Page 71 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“Come on. We’ll pack up a few things in a bag.”

The boat contains several waterproof bags, including one emergency pack with things like a flashlight and first aid kit. Leaving that in place, I collect one of the empty bags and put towels, sun lotion, some food, and bottles of water in it, while Zoe packs away the rest of the food in the chilly bin. I seal the bag, and then the two of us go to the back of the boat, slide into the water, and start swimming toward the island, with me towing the bag. It’s only a short swim, and soon I’m able to put down my feet and curl my toes in the sand.

We wade ashore and walk along the deserted beach to the bunch of pohutukawa trees at the other end. They no longer bear their red Christmas flowers, but their rich green leaves supply plenty of shade.

We spread our towels on the sand, then decide to go for a float in the ocean for a bit before our snooze. Zoe insists on reapplying my sun lotion, and after she’s spent a good five minutes massaging it in, leaving me with another raging erection, I torture her for a while by smoothing lotion all over her arms, neck, and tummy. It backfires, of course, and by the end I’m so turned on that I’m seconds from tossing her onto the towel and doing her there and then. But the threat of getting sand in unmentionable places is enough to deter me, and in the end I run and dive into the ocean, which feels colder now my body is hot, and soon sorts my erection out.

Zoe joins me, and the two of us swim up the beach and back again, and then float on our backs for a while, enjoying the sensation of the warm sun on our skin and the cooler water on our backs. Eventually, sleepiness overcomes us, and we wade to shore and collapse onto the towels. Zoe lies on her front, and I lie on my back with an arm over my face, and within a few minutes the two of us have fallen fast asleep.

I’m not normally much of a dozer. I rarely nap during the day, and when I do, it’s usually only for five minutes or so. I’m therefore shocked when I open my eyes and see the sun much lower in the sky than I expected.

I blink and sit up, startled. I don’t wear a watch, and as I check the bag, I realize I’ve left my phone on the boat. What the hell’s the time? We got to the island around eleven, eleven-thirty, I think. We snorkeled for an hour, then had lunch until around one-thirty. We swam here on the beach for an hour, which would have been about two-thirty.

By the position of the sun, it must be late afternoon, maybe three-thirty, or even closer to four. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but with some alarm I spot the clouds gathering on the horizon in the direction we’re going to be traveling. They’re dark and troublesome, and we have a ninety-minute journey home.

“Zo.” I put a hand on her arm.

She jerks awake, blinks a few times, then focuses on me and sits up. “Ooh, I’m all stiff.” She stretches and yawns. “Wow, how long did we sleep?”

“Too long. We need to get going.” I gesture at the clouds in the distance.

She laughs. “They’re miles away!”

“They’re closing in. Can’t you feel the drop in temperature?”

“No.”

I stand and start shaking the sand off my towel. “Come on. Let’s get back to the boat.”

She stares at me for a moment, then gets to her feet. “Is this just you being you? Or are you really worried?”

I hesitate. Then I force a smile onto my face. “Just me being me. But better to be safe than sorry, right?”

Relief washes over her features. “Yeah, of course.” She shakes the sand off her own towel and rolls it up to put it in the bag.

I add the other bits and pieces and seal it, and we head to the water. I don’t want to worry her. Besides, she’s probably right, it’s just me being over-cautious as usual.

We swim the short distance to the boat, climb up the ladder, stow our stuff, and then I start the engine. With a reluctant look back at the beautiful beach, I steer away from the island, heading back toward Opito Bay.

Behind us, it’s a beautiful day. The sun beats down, and the islands we pass glow like jewels in the sunshine. All I can see, though, are the clouds in front of me, bunching and furling, moving at an alarming speed. I’ve seen an amazing array of weather in my time on the ocean. Fantastic sunrises and stunning sunsets. Usually as the sun starts to descend, the sky and sea take on the colors of a fruit bowl—rich cherry andraspberry reds, warm tangerines, and golden kiwi fruit. Today, though, the clouds look bruised, with touches of purples and greens, and the rest of the sky is turning a slate gray. I read this morning that a tropical depression is moving down from the subtropics, and the wind has shifted northeasterly, bringing in the warm, moist air from the Pacific.

We’re about halfway back when it starts to rain.

“Shit,” Zoe says, hunting in her backpack for her waterproof jacket. She struggles into it, then gets mine out for me, and helps me on with it. We’re wet from our swim, so it’s not going to keep us dry, but the jacket does at least give a bit of protection from the brisk breeze.

Hoods up, we both stand in the cockpit behind the screen that protects us a little from the spray. I’m going as fast as I dare, and the boat bounces along the top of the rising waves. Zoe was singing for the first part of the journey, bright and happy, but now she huddles up to me and slides her arms around my waist, and I hug her, conscious that she’s now aware of how dangerous the ocean can be.

We’ve passed the main cluster of islands and are heading across open water toward Moturoa Island, where the Black Rocks are, when the heavens open, and real subtropical rain starts coming down in sheets.

“Jesus,” Zoe yells, clutching hold of the handrail. “That’s what I call rain!”

I’m too busy to answer, trying to keep the boat steady as the swell tosses us about like a piece of driftwood. I start to wonder whether we’d be better off getting to shore somewhere rather than trying to make it all the way to the marina. I have my Day Skipper Certificate, but usually Clive or Manu takes the helm when we’re out diving, and my knowledge of boats is limited.

Just then, lightning cuts the sky in half, and only a few seconds later, thunder crashes as if Tangaroa himself is roaring his fury at us. I curse as a wave lifts us right up into the air, then slams us down on the ocean that feels as solid as concrete. “Can you get the life jackets out?” I yell, gesturing at one of the lockers.

She nods and retrieves them, and we both struggle into them and clip them on. I feel a bit better once I see her wearing hers.

“I’m going to head for the island,” I say. Zoe nods, and I steer toward the south side of the island, knowing I have to avoid the reefs.

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