A N D R E A C U R T I S
146
“But if I’m so smart,” he says, his voice dropping a register,
“why hasn’t anyone come by yet? I was so sure. I thought we
were as good as rescued when we saw the barrel.”
I lean into him and reach for his hand. I weave my fingers
through his and squeeze.
“It’s going to be all right,” I say. “I promise.”
I move closer and press my lips against his neck.
He shivers. All the noise of the wind is drowned out. I can
only hear the roar of our breath, his heart. He pulls me toward
him, one hand at my waist.
I rest my head on his shoulder and burrow my face into
his neck. He smells warm, musky.
“Christina?” he says.
“Uh-hmmm,” I say.
“Christina!”
“Yeah?” I lift my cheek from his shoulder.
“No, I mean
look!
Christina,
look!
” He pushes me away
slightly.
I feel a stab of regret. I’ve put myself out—kissed him,
held him. Things I would never do, wouldn’t think of doing,
if we weren’t out here in the wilderness, if death didn’t seem
so close, if he hadn’t done it first. If he wants to show me
another piece of wreckage, I’m not going to be able to muster
the energy to respond. I just can’t.
“There!” he says, pointing past the barrel.
It looks like big whitecaps. The waves are getting much
larger. “Yeah. The wind is coming up.” I try not to allow disap-
pointment into my voice.
“No! A sail! Don’t you see it? There’s a sail. I’m sure of it.”
