Page 145 of Damaged

We kiss slowly. My heart throbs with such force, I almost want to look down to see if it’s making the water ripple.

People are cheering, and I don’t care that others see me as a hapless, soaking wet romantic.

I try not to think of the irony. That it was snowflake who meltedme.

Epilogue

It’s near the end of summer. It’s been two months since James and I started dating again. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say they’ve been the best two months of my life.

He’s held up his end of the promise. We’ve spent nearly every waking second together and not grown sick of each other. In fact, our proximity has only drawn us closer.

Our love borders on lunacy.

There was a lot of fine print work that James had to do to finalize the sale of Aquarius, but now we’re taking our first vacation since.

We’re back in the Bahamas to make up for my lost treasure hunting experience. James has rented a boat. It’s a lot more modest than a research vessel, but the plus is that it doesn’t need a crew. Or smell like a pickle jar.

We’ve spent the last three days cruising an atoll of flat islands, with green palm tree cores and rings of white sand.

We have breakfast on the boat every morning but lunch and dinner on the beaches. At dusk, James will make giant fires from driftwood, and we’ll drink rum and make love under the stars.

It’s been paradise, an unbelievable few days, and we’ve had these islands all to ourselves. We’re a twelve-hour boat ride from the nearest town. We’ve only seen one or two scuba boats ferrying tourists in the distance, and they haven’t stopped near our islands.

It’s just us. As private as if we were marooned on a deserted island.

The quasi-treasure hunt starts today. Only we’re sticking to the reefs and shoals close to shore where the water is a warm turquoise. And we can see the bottom.

James had me take scuba diving lessons in New York, and now I’m here to put them to the test. This morning is our first dive. Afterwards, we’ll find a beach for lunch.

I stand on the back deck of the boat where the net rigging used to be when this was a fishing boat. James climbs down from the captain’s nest. He’s wearing an unbuttoned linen shirt, sunglasses, and swim trunks. His permanent tan has already bronzed from just a few days in the tropical sun.

I’ve loved sitting next to him while he steers at the helm. Now we’re at our final destination.

The cove we’re in is filled with sharp reefs just below the surface, and before modern mapping, it became a graveyard for lost ships.

James takes off his shirt and starts to put on a weight belt and scuba tank. He fits his feet into black flippers and rests his goggles on his forehead as he helps me into my gear.

“You nervous?” James asks.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I haven’t really gotten you to stop talking excitedly until now.”

“I just know a lot can go wrong.”

“We’re in eighteen feet of water. You’re more than safe.” He kisses my forehead. James checks the anchor one more time, and then we put our goggles on and respirators in.

We both sit on the edge of the boat, preparing to go in backwards.

James holds my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “On three.”

He counts down with his fingers, and we both go over. The world is all white bubbles and blue water until I right myself and start to descend. We both touch down on the soft sand with little dusty explosions.

James gives me the okay sign, asking if I am, and I nod. I see our mark ahead—the ribs of an old shipwreck.

The map we bought said some of the wrecks here were more than three hundred years old. This one, a Spanish schooner that went down in the late 1800s, was more modern than many.

It’s still old enough that the wood is mostly all gone. There are several schools of tiny fish using the old hull for shelter, and they scatter as we approach.

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