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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ELLIOT

Hank and I sit on rocks, our laurels lost to passion, but thankfully, we’ve returned to our pants.

I’ve got a rain jacket on, and he’s got a scratchy blanket over his shoulders.

The tall, silver-haired man who rescued us stands about fifty feet away, talking into a cell phone as he paces behind his four-wheeler.

My head swirls, my emotions ricocheting all over the place.

“I am way too high for this,” Hank says, and I notice how wide his eyes are.

“It’s good,” I assure him. “Maybe he didn’t even notice what we were doing.”

Hank does a strange thing where he kind of honks air out of his nose.

I grab both of his hands. “Hank, we’re rescued,” I say, trying again. “We’re going home. Who cares what that old guy saw?”

The reality that we’ve been saved seems to dawn on him all over again. “We’re going home,” he says slowly.

“We’re going home,” I say, and tears well up in my eyes as my elation rises.

Hank nods, crying, too.

“Holy shit,” I add, my voice shaking. “I thought we were going to die.”

The British man turns abruptly to face us. “You’re right. My god. I think it is them.”

Hank and I give each other an uncertain look. The man lowers the phone and walks over to us. “You’re the accountant and the millionaire’s son from the news, aren’t you?” he says, eyes wide.

“Oh god,” Hank answers.

Our rescuer’s name is August Spencehill, and he wears big brown galoshes as well as suspenders and a collared shirt the same gray as his hair and neatly trimmed beard. It’s getting dark around us, but the bright lights of his small vehicle shine across the beach.

“We’re on the news?” I ask.

He crosses the rest of the distance to us, back perfectly straight. “Listen,” he says evenly. “I’ve called for help. But I certainly don’t want a circus here.”

“Uh, maybe we could start with a bottle of water? Even an energy bar,” I try.

He looks to be trying not to frown, and his tone comes out stiff and formal. “Yes. Of course. I’ll host you as appropriate.”

“Listen, Mr. Spencehill,” Hank tries, and the man cuts him off.

“It’s Baronet Spencehill.”

“ Baronet Spencehill,” I say, giving a breathless air to the title. “If you don’t mind horribly, could we impugn upon your hospitality and call our loved ones to let them know we’re alive?”

He gestures to the vehicle. “Let’s get on with it. Climb aboard.”

“Oh,” Hank says, looking toward our home on the island. “But we need to get our… Our…” He trails off.

I realize this is it. We’re leaving the island, and a strange twist of emotions gets me by the gut. I have an urge to go back and say goodbye to everything. Instead, I stick my hand in my pocket and make sure I still have the pink shell, the prettiest one that Hank brought me for the dinner date.

I squeeze it hard, jagged edges against my palm.

Hank shakes his head. “Of course. We don’t need any of that now.”

“Yeah,” I agree, deciding it’s most important to get to running water and food. “Let’s go.”

We sit on the back of the four-wheeler, and it’s too loud to talk. Instead, we gaze in each other’s eyes and out over the water, each of us trying to take it all in. The baronet drives up the side of the island, giving us a perfectly clear view of the setting sun, mulberry waves in the sea.

We arrive to the side of the island that I was supposed to search, and my stomach drops when we turn a corner of the far cove and a wide dock appears before us. It’s nestled above a well-landscaped and sunny outcropping, jagged rocks behind it. The speedboat we saw days ago floats there.

Hank and I stare at it all blankly until something washes over his expression, half shock and half disbelief.

The baronet cuts the engine, and I turn to Hank.

“Okay. Shit. I am so sorry.”

He looks at me with his eyes wide. “When we scouted the island…”

“I didn’t make it all the way around my cove. I remember thinking I need to make sure to tell you.” I try to remember through the haze. It seems like a million years ago. “Didn’t I tell you? I must have told you.”

Hank puts his head in his hands. “No,” he says. “Elliot. No, you didn’t.”

Guilt nearly crushes me. I feel like I could puke.

I look to our rescuer. “Why do you have a dock on the island?” I ask, confused.

He frowns. “Because this is my island. I live seasonally on a second island,” he adds, gesturing toward the dot we’ve seen in the distance, “but I visit here once a week. I typically just dock to enjoy some fishing, but after a wooden raft crashed near my home, I decided I should explore down the shore a bit.” He frowns and gestures to the speedboat.

