey." He frowns slightly. "I haven't seen you all day," he observes.
Actually, it's been closer to three days. Two and a half. The days blend together, though … that's all it is.
Her own last three days have been a whirlwind of sensation and sound, drowning in darkness and waking up to a surprise each time: in the hospital after they pumped her stomach, Savvy crying above her, unsure what decade it was; on the plane, jolted by the meeting of wheels and runway, unable to remember where they'd journeyed; in the wide pine bed in the room at Reeds, Savvy next to her, confused about why they were sharing a bed, why it smelled like salt water and leaves, why she couldn't recall the nightmare that was still clinging to her like her sweat-dampened nightclothes.
"Yeah." She glances at him.
Talk to him, Addie. Just talk to him. That was Savvy's rallying cry, it was the last thing she said in the cab they shared from JFK earlier that day. She squeezed both of Addison's hands in hers, so she could feel the cold metal of Addison's rings and Addison hers, and implored her. Talk to him. Tell him what happened. He needs to know.
She just smiled and kissed Savvy's cheek goodbye as they parted ways, Addison alighting first at her office so Savvy could ride to her own in midtown.
Just talk to him.
It's easy for Savvy to say that, though. Savvy is married to Weiss, who already knows everything. There's nothing bubbling below the surface to leap out without warning. Weiss cares, he shows up, he's there … as he was this time, every time, even as they piled into a cab to the airport. He hugged her before she climbed into the cracked leather seats and for a moment in his arms she closed her eyes and felt the material of his trench coat against her cheek and pretended she'd told Derek after all.
But she didn't.
And when she was back on Manhattan soil she showered and changed and fixed her hair and her makeup and met with her residents and reviewed her charts and piled normal on normal on normal. Like this is her life, here, and not the last two days … the tiny plane, the feel of the little boat underneath them, seeing Savvy's brother again, his aging face reminding her how many years had passed, and then all her memories sinking into one swirling, bubbling canyon. Dropping below the surface.
Floating away.
She had a plan. She was going to tell Derek she and Savvy took a girls' trip, and Weiss was going to do the same, at her desperate pleading, if Derek called him.
As it turned out, neither of them needed it. Perhaps he thought she was sulking … or trying to manipulate him, he'd certainly accused her enough of that one. One email came through from him, forwarded from one of his sisters asking them to do something. Can't make it, he'd written at the top, so let Kath know if you want to go. Half of her wanted to ignore it – but logistics were their language, or what's left of it, so she responded to Derek with a brief okay, thanks, and that was that. Proof of life. Sufficiently so, apparently.
"Addison … is something wrong?"
He looks at her for a moment, just quickly scanning her face, and she feels herself holding her breath, wondering if he'll notice anything.
She has no idea what it would be, though. The little brush of sunburn on her shoulders is hidden by her blouse and lab coat. She's showered and changed, no hint of the river, the one that carried her back to the mainland that morning, can cling. The dark circles under her eyes from losing a night of sleep are neatly covered with makeup.
"I'm fine," she says smoothly. It's hard to miss the relief in his eyes, which she can't help interpreting less as relief that she's okay … and more as relief that he won't have to ask further questions.
"Good." He smiles briefly at her.
This is who we are, she tells herself. This is who I am, and this is my marriage. This … is what it's actually about.
"You look busy," she says when the silence presses too hard.
"I am." He glances down at the open folders in front of him. "Olfactory groove meningioma. Patient was rejected by West."
"Ah." She looks over at the lightboard. "Lucky he found you, then."
"Right. Well, we'll see how lucky he feels in about …" Derek glances at the clock on the wall. "…eighteen hours. Listen, Addie, I'm probably not-"
-going to come home tonight. She doesn't hear the end of the sentence but she can feel it. It sounds like pounding water, like the ring, ring, ringing of a phone someone doesn't answer, like the thud and crunch of a fall.
"Okay." She forces her tone to be bright. "I have a few more things to take care of and then I'll probably…" She gestures vaguely, toward the outside world.
"That sounds like a good idea. It's getting late."
She nods weakly, leaning back against the door. Actually, she hasn't been at work very long at all – she woke up in a different world this morning – but he won't know that. Can't know it. She finds her attention caught by the back of the frame on his desk. She can't see it, can only see the black velvet back running into the sterling edge, but she knows it's a picture of her. She knows her frozen framed face is grinning broadly, holding the plaque that had just been thrust into her hands. Derek was so proud of her that night: I knew it, he marveled into her ear, brushing against her neck left bare by a careful updo, I knew you could do it, Addie.
He must still care, if he wants to look at her while he works … right?
"Addie."
"Hm?" She glances up at him, her reverie broken.
"Did you need something else?" His tone is neutral, even friendly, but her cheeks burn underneath the comforting shield of her makeup.
