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Forty-Four

Stella

I always say I’ve made a life out of finding lost things. People think what I do is all about adventure and the thrill of holding something precious and valuable in your hands.

This isn’t like that.

When I finally locate Teddy, he’s almost out of air.

His body is limp, kelp-like as it undulates in the invisible currents.

It’s dark down here. I need to work quickly, but my hands are shaking and my mind is chaos.

I press my secondary to his mouth and wrap my arms around him.

This is why we train, because in situations like this you don’t have time to think or make a decision.

I need to act. I deflate my BC and inflate his to start our controlled ascent.

My training tells me I can’t help him if I’m not okay, but I can’t be okay if he’s not. I need to get him to the surface.

“Gus, Zoe,” I yell into the radio. “I found him! He’s unconscious and almost out of air. I’ve put him on my secondary and have started an emergency ascent.”

“Roger, I’ll meet you up there,” Gus says. “Zoe, make sure you’ve got the one-hundred-percent oxygen ready, and radio the Coast Guard.”

We still don’t know how bad off Teddy is, but I can’t fool myself. I found him unconscious, even if I’m not able to admit it yet because admitting it would make me panic in the dark water or want to stay down here where nothing is real because what if I can’t help him now? What if I was too late?

What if he’s already gone?

The sound of my controlled breathing reverberates in my ears. I still need to slow down. I squeeze my eyes shut. What have I done?

“I already made the call,” Zoe says, her voice thick.

I’ll take them back, those words I said.

My anger. My pain. I’ll bury them all at sea along with what’s left of the San Miguel .

None of it matters anymore. I don’t even care about the Heart diamond or the San Miguel or my mother’s map.

I’d give them all up if it just means I have my friend back, safe and sound; if we get up on deck, and he sputters some water and takes a few minutes of oxygen and then comes around; if he’s his normal self within a couple of hours, and tomorrow he’s back to playing steel drum music and shaking his butt on deck and ruffling my hair like he used to. The Teddy who has always been there.

He tried to warn me.

Diving too deep, drinking too much. Thinking back, there were signs that Teddy wasn’t okay. Were there signs that he loved me too? I don’t know. I can’t think about it now because it hurts too much.

I never want to see you again.

The memory thunders in my mind, but it’s lighter here closer to the surface, and I see Gus and I push the thoughts away and focus on what we need to do.

He’s waiting to guide Ted the rest of the way to the boat.

I want to hang on to Teddy, but I let Gus take hold of him and can only watch as he powers toward the boat on his back with Ted tucked under his arm.

In the distance, Zoe’s red caftan billows in the breeze like a warning sign.

I take a couple of seconds to collect my breath and then I swim after them.

Moments later, I pull myself up onto the deck, chest heaving, face slick with tears.

It’s hard to see what’s happening with Ted.

Gus and Zoe crouch down next to him on the deck.

I fling off my mask and gear and drop down next to them.

“Is he breathing?” I ask.

Gus nods and I let out a relieved breath. “He’s alive.” He wipes roughly at the tears spilling from his eyes with the back of his fist.

Alive but not awake. We don’t have any idea what kind of shape he’s in.

Zoe relays everything Gus says to the rescue chopper that’s on its way from Trauma Star in Key West. Teddy’s pulse, respiration rate, the log from his dive computer.

I hear the approaching helicopter, its rotors sounding like a racing heart and then thunder as it gets closer.

They lower a basket stretcher down for Gus to load Teddy into, lift it up, and then they fly away. None of this seems real. It can’t be.

We pull up anchor and Gus sets the Lucky Strike at full throttle on a heading toward shore. No one speaks on the trip back to Key West harbor.

Our dive gear is strewn across the deck.

The oxygen tanks and tubing and masks mark the spot where Teddy lay.

I sit in the center of this chaos, unable to move, unable to think.

The sun dips down into the sea, and I start to shiver in my wet clothes.

Zoe wraps a towel around my shoulders and leaves her hands there a little longer than she normally would.

By the time we reach land, it’s dark even though Gus pushed the boat as hard as he could.

Zoe emerges from below deck with a duffel bag, just as Gus and I finish tying up the boat.

“I got you a change of clothes, babe, and your wallet, toothbrush. And I grabbed a couple of things for Ted.”

Did she just say something to me about my things? I don’t know. I’m not thinking straight.

“They’re taking him to Mariners Hospital in Tavernier. They’ve got a hyperbaric chamber there if he needs it.” She turns to me. “Stella, you coming?”

I almost don’t hear her from my daze. I shake my head.

Zoe sighs. “Come on, I know you guys had an argument, but that doesn’t negate over a decade of friendship, does it?”

No. It does not. But we didn’t just argue, we blew our friendship apart. I did. I wounded him, and he made me question everything I’ve known over the last ten years. If he’s up, he won’t want to see me. And if he’s not…

“I should stay with the boat,” I say.

She gives a short nod.

“Call me and let me know how he is?”

“We will,” Gus says when Zoe doesn’t answer me.

I can hear her as they walk by on the dock. “She should be with us, Gus.”

“It was a lot, finding him. She’s just having a hard time. You know Stella. She’ll come when she can.”

“I know. I just don’t want to leave her alone.”

“Then don’t.”

I close my eyes. I can’t hear her response; they’re too far away. I am alone, Zoe , I think. I always am. Maybe it’s better that way and everyone knows it but me?

I sink back down to the deck and wrap myself in the damp wool blanket we’d used to keep Teddy warm while we waited for the helicopter.

The night sky is black and cloudless, dotted with trillions of stars.

I feel so small and insignificant. So many stars to wish on for my friend before exhaustion finally drags me into a fitful sleep.