50. Daniela

I’m on a transport helicopter, being secured into a sling to be lowered onto the barge where Antonio has been holed up for ten days.

My stomach is queasy, and I’m happy I didn’t eat on the plane.

“Remember, you don’t need to do anything—just hold on, stay calm, and enjoy the short trip,” a charming man reminds me as he checks to be sure I’m tethered properly. “The wind has picked up a few notches. If you start to get blown around, just take deep breaths and remain calm. You’re wearing a life jacket and you’ll be connected to the chopper by this cord until you’re safely on the boat.”

He keeps telling me to stay calm, like it’ll be so easy while I’m suspended midair, being blown around over the cold ocean.

We’ve been over this several times. I nod and pull my lips into something that resembles a smile. The truth is, I’m scared to death.

The helicopter begins to hover, and when it’s as low and steady as it can be, someone opens the door and a great whoosh of cold air slaps me in the face. My heart thunders as I leave the safety of the helicopter. If it weren’t Antonio in trouble, I wouldn’t go through with this.

The descent happens in slow motion, and as instructed, I don’t look down. I close my eyes and I count backward, like I do to distract myself when I’m anxious. But Mother Nature is so noisy that it’s hard to concentrate.

Before the howling wind has me completely panicked, someone on the barge has my ankles and is pulling me to safety.

My heart is still hammering while they help me out of the protective suit and helmet. Cristiano is on the deck, waiting for me. He’s disheveled and wan, and he looks exhausted. I don’t see Antonio.

“Where is he?” I ask Cristiano, who takes my backpack.

“He’s on the other side of the deck. Behind the stack.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

“No. I’m sure he assumes the chopper was dropping supplies, or fresh divers. Do you need a minute before you see him?”

I shake my head. “I’m sure he’ll be angry I came. Let’s just get it over with.”

Cristiano pauses, as though he’s weighing some news, or maybe considering his words. “You should know that he’s long past feeling emotions like anger. He’s turned inside in a way that I’ve never seen. Not from him.”

“He just lost his mother. I’m sure he’s blaming himself for her death.”

“It’s more than that. Bigger.”

Grief is bigger than you think. Bigger than you can imagine, until you’ve wrestled with it yourself.

The light mist and fog, along with the stench of brackish water, haunts me as we cross the expansive deck.

I’m on a barge in the middle of an unforgiving ocean.No land in sight. I’m a strong swimmer, but still. Before the thoughts consume me, I shove them away and keep walking. Antonio needs me.

The ship is clean, but austere. At least up here. They’ve been living on this thing without a creature comfort—at least it appears that way. I should have come to get him sooner.

When we go around the middle stack to the other end of the barge, Antonio’s gripping the outside rail as he stares into the choppy water, with his shoulders hunched forward. The fog and the mist combine to paint him as a tragic figure.

I swallow a sob and brace myself for—I’m not sure what. Rage? Sadness? Indifference? I don’t know.

He doesn’t turn around as we approach.

“It’s probably best if we have this conversation in private,” I whisper to Cristiano.

“I’m not leaving you yet.”

Dealing with Antonio under these conditions is a bit like tossing the dice. It might have been better to warn him that I was on my way so he’d have a chance to get used to the idea before I arrived. But if Cristiano had breathed a word about it, Antonio would have insisted—no, demanded—I not come.

“Hey,” I say softly, resting my hand on his back.

He stiffens, before turning to face me. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is hoarse, the vocal cords strained. He looks bone-tired and haggard, and my heart aches.

“I’ve come to bring you home.”

“I’m not going anywhere while the search is ongoing.”

“Then I’ll wait with you.”

He glares at Cristiano. “You allowed this?”

“I asked her to come.”

“Get out of my sight.” He waves us away. “Both of you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say quietly. “You’ll have to toss me in the ocean if you want me gone.”

He glowers at me, his face gaunt, his eyes sunken shells rimmed in black.

I step closer and wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his chest. “I loved her, too,” I murmur.

For what feels like an eternity, he doesn’t move a muscle, not even to push me away. Eventually, his arms find their way around me. It’s only then that Cristiano slips away.

Antonio and I cling to one another for long moments. Neither of us speaks. We just breathe.