"Oh. No," she says, trying to return his smile, one hand resting on the door he's clearly waiting for her to open … and then close behind her. "I don't need anything."
.-.-.
Derek has only a moment to throw a fleece over the t-shirt he wore to bed and grab his waterproof rain shell once Augie somewhat consents to his joining the women's journey; the two blondes are already halfway out the door of their room by the time he toes into his wellies and jogs down the path where Addison is hanging back, waiting for him.
Now he has to squint to make out Savvy and Augie ahead of them, arm in arm, a ball of light bouncing along the scrubby, sandy grass.
It's dark. Incredibly dark … deeply, penetratingly dark in a way Manhattan could never be and even Seattle has never quite touched – but he's still pretty sure, based on the last few days of navigating this side of the island, that they're heading toward the dock.
"Addie. Addison," he hisses when she doesn't respond. "You're still not going to tell me where we're going?"
"I can't," she says, sounding apologetic. But she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, surprising him. "No one told me either, Derek, when … look, just … come with us."
"I am coming with you," he reminds her, picking carefully over some loose twigs and then moving her slightly to prevent the same tripping hazard. "I'm right here."
"Yeah, you are," she says, then pauses. "Just … stay close."
She doesn't have to warn him twice; it's dark, even with the little globe of light bouncing from Augie's flashlight, and his boots are sliding over still damp grounds as he keeps pace with the women ahead.
"Addie … can we at least slow down?"
"We have to keep up," she insists, tugging on his arm.
Overnight, the breeze blanketing the island has turned from cool to cold, and he's glad for the extra protective layers. Addison shivers slightly next to him.
"Are you warm enough?" He nudges her shoulder with his.
"I'm fine."
"You just got out of the hospital," he reminds her.
"Yes, Derek … I'm aware." She shakes her head at him, but she sounds more affectionate than annoyed.
"Can you two lovebirds keep it down, please?" Augie throws an annoyed look over her shoulder, illuminated on her heart-shaped face – so much like her cousin's – by the flashlight beam she brings with it.
Derek and Addison squint in tandem into the bright light.
"Keep up," Augie adds, turning back around as she continues to lead the group down to the dock, their destination obvious now.
"Okay," Derek murmurs, leaning closer to Addison so he can keep his voice down and prevent them from getting yelled at for talking again. He brushes some low-hanging flora away from them, remembering the way the entire island seemed draped in verdant curtains when they first arrived.
"Addie, this … thing … is something you do on the dock, right? Not …"
She doesn't answer either way, and four pairs of rubber boots track to the foot of the old wooden dock. There's a squeaking sound, a pull at the floating part; the water smells pungent as they get close.
And then he hears the click and slap of the equipment bench.
Derek slides an arm under her elbow as she steps onto the wide-planked wooden dock, taking advantage of their closeness to ask her again. "We're not actually going to –"
"Okay, life jackets for everyone," Augie announces. "What?" She shines her flashlight toward Derek, who has to close his eyes against the beam, her tone defensive.
"Would you put that down, Aug? You're not a cop."
Derek opens his eyes at Savvy's words to see her moving Augie's flashlight-bearing arm down.
"Savvy," Derek says, hoping to reason with her, turning toward the sound of her voice now that the flashlight is aimed straight to the dock, "we're not really going out on the water … are we?"
Savvy is silent, the only sounds around them the black water lapping the dock with an admittedly peaceful rhythm – nothing like the previous night, the terrifyingly diagonal sheets of rain, gale-force gusts, the wind screaming through the trees – and the chirping, croaking, and squeaking he's come to associate with the island.
As isolated as the island has seemed to him at various times, in various ways, he's never doubted the number or the diversity of the small creatures sharing space here with Savvy's family.
"Derek," Addison says softly.
"Leave him here," Augie suggests in a casual tone, kneeling on the dock.
"I'm not leaving him here," Addison says firmly.
"Augie," Savvy cuts in. "Just get in the boat, honey, and stop picking on Derek."
He sees Savvy's flashlight skim over a glowing mahogany craft; it's an antique, he can tell immediately, but it looks like it's been lovingly restored. Two empty rows of seats beckon them. It's a four-seater.
"Whose boat is this?" Derek gestures toward it.
"Mine," Augie says, "mine and my brother's, and our daddy's before that, but Shug's the one who restored it."
Derek feels his heart thumping with sense memory of the night before, Addison's body limp and heavy in his arms as he struggled through the rain to get them situated in the boat. He doesn't say anything, but he feels Addison move a little closer to him.
"Calmer out there than my toddler's bath," Augie says, gesturing toward the admittedly still water.
She's not wrong. The water appears so different from his experience last night that it might as well be a different island. There's no driving rain – not even a light sprinkle – and the movement around the base of the boat is rhythmic, almost gentle.
