Page 53 of Swept Away

I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about another human being the way I care for Lexi. I tip my head back against the wall. I’d throw myself overboard if it would help her right now. I’d give her every scrap of food left, the clothes off my back, justanything. I guess thisis what all those self-help books were on about. Here’s my “authentic connection,” right here on this bathroom floor.

No wonder people say that love is torture.

I should probably be out on the deck keeping watch, but for now I’ll have to settle for checking through the windows as dawn creeps over us. I can’t bear to leave Lexi on her own like this.

The rain’s thrumming on the roof of the boat. Our tarp and cloth covering for the shower drain gave in about an hour ago under the new challenge of the rocking waves. I’ve stuffed it with fresh fabric, but it’s already soaked, and I know I’m going to have to start using the towels, maybe even bailing. There are three leaks in the ceiling now, too: one in the bedroom, right over the bedside table, and two in the living area. But they’re small, and I’ve plugged them as best I can. We’re still afloat. We’re still OK.

As long as Lexi’s not dying.

“Hey.” She sits up carefully on the bathroom floor, reaching for the thermos of water tucked between my back and the wall. “I feel a bit better for that sleep.”

“Good.” I try to remember what I’ve seen about head injuries in films. “How many fingers am I holding up?” I ask.

She’s not focusing on my hand at all. Her eyes skitter to the side over and over, like she’s watching fast traffic from a car window.

“Somewhere between two and four? Three? Three point five?” she says.

Hmm. Not good.

“Just…lie back. Rest. And get better. Please.”

I wonder if I should be keeping her awake, but I’m sure I read somewhere that it’s a myth that it helps, and she looks so tired.

“If I tell you something now, when I am probably dying from ableed on the brain, will you promise not to be angry with me?” Lexi says, laying herself slowly down on the tiles again.

She pulls her knees up, her socked feet pressed to the side of my boots. I eye the darkening fabric stuffed into the shower drain.

“That’s a fairly manipulative bargain you’re trying to strike, there.”

“I know. I’m an arsehole. This is not news,” she says, closing her eyes. “But you’ve got to admit, I’m in a position of strength here on the bathroom floor, and I’d be a fool not to use it.”

“You’re not an arsehole, Lexi. You’re lovely.”

She rolls her head to the side, pressing the center of her forehead into the tiles. She’s still in those damp, rainy clothes—I’ve laid a blanket over her, but she’s shivering.

“Let me get you a jumper,” I say, moving to stand.

Her hand flies out to grab my leg.

“I looked in one of the logbooks,” she says.

I slowly lower myself back to sit on the bathroom floor again.

“I’m so sorry. I was scared. I wanted information. I saw it was basically your dad’s diary, and I did it anyway. I told you I’m an arsehole.”

“Lexi…”

I rub my forehead. My heart’s pounding. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s not pretty.

“I had no right,” she says, eyes opening and finding mine. “I’m sorry. I can’t even explain why I did it.”

I breathe out slowly. I’m not surprised she doesn’t know why she did it. Lexi has so many walls up, it’s like entering a maze, and I don’t think she knows her way around herself, either. It makes it hard to be angry with her, but…I am, I think. And sad. And scared. And…

“I didn’t see anything explicit, just something about your dad not telling you something, but I do think it might be in there,” shewhispers. “The answer you wanted.” She rolls slightly so she can get a proper look at my face, then bats the shower curtain as it catches in her bun. “But honestly, I can’t believe you’ve not read them yet. That level of self-control blows my mind.”

I shake my head. “It’s not self-control. It’s…cowardice.”

Her eyes are soft. “You’re scared to find out for sure? That your dad isn’t your dad?”

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