“You’re lucky I did,” he adds brusquely.

Hank and I follow like zombies to the speedboat, both of us in a bit of shock.

The baronet gets us set up with life jackets before starting the motor and roaring across the water.

Wind whips through the air and sprays of cool sea water wet my face.

Behind us, the island where we’ve been trapped shrinks, slowly disappearing.

Only a few minutes later, we approach the second island, where a large, stone mansion sits, nestled in the trees.

“Gentlemen,” August Spencehill urges us, and we follow him into the ornately dull mansion.

The exhaustion on Hank’s face as he looks around just about pushes me over the edge. If I had found the dock, we could have stayed close to it. The baronet would have discovered us and brought us here to safety. I’m so mad at myself I can barely handle it.

A younger man with a neutral expression appears and gives us bottles of water and cups of chicken broth, and the baronet walks off, stalking down a corridor. Hank and I are led to a small waiting room, the attendant points out the bathroom, and we’re given a moment of privacy.

I sip the chicken broth, and heavenly, nourishing warmth ignites my brain.

Hank doesn’t even consider his food. He goes immediately into the bathroom, turns on the faucet, and locks the door.

I step closer to the door. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t locate the dock when we first got here!” I holler, scared that I’ve lost him.

After everything we just went through, Hank has been seeing me the way I want to see myself. What if now, he decides that I’m a mess after all?

“Elliot, I’m using the facility. I need a minute!”

I sit on the puffy red couch, and the second my aching body lands, I let out a moan. “Oh god,” I say, falling onto the cushions and landing in soft paradise. “Oh! What the actual fuck. So good.”

There’s a rattle in the bathroom, so I go back to the door. “You okay in there?” I ask.

When he doesn’t answer, I try knocking.

Hank throws the door to the bathroom open.

The sink is running, and he points at it with wild eyes.

“Hot water!” he says like it’s a miracle.

He splashes some on his face, rubbing it into his beard to emphasize.

“Hot water!” Just as quickly, he notices his reflection in the mirror and gasps, stumbling back against the wall.

“Oh my god!” he says, hands to his cheeks.

I look around the bathroom. “Hank, we’re inside. And we’re not just kind of inside. We’re inside a mansion. A poorly decorated mansion.”

He’s lathering up his arms now with a small bar of soap, gazing at his reflection with horror. When I realize how filthy I am, I haul my body over and join him, squeezing up beside the small porcelain sink.

My face is weird. I have a beard, and there are red spots and rashes all over, and my lips are chapped. It’s horrifying. And fascinating!

Hank stiffens and reclaims some of his space at the sink. “I’m still reckoning with the reality that you missed the dock.”

I wince. “I know.”

“The problem is,” Hanks says, face dripping, “not just that you were careless to significant consequence. But it troubles me further that neither of us figured this out sooner. The speedboat, for god’s sake!

At the same time, I’m very excited about this sink, and I’m high on marijuana for the first time in a decade.

Your raft idea also, ultimately, saved us.

And when we tell people about what happened, it’s absolutely vital that my father never learns that minor royalty stumbled on me having sex and trespassing on his property.

It would kill him because he knows it would kill my grandmother if she were alive to hear it. ”

I rub his back. “I know. This was a huge mistake on my end. I’m so sorry.”

Am I really this unreliable? It’s like all the worst things my family says about me are true. I’m a joke, even when my life depends on it. And now Hank knows the truth.

I let him down. Guilt settles in my gut like a boulder.

But he turns. Hank places his hand on my cheek, holding me and looking in my eye.

“This is a lot. And I might have more to say on it later. But I also need to say something else now because it’s true. We survived. We’re alive, Elliot, and we’re going home, and we made it here together. Thank you.”

I nod, his words helping me come back to the relief of it all.

“Thank you,” I say, grateful that he can find that in him still. “Thank you for helping me survive.”

I want to kiss him, but I realize with a sting that we probably don’t do that anymore. We’re rescued, so who are we to each other? Nothing at all, based on our commitments.