Augie turns back to the boat, taking the light with her, and Derek takes advantage of the darkness.
"Addie, are you sure …" He whispers the words, not wanting to argue with Savvy's cousin – or Savvy for that matter.
"Derek." Addison puts a hand up to his face, a sure one despite the darkness. "I need to do this," she murmurs, "and … you came this far, so…."
There's nothing else to say. They buckle into a life jacket apiece; Derek is pretty sure he sees Augie roll her eyes when he tightens the straps across Addison's chest.
Savvy climbs in first.
Derek's hand finds Addison's where it's resting on the side of her PFD and he squeezes her fingers with his. Just once, just one final are we really doing this and when she squeezes back he has his answer.
He helps Addison into the boat first, trying not to wince when he thinks of the way the rain sliced in front of his eyes last night as he tried desperately to keep her awake on their journey across Three Rivers.
Savvy holds the flashlight aimed at the dock while Augie's hands move, fast and sure, unraveling the rope from the cleat – it's an old-fashioned looking one, but like most things on the island in his brief experience, it appears both well-worn and well made. Augie releases the last of the neat figure eight she probably knotted herself; she's clearly as experienced as Savvy on the water, and she makes short work of the rope.
Loose, untethered, the coiled rope hits wood; at the same time, the round beam of the flashlight disappears.
"We've got lights on the boat," Augie assures Derek, perhaps hearing his indrawn breath, "but we're not going to go waking up the whole island. We'll wait 'til we've made some headway."
"But how are you going to –"
"I know it by heart," Augie says simply.
And so it's still dark, but Derek has the feeling that dark isn't enough of a word to describe the inky velvet hanging over them.
Augie turns over the engine, whistling softly at the sound. He hears the rustling as she turns back to the bench behind her where he and Addison sit side by side.
"Hey, city boy … last chance to call quits." Augie directs her words toward Derek.
"I'm not quitting," he replies firmly as the boat starts a slow half-circle away from the dock, considering and then thinking better of adding, sorry to disappoint you. It's too dark to see Augie's expression but he feels Addison let out a breath next to him in response.
.-.-.
She's sitting still.
So still, but she's the only still thing: the river is moving, and the air above them too, with the whistle that makes her feel like she's flying. When she closes her eyes, it's so dark that the darkness itself is penetrating her lids.
There's no darkness like island darkness. No comparison in any of the urban, suburban or even exurban places she's lived. She spent many summers on Martha's Vineyard growing up, but while it might have been exclusive, it was still … inhabited. That's what Addison asked Savvy the first time, a little breathlessly: is it inhabited? And Savvy grinned and said … kind of. Well … it's complicated.
Their first night on the island so many years ago was the darkest she can recall. Rather than a dark screen blocking out her vision, it was as if some central point above them was pouring thick black down into every crevice of the world. She was certain if she reached out a hand she wouldn't feel empty, breezy island air but something thicker, darker.
It's the same now. She can't see anything at all, anything except the intoxicating darkness.
Instead, her senses are filled with the water and the wind, the smell of salt and wet wood, the rustle of nylon rain jackets as Derek shifts beside her, pulling her closer against him. She lets herself be soothed by feel of him, the strength of his body against hers, without second guesses or shame or the intense, heartbreaking disappointment of the shower.
Savvy's words flit through her memory.
Tell him. He needs to know.
If she had taken her friend's advice, if she had told Derek the last time, would they be here right now? Would she have to qualify and dissect the sensations of something as simple as seating herself next to her own husband, the way his arm feels along the back of the bench, the way they've sat a thousand times before?
He hasn't asked her where they're going, not again, not since they left the dock. The craft moves smoothly along the water, carving its trail.
.-.-.
"Can I talk?" Derek asks as patiently as he can muster.
"From what I've heard, you sure can," Augie replies pleasantly, working the boat with expert precision along the curves of the river.
"Where are we going?"
"Oh, not this again. Sav," Augie turns to her cousin. "Is he always like this?"
"Augie," Addison says quietly, from next to him, and he appreciates it.
"Look," Augie says, not turning around, her long blonde ponytail blowing out behind her, "I know you're new here, but I'm sure you've figured out the island has its own rules. The island's been around a lot longer than we have and it'll still be here a long time after we've all shuffled off – come on, Sav, don't get all mushy." Augie elbows her cousin. "I just want him to understand."
"He'll understand when he gets there," Savvy says.
Derek stares out at the inky darkness. And then there's a sudden glow – faint, even dull, but it's something. Savvy's switched on the squat little dashboard lantern. They must be far enough from the island now not to bother anyone.
