Chapter 19

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TWO DAYS.

That’s how much time passes before I wonder if sea monsters exist.

I know, I know. Not exactly the best thought to have when you’re traversing the great blue in nothing but a mattress boat. But I can’t help it. There’s not much else to do out here besides think, row, and rest.

Right now I’m resting, the oar laid across my lap, and all around me, the water’s glass-still, mirroring the clouds in the sky.

Maybe it’s that—the clouds are making me pensive. Or maybe the clarity of the surface is drawing me to the mysteries still beneath it. That’s what we do as humans, right? We unwrap the secrets of one thing and move on to the next, like kids tearing into presents, leaving a trail of ripped paper in our wakes.

It’s kind of sad, honestly.

The thought rings through me. I double over, hands splayed on the mattress encasement, remembering.

“It’s kind of sad.” I’m in a boat and Kay is sitting across from me, the sea glittering around us. The sun beats down, warming my skin as I say, “Everyone’s so focused on outer space, but we haven’t even finished exploring Earth.”

Kay considers my words. “Like the sea.”

“Exactly! Like the sea.”

“Maybe it’s not sad,” she says. “We would have drained it long ago if we could, just to find the secrets at the bottom. And then it’d be like everything else. Discovered.”

I blink. Then smile. We don’t have many shared hobbies or talking points, and I’d almost dismissed the idea of visiting the sea when it came to me in the middle of hot yoga. I’m glad I didn’t. It’s brought us to the island, and Leona, and to moments like these, when Kay reveals that she understands me more than she lets on. I reach for her—

—My fingers grasp the air.

My surroundings haven’t changed. The sea is still glassy, the sky still cloudy. But everything is different. I feel different, my head swimming with names.

Leona.

Who else is there? Did I know a Hubert? A Genevie? Why have I forgotten them? And Kay and me. On a boat. In the sea. Is that how we were separated?

I take deep, calming breaths, like I did in yoga. That’s right. I actually did yoga. I remember now. But I’ve either gotten rusty or I was never any good because my body won’t calm. I plunge the oar into the water and start rowing to distract myself from my building panic. I wish Hero were here. But then I’d have to tell him: Even now, years later, I don’t remember everything.

What if I never do?

Not even after finding Kay?

I ease Genevie into choppier waters. The sight of normal waves relaxes me, and I’m about to set the oar back across my lap when my grip tightens around the handle. I raise the oar, paddle poised in the air as something cuts through the water in the distance, swimming toward me.

Not something.

Someone.