Page 98 of The Otherworld

Every night, I fall asleep thinking about Orca—wishing she had a phone so I could talk to her about all the things I want to show her, all the places she’s always dreamed of seeing. But I don’t just want to tell her about those things—I want to bring them to life. I want to see her face as she takes it all in.

I want to give her the world.

* * *

On Friday, the opportunity comes. I overhear Adam grumbling about some doctor’s appointment he doesn’t want to go to at three o’clock.

“You have to go back to the doctor’s?” I ask, pretending to be only half-interested.

“Yeah,” Adam says. “Some routine thing. They need to check on my ribs. Waste of time.”

Mom starts arguing that it’s not a waste of time and he needs to go, then offers to drive him, which he firmly refuses—but by this point, I’m not paying attention.

Adam will be gone for hours. Away from the port. Away from his plane.

Now’s my chance.

I watch the clock, waiting for him to leave. At last, he does—and before his truck even pulls out of the driveway, I make my move.

“Dad called and said he could use me at the marina,” I tell Mom, totally lying but whatever. She won’t double-check this with Dad. I can tell just by her laid-back tone when she replies with a distracted, “Okay, sweetie. Drive safe.”

I grab my bomber jacket and my keys, rushing out the door. It’s an overcast day, but visibility isn’t too bad. Muscle memory gets me to the port without thinking about where I’m driving—and it’s a good thing because all I can think about is Orca.

Her face is all I see in my mind as I park my Mustang outside the hangar and dash across the parking lot to the docks. Adam’s red-and-white Beaver waits for me, already fueled up for this mission.

If my brother knew what I was doing right now, he would regret ever teaching me how to fly.

I feel like a carjacker (planejacker?) as I skulk through the preflight inspection, constantly checking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being watched. Once I’m inside the cockpit, I can breathe easily and focus on my engine-start sequence. While the Beaver warms up, I slide on my headset and go through my checklist—concentrating just enough to get myself into the sky without a hitch. The weather is decent enough to fly in but lousy enough to weed out any joyriders.

Visibility is good compared to that foggy morning when I flew out to look for Adam. I was totally out of my mind back then—it feels like a lifetime ago. Yet that was the first day I talked to Orca.

I catch myself smiling, thinking about her again.

Imagining how surprised she’ll be to see me.

Okay, focus, Jack.

I glance down at my altimeter, pushing the yoke forward to descend a few hundred feet. Recluse Island is already coming into view—a clump of evergreens huddled over the glassy gray water. I remember seeing a hidden cove on the island’s east side, so I fly in that direction—banking hard left as I watch my compass. 240…220…

A spray of whitewater rushes around my floats as I come down for a landing. My free hand works the throttle as momentum carries me over the tops of the waves toward the mouth of the cove. It’s wide enough to allow for my wingspan, but I still take it slow—watching for any rocks that could eat my floats. Adam will kill me if I wreck his only working aircraft.

Once I’ve comfortably docked the Beaver in the cove, I hop out and descend the ladder, rope in hand. I’m close enough to jump to the shore and keep my feet dry. After I knot the end of the rope around a tree trunk, I step back to examine my docking job.

Damn good, if I do say so myself. Adam would be impressed.

Though I’m confident that the Beaver is well hidden from the lighthouse, I can’t guarantee no one will find it. A big red floatplane isn’t exactly easy to keep out of sight. If Orca’s dad comes down to this cove, I’m dead meat.

The clock is ticking, but at least the hard part is over.

I’m here. Orca’s here.

Now all I need to do is convince her to run away with me.

33

Now or Never

ORCA

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