Silently, Derek tries to remember what he knows of the geography surrounding the island. It isn't much, but he banked on it last night to make it across the river, heart in his throat – and in his boat – and he made it. He knows you have to cross Three Rivers to get to the mainland, but he's fairly certain they haven't taken the curve at Black River – the one that, inbound, brings the island to first view. There's Two Crab Island, the landmark he remembered from his fishing trip with Beau and Boswell. He couldn't draw the coordinates, not exactly.
"Two Crab Island," he says out loud.
He sees Savvy and Augie exchange a look. "What do you know about Two Crab?"
"I went fishing with Beau and Boswell," he says. "Is that where we're going?"
"No."
They don't offer more, and he knows better than to press at this point. There's Two Crab, with its lighthouse, triangulated with …
With something else.
A dark smudge on the horizon, a … something, and when he asked what it was, he recalls that Beau and Bos exchanged a glance. Don't worry about it, that's what they said. If he recalls his points right, then that must mean…
He's silent instead of asking, but as they make headway toward it, he starts to feel more sure. No one else speaks until they've covered enough water that he's certain they can't be going anywhere else. Augie cuts the motor; it's quiet, and they drift softly.
"Aug," Savvy says quietly, "Derek steered Addie back from the mainland. He had to have – "
"Goat's Head," Augie says suddenly, and Derek has to listen closely to make sure he made out the words correctly.
"Goat's … Head?"
"Goat's Head. The name of the island. It's the land not inhabited," Augie explains. "It's … from the bible."
Derek is confused, but he stays quiet, hoping she'll fill in the gaps.
"And the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities unto a land not inhabited: and he shall let go the goat in the wilderness," Augie recites. It's not a passage Derek recognizes, though he can identify a sort of biblical rhythm.
"A land not inhabited," he repeats, trying to make sense of it. Addison is quiet beside him.
"It's where you release your sins," Augie continues. "In the past, anyway. Upon the head of a goat, into a land not inhabited. You release them, and then it's just …"
"Healing," Savvy suggests.
Augie nods. "Cleansing," she says.
"Starting over," Savvy adds.
"Beau and Boswell acted like I shouldn't even look at the island," Derek pushes hesitantly. "This one, I mean. Goat's … Head. When we were out on the boat."
"Outsiders aren't supposed to look," Augie says simply. "The curse."
"He's not an outsider," Savvy points out.
"Well, they didn't know that."
Savvy accepts this.
"The curse?" Derek prods.
"The Traveler's Curse."
He remembers the EMTs surprise that he and Addison had come from the island. Outsiders. And the shock – even admiration – from some of the Beauforts that he'd managed to steer them both back from the mainland to the island. What was it they said? And Addison too, back at Reeds, when she was trying to convince the cousins to let him join them wherever they were going?
The island welcomed him back.
"What's the Traveler's Curse?"
.-.-.
Weiss tosses and turns in a bed that feels too big without Savvy, cool breeze blowing in the open windows, curling the edges of curtains that are older than they are. Finally he gives up trying to sleep and just throws a fleece over his pajamas, toes into slippers that have been there as long as he can remember – he has no idea whose they are – and trudges out to the porch.
For a few moments he just stares out through the island darkness in the general direction of the rivers. It's time, Savvy said, and he knew better than to argue. But not arguing doesn't mean he doesn't worry. He focuses on the sliver of moon and the scattering of stars and has a brief longing for some white lightning. He's considering going inside to find some when he hears a creaking sound from down the other end of the porch.
He's not alone.
"Sorry," a low voice rumbles. "Didn't mean to startle you."
Weiss looks over to see Russ – Augie's husband, his own cousin in law of some degree that the Beauforts never seem to stick to very strictly – seated in one of the rocking chairs with a blanket wrapped bundle in his arms.
"Someone couldn't sleep and just had to be on the rocker on the porch." Russ's voice is soft, but from what Weiss can see, the little girl on his lap is deeply asleep.
Weiss doesn't question his story, and Russ doesn't ask why Weiss is up. Almost unconsciously, both of them glance in the direction of Three Rivers.
"Chilly out tonight," Weiss says casually.
Russ nods. There's a knitted blanket wrapped around the child he's holding. "Been a strange spell of weather."
"Even for the island?"
Russ pauses his rocking for a moment. "They'll be back," he says quietly.
"I know." Weiss rests a hand on one of the columns supporting the portico. It's far too dark to see, even with the squat little portable light hanging from one of the beams, but he knows that Savvy and her brother marked their heights on one of the columns with grease pencil – red for Sav, black for Bos – every year over the long decades they came to the island. The marks have faded some but they're still there, a testament to every inch of them and a reminder of the passage of time.
The thought of parents marking their children's heights makes him think of children in general, makes his stomach twist as he recalls the plans they've been making. They were just plans at first, just talking, because we have all the time in the world, didn't they?
Now he watches Russ rocking his sleeping daughter and wonders if their time has run out.
Russ sees him watching. "Y'all will be parents if that's what you want," he says quietly.
"I thought it was what we wanted." Weiss sinks into the rocker next to father and daughter. Russ overheard some of the fiery conversations among Augie, Savvy, and Weiss, and probably heard about the others. There's no need to clarify. "I thought we wanted the same thing," Weiss adds, warning his voice not to crack.
"You do," Russ says. "You just have different ways going about it."
"Yeah." Weiss pushes off the floorboards with one slippered foot, letting the rocker move back and forth.
"Weiss … you don't want Savvy to die."
"How can you – " Weiss lowers his voice when Minna stirs on her father's lap. "Sorry," he mutters, not feeling very sorry at all.
"No you're not, but that's okay." Russ sighs. "Look, I was just trying to say, you and Savvy, you both want the same thing. You want her to live."
Weiss has to force down every instinct to say stop, don't talk about it, you don't talk about these things, even after almost twenty years of immersing himself in the sprawling Beaufort clan has taught him that they talk about all sorts of things he wouldn't necessarily expect … or want.
When Savvy is with him it's easy to get lost in her, to focus completely on her during this difficult time, making sure she knows he's there for her, that she eats and sleeps and breathes as much as she can while she says goodbye to her mother. But lying alone in the bed they've been sharing, wandering through the cottage without her, and now settled on the porch, he finds himself
"I don't want things to change," he admits. "I like the way things are now."
"You and me both, brother." Russ sighs. "We don't really get much of a choice in the matter, do we? Gotta keep moving … only other choice is to stop and you don't want to do that. You stop moving …"
… you're already gone. He doesn't have to finish the sentence; it's a Beaufort favorite Weiss has heard many times.
"I'm sorry," he says then, suddenly remembering that while his wife is afraid of getting sick, Russ's wife actually is sick, even if she doesn't want anyone to talk about it.
He sees the faint outline of Russ nodding in the low light.
"What if she didn't want to treat it?" Weiss finds the words tumbling out, even as he's worried they're horrendously insensitive. "Would you do what she wanted?"
There's a long, regretful silence.
"Listen, Russ –"
"No, it's all right. I kind of walked into that one." Russ sighs, a long, pained sigh. "She's stubborn, Augie, she's got her own strong ways of … and if that's what she wanted I don't know what I could do except … be there, I suppose. Talk to her."
"But not talk her out of it."
"Have you ever talked Savvy out of anything?"
"No," Weiss admits, finding himself smiling a little.
"Well, there you go."
There's a long moment of silence while both men push their rocking chairs back and forth. It's broken when Minna lets out a soft little snore and Russ chuckles.
"Takes after her mama," he says fondly.
Weiss holds two handfuls of the worn wooden rocking chair. The arms curve down into intricate whorls; they're aged now, but at one point they were new. It's Great Uncle Bolton who was the whittler, he's pretty sure, or was it one of the long-ago Beaus? The grain of the wood has definitely changed over the years; there might even have been paint, long ago. Now it's practically worn smooth, not a splinter to be had as his thumb traces the lines of it.
For long moments it's just the faint squeaking of the two rocking chairs and the soft sounds of the birds and insects who share the island.
He glances at Russ. "So … that's all we can do, then? No say, no vote? Just … be there?"
"You say it like it's nothing," Russ responds.
"Well, it's not much," Weiss says, hearing his voice shake a little.
"That's where you're wrong, boy." Russ shakes his head. "Not much? Actually … it's a whole hell of a lot."
.-.-.
All in good time, that's what Augie said instead of answering, and before Derek could press her the squat little dashboard lantern illuminated a dense thicket of trees, coming closer and closer until –
With a thunk the boat connects with the shore, jolting him. There's a soft sound from next to him – Addison, and he grabs for her instinctually, worried. The light's all wrong for seeing her face.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm okay," she murmurs. "Just – help me out?"
"Of course."
Augie gets out first, and she and Savvy squat down together on ... something to secure the boat. It's not a dock. There's no anything that he can sense in the sliver of moonlight. The cousins appear to be speaking a language he can't quite understand, some sort of island shorthand.
"Here, Sav," Augie murmurs.
"It's the one?"
"No, the other."
Four hands move swiftly and the boat is tied to something he can't see.
"Okay." Savvy stands, brushing her hands off, and Augie directs the flashlight's meager beam along … something. The ground is predictably marshy under his feet, reeds so tall they brush his legs above the tops of his high boots. The wetness and the call of familiar sea birds give way before too long, though, to something else entirely.
His rubber boots slap earth thicker and drier now, the low beam illuminating … not a path exactly, but some kind of rough dirt flattening between low-hanging vegetation. Wherever they are, he gets the sense it has been disturbed before, if not often. The sense is affirmed by how Savvy and Augie seem to know exactly where they're going.
