Fifteen
When Cassidy finally arrived at the beach, she paused, looking both ways before continuing toward a cluster of fishing pangas. In a rush, she paid one of the men waiting by the boats to ferry her, and with a hard push-off from the sand, the man started the motor and they sped away from the shore. Cassidy sat low in the bow watching for anyone who might have tracked her and was now in pursuit, but she noticed no such activity. Soon the hush of cars passing and the music from the bars faded, and it was just the sound of the panga’s engine and the water rushing past.
As the cluster of anchored boats appeared, Cassidy searched for the Trinity. They passed a giant sailboat, the decks empty of people, the masts with huge sails rolled up tight. Only the mast light and several running lights were illuminated. She imagined what sailing such a ship must feel like—the wind pulling the huge boat along as if by magic. The next boat was actually two rafted together; a party was underway on the bigger one. In their little panga, Cassidy and her driver passed by unnoticed.
Finally the Trinity appeared. After a week of paddling up to it after surfing, she identified the shape of the bow and the wheelhouse’s silhouette easily. Her chilled body shuddered with relief. Before climbing the ladder up to the deck, she looked around to make sure no one, neither an occupant of one of the neighboring boats nor some pursuer, happened to be watching. Seeing no one, she paid the driver a wad of wet bills from her pocket, and he slipped quietly away.
She climbed the ladder and slipped over the side. Everything was silent. She looked around. A shiver traveled down her spine. Wasn’t Bruce here? What if he wasn’t?
A shadow moved, and she spun away, but the shadow caught her. In a flash, she was pinned to the floor by a heavy weight. She thrashed and kicked and was about to scream, but Bruce’s voice stopped her.
“Cassidy?” Bruce said, his face hovering inches from hers. He jumped off her just as fast as he’d tackled her, and helped her up. “You scared the shit out of me,” he added.
She rubbed her wrists where his grip had chafed her skin. She slumped onto the bench where she had eaten breakfast just a day before. “Who did you think I was, anyway?”
Bruce didn’t answer. “Sorry,” he said instead. He stood with his hands on his hips, his face tight with worry. “Where were you? I thought . . . ” He looked away.
“I went back,” she said.
“What?”
“After you left me on the beach, I got on the boat like you said.” She swallowed, gathering her courage. “But then I got off.” She looked at him. Would he understand? “I had to go back.”
His expression darkened. “What the hell did you do that for?”
Cassidy sighed. “Something sort of popped into my mind. The deadline for the meeting was approaching, and I just thought, I don’t know, that it was my last chance to find out what happened to him.”
“And did you?”
“No,” she said.
Bruce paced the deck. “You could have gotten yourself killed,” he said.
Cassidy swallowed hard. Killed? Surely, he was just trying to scare her. “It’s not like I went out there and waved a flag, making myself obvious. Nobody saw me.”
He turned to face her. “These people don’t play games, Cassidy.”
“I get it, okay?” she said, her voice rising. “I was careful.”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “You were lucky.”
The confrontation hung in the air between them. Finally, Cassidy said, “I’m going to change into dry clothes.”
Most of her clothing was at the hotel room—but she did find a bikini she had left drying on her bunk and a pair of shorts. And Pete’s hoody. She reached for it, as if for a lifeline, and buried her face in its softness. His scent was gone but her heart responded with a memory: a beach bonfire on the Washington coast after a chilly surf session. How many more memories like that would they have made?
A lifetime of them.
Bruce was in the galley, pulling items from the fridge: onions and peppers. Garlic from the hanging basket over the counter. A bag of fresh shrimp, which he placed in the sink. She was relieved to see his stern look gone.
“Hungry?” he asked.
Even though she hadn’t once thought about food, Cassidy felt a nauseous tickle scratch at her insides. “I think so.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “How can I help?”
He glanced at her. “Can you peel shrimp?” he asked.
Cassidy moved quietly to the small sink and began peeling, making a pile of the limp gray crustaceans in a bowl he placed between them. The small task made her feel purposeful, and she gave herself to it. The shrimp’s tiny feet would sometimes peel away perfectly, but usually they broke off and she would have to go back and pluck them from the meat. Her mind drifted back to her visit ashore, how she had waited in the shadows, scrutinizing the activity at the Uno station for anything out of the ordinary. No car came at the arranged time, no shady characters lurked on the corners.
Bruce added the peeled shrimp from her bowl to the hot frying pan. The meat sizzled and the scent of seasoned onions and garlic wafted past her nose. “So, we’ll head back tomorrow as soon as I can get the ladies out of their big fluffy beds,” he said, his voice light. “And drag Jesus from his family reunion.” She saw through his attempt at humor and realized that he was just as preoccupied as she was.
Bruce served the food onto two plates, and she followed
