Page 38 of Still See You Everywhere

But then: “It’s not that simple. We’ve always known that nature is interconnected. Previously, however, scientists still specialized along horizontal lines—ocean life, land habitat, or avian populations. Now we understand there is a strong vertical relationship. These Pisonia trees on land offer nesting grounds to the birds in the sky, which, in turn, nourish the fish and coral in the sea.”

“Nourish?”

“Guano.”

“Oh!” I can finish connecting those dots on my own. “So cut down the trees, reduce the number of birds, which lowers the amount of bird… guano… leading to the fish and coral suffering, which, of course, diminishes the draw for the other resort activities such as snorkeling, fishing, boating, whatever.”

“Exactly.”

“This is complicated.”

“Exactly.” Ronin might be impressed with my smarts after all.

When he finally halts, it’s so sudden I almost run into him. He stands perfectly still, face forward, machete held down by his leg. I try to peer around him, to see what he sees, but I don’t get it.

“Shh,” he murmurs.

Then I hear it. Like a low moan. Animal, I think immediately, the hackles rising on the back of my neck.

“What is th—”

“Shhh. We are close.”

As in haunted cemetery close? Or get pounced on by a wild animal close? Because any kind of close associated with this sound isn’t a good thing.

Then, just as abruptly, the moaning dies down. I stare at Ronin wide-eyed.

“Is that the wind?” I ask softly.

“Maybe.”

I shake my head at him. I’m sweating through the clothes I’ve already soaked through in a state of near panic, and he looks absurdly calm and collected. I don’t care how good-looking he is, I want to throttle him on principle.

“I require better than maybe.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come to a remote atoll.” His words are so matter-of-fact, I want to kill him a second time. Mostly because he’s right. I hate that trait in other people.

“Where… What do we do?”

He points his machete forward and slightly to the right. “That way. Not much farther. We’ll take a water break, then get to work.”

Doing what, I want to ask, but am interrupted by a new sound. The flutter of wings and a nasally cah, cah, cah. I instinctively raise my arm to ward off the newest intruder, only to discover a little white bird with a gracefully formed head and sleek black bill darting above us. It swoops around; then a second joins it. They dance in midair, flapping their wings and repeating their shrill calls. Then, as quickly as they appeared, they dash away again in a blur of dappled light, and I’m left dazzled by their splendor.

“What was that?” I ask breathlessly.

“Manu-o-Ku. Common white terns; they are a small seabird.”

“There was nothing common about that.”

“Some call them fairy or angel terns. They also like these trees. They are unique, however, in that they don’t build a nest but lay their single egg directly onto a branch. These two must have a chick nearby and are checking us out. Look.”

Ronin points higher up, where I make out one of the lovely birds peering down at us from between thick leaves. It cocks its head from side to side, then launches once more, swooping down and around our heads, wings spread exactly like a visiting angel’s.

Far from being intimidated, I wish this could go on forever. If the coconut crab was every nightmare I’ve ever had, then the white terns are every happy dream. And I don’t dream very happy anymore. Not since Paul. Or Mattapan. Or Wyoming.

I wonder how the Beautiful Butcher sleeps at night. Is her slumber interrupted by her rage or her pain? Or does someone like her remain unbothered by it all?

This place is impossibly beautiful and incredibly magical, and suddenly my throat has tightened because I’ve come here for the darkest of reasons—to rescue a young girl who’s most likely been kidnapped and abused.

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