He realizes he's still holding Addison's hand, has been since he helped her out of the boat, but she feels like the only real thing in this leafy, wet dream world so he doesn't exactly want to let go. She doesn't seem surprised at quickly the marshy coast has given way to something else entirely.
It's turned from cool to cold as they walk, chilly gusts moving his hair and frosting the tips of his ears – he gets the sense of elevation, that they're climbing something, but he's concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
A sudden, loud cry breaks the stillness.
He freezes, pulling Addison closer to him instinctually, and then he hears it again.
"What the –"
"Just a fox," Augie says lightly.
"Just?" Derek shakes his head as he hears a third cry, this one intermingling with the other. More than one. More than that, he's sure.
"It's their space," Savvy says, "they won't both us if we don't bother them."
Crickets chirp loudly as if agreeing with her.
Aren't they bothering them by traipsing through their unspoiled habitat?
But Augie isn't taking any more questions, apparently. "Keep up," she hisses over her shoulder as she continues the trek. The elevation is more obvious now.
"Where are we going?" Derek dares to ask.
"Just follow, would you?"
He swallows a retort, since Augie's the only one with a flashlight.
And they keep walking.
It could be moments or hours, that's how disconnected from time he feels in this strange place. It smells sharp and leafy, with a darker earthy scent underneath. Things grow here. Grow wild, no doubt. They grow, bloom, and desiccate, and their traces are everywhere.
He can't see more than a few feet ahead – the land mass could be a few yards across or miles; he has no way to know.
What he does know is the conflicting, equally strong sensations of closeness – from the dense vegetation, the leaves both soft and sharp he's constantly brushing away from both of them as they walk – and vastness, from the dizzying sensation that the eerily empty space they're exploring goes on forever.
He's not used to feeling this unsure. It's not that he's not comfortable in the outdoors. He grew up camping in state parks, fishing on easily charted lakes, hiking on well-marked trails. He was the one who had to try to convince Addison to do even the tamest of hikes outside the city, mainly convincing her with the close proximity of local vineyards.
Yet here they are in the strangest place he's ever been, and it's Addison who seems more sure-footed than he does. He doesn't try to ask more questions about what they're doing; the answers will be circular anyway. Instead, he just tries to keep up.
As the dirt path turns rockier, steeper, they're still holding hands, but he's not leading her anymore; he's pretty sure it's the other way around.
The two figures in front of them stop with no warning; Derek, who's been focused on not slipping, bumps into one of them.
"Hush," Augie scolds as if he did it on purpose; he doesn't defend himself, though, the stillness that's guided their journey has turned into something else entirely, and he doesn't have to ask where they are.
Not because he knows where they are.
But because he understands that they're here.
.-.-.
Where are we?
Here.
But where's here?
It's … here.
Sav, come on, would you just –
That's what it is! Here! It's here when you need it.
And when you don't?
We wouldn't be here if you didn't.
That doesn't make any –
Sure it does.
Savvy, I'm not going to – oh my god.
See? I told you.
That's not … normal, Sav!
Normal is overrated, Addie.
Maybe so, but I'm not going to just …
You need to.
How do you know that?
Because you're here.
That's just circular, come on … you sound like the Red Queen. Savvy, that's not a compliment, stop – oh!
Just follow me, Ad.
But where –
Trust me.
I do trust you, Sav. I'm here, aren't I? Even if I don't know where 'here' is?
.-.-.
Augie's flashlight carves an arc of yellow light around a ring of damp grey rocks, sloping toward a pool of moving, living water. The water glows greenish, steam rising from its burbling surface, at odds with the cold wind above it.
A natural spring.
He pauses, taking it in, or as much of it as he can see.
It might be beautiful in daylight; here in the pressing darkness with only one beam offsetting the darkness, it's eerie; between the circle of sloping rocks and the steamy surface of the spring, it almost seems like a cauldron.
And it's fragrant.
He wrinkles his nose.
"Sulphur," Savvy supplies. "It's good for you."
"It's … strong."
"So are a lot of things that are good for you," Augie notes mildly.
"Okay, look." He takes a deep breath. "I don't want to disrespect this … ritual … or whatever magical island things are behind it. Okay? But Addison had a medical emergency twenty-four hours ago. It's one thing to drag her out –"
"Derek."
He keeps talking, ignoring her interruption. " – in the middle of the night on a trip to wherever we are. But it's another thing to expect her to get into … whatever that is."
"It's a natural spring," Savvy says mildly.
"Addie." Derek moves closer to her, hoping to get her to hear him, but she shakes her head very slightly.
