Chapter 18
Beckett whispered, “Is she still sleeping?”
Dr Mags nodded, stood, and stretched. “Did Dan whip up one of his gourmet dinners?”
“Beans and weenies. He kept a plate warm for you.”
“Can’t wait to get back to shore for some steak. How about you?”
“Pizza.”
Dr Mags said, “Use the intercom if she wakes up. Needs anything.”
“Absolutely.” Dr Mags switched off the overhead light, leaving the room bathed in the glow of moonlight, and left. Beckett dropped to a cramped space beside the cot.
Luna was flat on her back. Her mouth hung open, and damp hair was pasted to her forehead. She looked pale. Her eyes had dark rings around them. Beckett found her hand under the blanket and clutched it in both of his. He whispered, “Hey Luna, it’s me Beckett.”
He listened to her soft breath — in and out and in and out.
“You scared the hell out of me back there. Seriously.” He dropped his forehead to the back of her hand. “I need you to come back. Okay? Be Luna, be ocean goddess. The kind of person who will paddle across the ocean, but you don’t have to anymore. Okay? Not unless you want to. But you don’t have to.”
She stirred for a second. He watched her face, but she resumed her soft breathing. “And if you want to tell me about the knot, you can. It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”
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A few hours later Luna shifted and moaned startling Beckett awake. She was still sleeping, but moaned again. He stretched out his sore back. He had been sleeping sitting up, on a towel folded on the metal floor. His back was killing him, making him miss his bunk, a mattress that until tonight had been the most uncomfortable mattress he had ever slept on. “Luna?”
No answer. He said, “Luna I’m here. It’s me, Beckett.”
Her fingers tightened around his hand so he kissed her knuckles and tried to go back to sleep.
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More hours passed and Luna had grown restless. Beckett watched her shift and move. She seemed like she was waking, but unable to open her eyes, as if she was stuck in a half sleep. He imagined what it would be like to wake up here now after the day (Week? Month? Year?) she had lived through. In the dark, on a boat, surrounded by strangers. Beckett leering at her. