It was really just a large, comfortable house built on stilts in a cleared area of the jungle, although it did house the entirepopulation of the Republic. A flag flew out front—a stylized branch of yellow coral against a turquoise background.
The boat bumped gently against the rubber tires placed at regular intervals along the side of the mooring slip. Leigh turnedoff the motor and slipped quickly down from the cabin. Will had made it to the end of the pier and stood waiting, his handsin his pockets. He was wearing shorts, sandals, and sunglasses, looking very appealingly sun-touched.
“Hey,” Will said. “Any trouble?”
“Nope. Had to haggle a little bit to get a good price on dinner, but otherwise smooth sailing.”
Leigh picked up one end of a coil of rope on the deck and tossed it across to Will.
“What’d they have?” Will asked, catching the line neatly and bending to secure it to a metal mooring cleat anchored into thepier. “Did you get that blue one, tastes like salmon?”
They repeated the procedure with a second line at the stern. The whole operation was smooth, rehearsed, a far cry from theirfumbling attempts when they first arrived at the island four months earlier.
“The Kalu Palu market didn’t have any today,” Leigh said. “But I got a couple of the big silver ones with the red tails.”
Kalu Palu was the nearest inhabited island—home to a fishing community of about two hundred people.
“Okay?” she asked. Will tugged on the line he had just tied down. He gave her a thumbs-up, then looked at the boat’s bow fora moment.
“We should rechristen this, call it the Italian Lady,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Leigh asked.
“I finally heard from Cathy and Becky. They went to Italy, to Portofino, after the Coach thing. They’ve been lying low, butI guess they thought it was safe to get in touch.”
“Are they okay?”
“Half the e-mail was about obscure Italian wines they’ve discovered. They’re fine.”
Leigh returned to the bridge briefly to gather her purchases. She pushed a button on the control console. A section of theFlorida Lady’s railing flattened and extended out with a subtle whirring noise into a gangplank across to the slip. She shouldered herbags, climbed down to the deck, and left her boat.
Will took most of the bags, and they walked down the pier together. As they headed in toward the beach, Leigh looked downat the sea. It was an impossibly clear shade of turquoise—like looking through an old Coke bottle at the seafloor. A schoolof red-and-gold tropical fish darted across the white sands, like a fleet of autumn leaves zipping through gently waving tendrilsof seaweed.
The one satchel Leigh had kept was cold against her back, welcome in the equatorial heat. It was filled with ice, and insidethat was a selection of fish caught earlier that morning by Kalu Palu fishermen. Like the Feldspar Creek cabin, the CapitolBuilding’s kitchens were stocked with every type of freezable or nonperishable food imaginable, but there was no substitutefor freshness.
They crossed the beach and walked into the shade of the trees, along a gravel path cut into the jungle. A clearing openedup, revealing the Coral Republic Capitol Building in all its splendor. It was basically a wide, square box built atop pillars,with double windows circling the entirety of the upstairs living space to ensure that the interior was always filled withair and light. The house was bright white with black accents, including shutters on the windows that could be closed againststorms. Parquet floors, verandas everywhere—it was like something out of a Somerset Maugham novel.
Will had told her the plan was based on something called a “black and white” house, which were used as quarters for Britishofficers in Singapore during World War II. Whatever the provenance of the design, Leigh loved it. She liked to sit upstairs,in front of the windows facing the sea, and remember her tiny box of an apartment back in Manhattan.
They entered the house and climbed the stairs. Will took the last bag from Leigh.
“I’ll put this stuff away. I found a recipe for a sweet fish curry with mangos I want to try. It’ll probably be better withthe redtail anyway. Does that sound good?”
Leigh smiled.
“Sure, give it a shot.”
Will’s first tries at new recipes didn’t always work out particularly well. They usually improved over time, but he was definitelysort of a trial-and-error cook. It made him happy, though, and she didn’t mind the experiments. He was always quick to admitif something was inedible, and they’d scrounge up something else.
“Okay—it has to simmer for three or four hours. I’ll take this stuff to the kitchen and put it together in a little bit, aftermy call. What are you going to do?”
“I think I’m going to finish the story.”
Will smiled.
“Really? You got your ending?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, good luck,” he said. “I’m sure it’s great.”
Will kissed her on the cheek and turned to lug the bags into the kitchen, whistling as he went. Leigh watched him go, struckfor the hundredth time at the change that had come over him since the day in Denver. It had taken her a little while to understand,but the truth was that she’d never really seen Will happy before they got to the Republic.
Leigh crossed the house to the room she had turned into her office, a small space with an ocean view. She sat down at herdesk, flipped open the laptop, and pulled up her current work in progress: the story she had been planning since Reimer hadfirst told her she would be interviewing the Oracle. It had evolved into a fairly long piece of work; really a narrative describingeverything she knew about Will and what he’d done. It could be the foundation for a book, if she thought it was somethingshe’d ever want to publish.
She scrolled through the document to the end and reread the last section she’d written. It was an account of the first fewdays after the Denver broadcast; the details of their journey to the Coral Republic: a five-day ordeal that left