He remembers the warnings at the hospital, that her cervix isn't yet fully closed, and he winces, thinking of what could be in the water, thinking of her submerging herself in god knows –
"Everyone makes their own choices," Augie says, almost kindly. "Don't they?"
Savvy looks from one to the other, then simply turns her back and strips her shirt over her head.
"Savvy!"
He closes his eyes automatically as the low flashlight beam illuminates her long bare back.
"Derek, don't be such a prude," Savvy scolds, "don't you remember when we all used to share one cabana at the beach house? And besides," she turns around, smiling almost slyly. "They're not going to be around much longer."
"Hear, hear," Augie says as Derek averts his eyes, stripping down to panties before traipsing toward the spring.
So he was right that they're getting into the water, but why do they need to –
"Is this some kind of … orgy?" Derek asks nervously.
Augie throws back her head and laughs. "Oh, only in your dreams, boy."
"Derek … it's okay." Addison is pulling at his arm, and then unzipping his jacket for him.
He lets her, though the cold gusts of wind circling them makes him question his decision. There's something about the goldish-green steam and the cool black winds above it that makes him feel compelled.
But it's cold. He shivers once he's down to his t-shirt and even in the low light he can see that Addison's lips are faintly blue.
"Addie … it's freezing, this is crazy …"
"It will be warm in there," she assures him, her chattering teeth leaving him dubious.
She points towards the burbling spring. He sees that Savvy and Augie are both in up to their bare shoulders now, their hair very blonde against the water. There are a few scraps of lace on the rocks that look as if they've been flung.
All right, then. He's still leaving his shorts on.
No one protests; he focuses on moving toward the slippery rocks, one arm supporting Addison … who strangely doesn't protest or accuse him of hovering. They find their way down to the rocks in a surprisingly smooth rhythm, until they're sitting close together on the cold stone.
Addison's knees are drawn up, arms wrapped around them; she's naked, but he's drawn less to the familiar elegant lines of her body and more to the way she's shaking. It's cold. It's crazy what they're doing, that's what it is –
"Derek," she whispers, icy fingers touching his arm, and he glances at what he can see of her face illuminated by that one beam of light.
In that same light, he sees one of Augie's arms reaching out of the spring, a flick of her wrist, and then two things happen:
They're plunged into darkness.
And they're plunged into the spring, cold sharp rock giving way to blessedly hot water, hot enough to still trembling limbs. The water feels strangely heavy – almost thick – cradling his body and holding it at the surface even as its bubbling, active movement splashes at his skin.
He tries to grasp his situation.
First and foremost … it's dark.
So dark, darker even than the boat ride.
It's darker than anything, and for a moment of sheer sensory deprivation he's not sure he can breathe. Gusts of chill wind move his hair while hot water sluices over his shoulders and the contrast of it all in the overwhelming darkness leaves him dizzy.
No one is speaking.
He has no idea how much time is passing.
He could be anywhere, anything, and the vacuum of darkness is somehow both terrifying and deeply seductive.
The cold wind moves, the hot water moves … but he doesn't move.
He doesn't breathe, not exactly; he finds himself holding onto a nervous inhale.
He's floating. But not the kind of floating he associates with a pool or even the mobile ocean. This sensation is different, as if he's being pulled and pushed at once, the oddly heavy water surrounding him. The quality of the air, the scent of the breeze that lifts the hairs on the back of his neck.
It's as if someone turned out the light on the world.
Then the water pressure changes and he feels her brush against him, the nudge of her shoulder, the press of her side, those familiar contours.
And he exhales.
.-.-.
It's just as she remembers.
It starts the way it always does, the hot gushing water drawing her in while the cold wind batters the parts of her she can't huddle into the spring.
It's just as she remembers.
Like the last time, the water is heavy, cradling her, the strong scent wafting around her nostrils. It's pungent but the sulphurous quality has given way to something else, something earthier and richer.
It's just as she remembers … except it's also different.
Yes, there's that moment of plunging darkness, terrifying and alluring all at once, as if the spring blotted out the whole rest of the world.
And there's the eerie, uncharacteristic silence, devoid of the birdsong and chirping insects she associates so strongly with this terrain.
But now her senses are flooded with something else entirely as she brushes up against his familiar shape in the water, her limbs sighing recognition. He is warm beside her, and then behind her, as he continues to move.
He moves because the water moves. You can't really stay still in the spring; she remembers that too. It's always moving, like time.
She leans back against his heat at one point and his arms come around her, under the water. She lets him take her weight, what there is of it, what the spring hasn't already taken. They haven't spoken – she's not sure she could speak – yet she feels his presence strongly.
The water is silky soft, the pungent odor completely gone now. She smells something else, green and alive, in the cold air around them.
The contrast of hot water and cold air leaves her a little breathless; she feels his fingers against her skin, moving some sweaty tendrils of hair off her neck.