A loud cough interrupts from the room. A different assistant with braided red hair and magenta lipstick gives us more broth and water, some fresh clothes, and a phone.

Hank and I take turns. First, he calls his sister, and I call Taylor, who scream-laughs and drops the phone when I greet her. I hear Marko and other people cheering with happiness in the background when they learn it’s me, and I start crying again.

After a couple more calls, Baronet Spencehill joins us in the sitting room, now dressed in light blue suit trousers and a white button-up shirt. His silver hair is carefully styled, and there’s a handkerchief placed in his pocket.

“The Coast Guard awaits you at the dock,” he says with gravity. “I am only here to see you off. You have all you need for a comfortable trip?”

“The Coast Guard?” Hank asks. “Is that necessary?”

“It is,” he says sharply. “And proper.” He nods to his assistant, who hands us each a business card.

“If you require anything of me, this number will reach my staff,” he says, and hesitates.

“Whatever you needed to do out there in order to… stay warm, men are afforded a certain laxness in times of need. If anyone is to ask, I will simply say that I found you hunting. For dignity. And I trust you’ll speak kindly of my hospitality as well. ”

“Yes, you’ve been every bit as dignified as we have,” I say.

Hank coughs to cover up a surprised laugh, and the man grimaces.

“This way,” he instructs.

Hank and I follow him to the docks. It’s dark now, and a big green boat is awaiting us.

The Coast Guard agents who accept us are friendly enough, but as we take off, they also have a mission, questions they want answered, instructions on how we should eat and drink and move as we recover.

After we’re situated with emergency blankets and hot tea, we’re told that there will be a report to file tomorrow, and that they’d like us to spend the night in the hospital for observations.

“That seems reasonable,” Hank says at the same moment I blurt out, “Absolutely not.”

The agent nods. “You have separate rides waiting for you. Make whatever decision you’d each like.”

She returns to the front of the boat, leaving us alone in the rear. As the craft speeds across the water, I’m amazed that civilization quickly starts rising up in front of us. It’s not long until there are buildings and boats everywhere, the city of Seattle sparkling ahead.

“We’ve really been so close the entire time,” Hank says, awed, as we steer in for a landing just north of the city. “In the Strait of Juan de Fuca, like I hoped.”

The shining lights of civilization hurt my eyes, and the motors rumble in my ears.

“Unreal,” I say.

“We’ve been gone less than three weeks,” Hank adds.

When I see that we’re pulling up to a dock, something the Coast Guard agent said earlier clicks into place. “We’re going away in separate vehicles.”

Hank shifts next to me. “I guess we are.” He scrunches his brow, concerned. “You won’t go to the hospital?”

I scoff. “I’m not paying for all that. I just want to go home.”

We look into each other’s eyes. There are a million things I want to say, and I see a world of emotions pass through Hank’s hazel gaze.

I don’t want to leave him, and I take his hand.

“Let me give you Marko’s number again so we can stay in touch. You’ll remember it, right?”

Hank nods. “I still do. I’ll message you there once I’m to a phone.” He squeezes my hand. “Let me know that you’re doing okay. And promise me that you’ll visit a doctor, even if you don’t go in for observation overnight.”

“Yes, okay. Same for you, let me know how you hold up. You’ll have people to take care of you? Your sister?”

“That’s right,” he says. “And my parents are here.”

I swallow. “I’m going to miss you, Hank.”

On the island, it seemed easy for my feelings to stay there when we left, but I quickly realize I’m just as attached to Hank now that we’re back to civilization. I’m anxious to leave him.

But how will he feel about me? Especially after my major blunder.

He takes the side of my face, holds my gaze. “I’m going to miss you, too, Elliot. We’ll be in touch soon, okay?”

As the boat eases up to a dock, the sensation of his touch grounds me again. It’s tender and brief, not enough to answer any of the questions my heart is suddenly asking. But for a moment, it means everything to me.

Longing whooshes down my body. A Coast Guard agent comes to get us, and only a moment later, we’re brought to separate cars.

Hank watches me load into the back of a waiting sedan, then gets in his SUV. I breathe heavily, overwhelmed with emotions. When I reach into my pocket, I find the pink shell.

I hold it tight in my palm, and the driver takes me home.