In answer, she walked slowly forward until she was close enough to lay her small hand on top of mine, over my stomach. She spoke one word in Portuguese.
"Morte," she sighed quietly. Then she turned, her shoulders bent as if the conversation had aged her, and left the room.
I knew enough Spanish for that one.
Edward was frozen again, staring after her with the tortured expression fixed on his face. A few moments later, I heard a boat's engine putter to life and then fade into the distance.
Edward did not move until I started for the bathroom. Then his hand caught my shoulder
"Where are you going?" His voice was a whisper of pain.
…...
"To the bathroom. Oh, Edward?"
"Yes, love?"
"Would you mind just throwing out that fish dish and cleaning it? Even the thought of it sitting in the fridge makes me feel queasy."
"Of course. Did you want your toothbrush? I already packed it away, I can get it for you."
"No need, I'll grab it. And do you mind making me an omelet before we go? I know we're in a rush but I'm starving."
"No, we have a couple of hours before our flight leaves. There's time for you to eat. I want you to feel comfortable."
"Thanks, Edward," I said quietly, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. His frozen figure softened, and he wrapped his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin. I sighed and pulled away, keeping my head ducked as I turned the corner of the kitchen into the bedroom where our suitcases lay on the bed. I unzipped mine, grabbed the small bag of toiletries, and unzipped his small backpack just enough to reach a hand into the inside pocket, blindly feeling around until I found a wallet and two passports. I pulled them each out, and returned Edward's passport to the bag. I shoved the wallet and my passport into my pockets, and spun around slowly. I made my way to the hall that led to the half bath closest to the front door.
Here I paused. I had to act quickly, and quietly. That said, it was certain that Edward would be able to hear my every move. Maybe I could encourage him to try and tune me out? Hm, I did have to pee. His gentlemanly regard for my privacy might be the only way to get past him now.
I stepped into the bathroom, placing the toiletry bag on the sink counter and turned to the bathroom door. Closing it would be what he would expect to hear, but if I closed it he would certainly be attuned to the sound when I opened it again, especially with how heightened his tendency to hover currently was. With one hand on the handle, I closed the door a bit harder than I normally would, keeping the knob turned as it impacted the door frame. As fluidly as I could, I pushed it open again as far as I could in the fraction of a second I decided could count as the same sound. It stood open about a foot wide, and I judged I'd be able to sneak through. I peed, flushed the toilet and brushed my teeth. Then I lifted the toilet lid and hoped the sound of my footsteps might sound like me kneeling over it. I gave a couple of retches for good measure and stepped carefully out the bathroom door. With both hands, I slowly opened the front door as little as I needed and left it open, stepping out into the hot sun.
I fought every urge to run, knowing that it would be fruitless and any odd noise would have him instantly at my side. Instead I walked slowly, carefully and kept my breathing in a shallow, even measure. When I reached the dock, I climbed onto the rail of the small powerboat as quickly as I could reach it, rather than continue risking steps on the rickety-looking wooden boards of the dock. My motion inside the boat, I hoped, could be chalked up to normal movement from waves or passing wake. I stepped down carefully to where the two ropes holding the boat to the dock were hitched onto metal fixtures. I wanted to do everything I could before the noisy engine gave me away. I quietly eased the rope until its knots slipped undone easily, and then turned my head to the engine at the back. Holding back a curse, I frantically flicked my head back to the house. So far no Edward. I needed a new plan.
The engine, well engines, three black menacing machines lined up at the back, were outboards like the one that Charlie used to have on the back of his dingy little fishing boat. I didn't know much, but I knew that engines when they were flipped up like they were would make a fairly noticeable noise when lowered. While I was sure to give myself away soon, I needed more than a fraction of a second to get over to the ignition and start my harebrained getaway. And a fraction of a second would be all I had once the boat made any sound at all.
I breathed deeply, and slowly and carefully let it out. I decided that getting away from the dock before I started all this was probably a good plan. Along one of the boat railings was a long pole with a hook at the end. I picked it up, careful not to knock anything with it, and climbed to the bow of the boat again. I slowly wedged it against the L-shaped dock that lay in front of us. I applied even pressure, and the boat gradually began to drift backward.
Quickly, it became clear that one little push would not be enough. I levied what little leverage I had against the dock segment to the side of the boat, and scrambled over to the other side, hoping the water was shallow enough to reach the bottom. I leaned over the rail at the bow, extending my arms as far as they would reach and shoved hard when I met bottom, gaining a little extra momentum backward. I did this again, but the third time I tried the water was too deep. Quickly I stepped down from the bow to where the boat sat closer to the water at the middle of it, and managed to get in two more shoves backward with my makeshift punting stick. Probably I looked ridiculous. I certainly felt on the brink of disaster.
At the very least, I was now a good 15 or 20 yards from the dock, which was likely as good as I was going to get. The waves were quickly slowing my backward momentum and I was sure it was going to be a short matter of time until they started pushing me back to shore. I dropped my long stick, not caring now about the noise, and ran back to the engines. A few shoves quickly revealed that this was not how the engines lowered, and I whipped around to the driver's seat to find some sort of fancy button when I locked eyes with Edward at the shore.
He looked bewildered and a bit dazed, as if he could not quite figure out what was happening. Good. I broke my eyes away and scanned the dash, not finding any button labeled anything along the lines of "this lowers the engine." Shit shit shit.
"Bella?" Edward called. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't.
My fingers were fumbling now at the places I couldn't easily see. My left hand skirted the underside of the dash, while my right hand fumbled around the side, up the throttle, and paused at what felt like a switch on the side of the throttle's handle.
I panicked and pressed down, hearing with relief the whirring sound of something happening, and I chanced a glance to see that yes, all three engines were lowering, however a bit slow.
"Bella!" Edward called. He knew what was happening now. I guessed he could probably just jump and land on the boat if he wanted, at which point it would be game over for my little escape plan. I needed to stall him.
"Edward, just cut it out! I can't even look at you right now. Just give me some space okay? I'll make it to Carlisle on my own."
The engines were down now. I rammed the key, still in the ignition from Edward's jaunt earlier, to the right but nothing happened.
"Bella, how are you going to manage to make it back on your own? Can't you just let me help you get back safely?"
"Edward, I'm sick of you acting like I can't take care of myself. I said I don't want to look at your face right now and I am a grown adult. I can handle booking a flight on my own."
I rammed the key again, harder this time. Nothing.
"Bella, I know you must be so upset with me, and, believe me, I am even angrier with myself. But I can't leave you on your own in a foreign country while you're," his voice caught, but he quickly recovered, "as sick as you are right now."
"Well I had 17 years worth of taking care of myself before you and I don't need you now. I just need you to respect my space and trust me, okay?"
Key ram. Nothing. Key ram. Nothing. Key ram. Nothing.
I didn't look up at him when he said, more softly now, "The throttle needs to be in neutral. Pull it toward you until it clicks."
I pulled it, it clicked, and I rammed the key again. This time the engines growled to life.
I didn't look at him when I rammed the wheel to the right and pulled the throttle into reverse.
I didn't look at him when I rammed the wheel back left and throttled forward.
I didn't look at him when I straightened it out and kicked the boat into speed, feeling like I was driving 60 mph with the windows down.
I didn't turn around as the wind licked the tissue of my eyeballs and forced out tears as quickly as they formed. I didn't blink when they whipped out behind me, or when strands of my hair lashed my face and neck. I just forced my lungs to draw breath, and I wondered if it was the speed that made it so difficult.