He's very close, his lips nearly brushing her ear. It would be so easy to let go, to relax fully against him and shut her eyes to the last month and a half of her life.
It would be easy, but it wouldn't be fair, she has to remind herself, not when he's been so caring since her miscarriage, out of … she's not sure what. A sense of duty, remaining affection for her as a person.
Be mine again, that's what she's thinking, without meaning to. It's just that it's so quiet, so still, that words twinkle gently through her mind the way the stars move across the great black bowl of the sky overhead.
She's filled with a powerful sense of longing, for something that surprises her.
It's not for the past, the years of golden happiness she can still remember with painful accuracy.
It's for a future she hasn't felt yet. The future she's ruined – with her careless act, and with her inability to act further to move on from it. With the inertia that kept her in Mark's bed, the fear that led her to seek him out, over and over, after Derek left. The same fear that's clung to her in some form for a long time.
It's the future she misses, the one she hasn't seen. The one she won't get to see, because of what she did.
I'm sorry, she says to no one, in no voice, not penetrating the intense silence of the spring. I'm so sorry.
She makes no sound but she hears the words somehow anyway, hears them, sees them, feels them as if all her senses are one.
And then it's Savvy's voice she hears, the first spoken word since they plunged into the stream.
"Ready?"
The answer to that question is an action, not a word, and she finds her hand sliding down in the water to brush Derek's. Follow me, she says without words, and then she's drawing in a last cold mouthful of air before she leadens her body and slips beneath the bubbling surface of the spring.
.-.-.
He feels it in contrasts, in black and white, hot and cold, the burn of her touch and then the freeze of its absence and then she's gone. She's slipped under. And he should panic – infection, oxygen, everything – but instead of panicking he finds himself listening to her unspoken words, follow me, and he closes his eyes and ducks down until the hot gushing water covers his head.
.-.-.
They are not four, under the water. They are one, moving closer together, fingers brushing, helping each other, helping the water push them down. Their lungs fill and they should be bursting, they should be surfacing on instinct alone but there's something happening instead. A glow, penetrating the darkness, something golden and warm. It moves swiftly from feet to shoulders to electrify the top of all four of their heads.
.-.-.
It's not the same as last time. It's completely different.
Okay.
Okay? Sav, you're not listening.
I'm listening. I'm here.
Savvy, I don't understand.
You don't need to understand, Addie. You just need to be here.
Be here and then what?
Be here and wait.
Wait?
You can't have forgotten that.
.-.-.
Addison feels his fingers brush hers, surprised he can touch her, feel her under the water, but all she can do is tell him without words or sight to hold on, wait, trust me, but why should he, but he does, because it's a moment later that she feels a great rush of pressure leaving her body as if she's sent the heaviest part of her away and just like that, she's popping back to the surface leaving her burdens behind.
.-.-.
Savvy's next to break the surface. Next because Addison was first; she can't see her, but she knows. Augie joins them after a moment, drawing big lungfuls of air.
"Sav … Derek's …"
"Leave him, Addie," Savvy murmurs.
"But he's not …" Panic rings her tone. "Savvy, maybe something happened…"
"Something is supposed to happen," Savvy says softly. "You want something to happen. That's why we're here."
"No, it's … it's too long."
"You have to have faith, honey. Come on, he won't get this opportunity again. Don't let it go, Ad."
But Addie's breaths are coming fast, panting, and Savvy is starting to get just a little nervous. The island won't let us down, she reminds herself firmly.
"Savvy … Savvy," Addison whispers. "Please, I can't just – "
And then with a splash he surfaces.
.-.-.
His head has no sooner cleared the water than she's grabbed him around the neck like she never would, not in the water, not with both of their lifeguard training, not unless she wanted to drown him but she needs to convince herself it's true.
That he's actually surfaced.
That he's come back.
The water cradles her and suddenly, she understands … both that she's been waiting, and why.
It's the difference that hasn't really been clear to her until now. That she sought out Mark because she didn't want to be alone.
But she is here with Derek, now … because she wants to be with him.
It's always been him.
Her cold cheek presses his and she feels his arms come around her – he shouldn't; her body will drag his down under the water. It's simple science, it's buoyancy, it's law that they should weigh each other down now, clinging like this.
It's dangerous. Isn't it?
But somehow holding each other tightly like this seems to supersede the law.
They don't sink lower, together. They don't sink at all.
They rise.
To be continued.
Thank you SO MUCH for reading. Please let me know what you think. I truly appreciate every word. I know this chapter was a little bit different with its frequent shifts in perspective, but this part of the story is a little bit different too. I want to get Chapter 18 up with far less of a wait, and you're the fuel to the fire that keeps me squeezing writing time into busy days. Questions? Thoughts? Pretty please review. Until next trip - xoxo.
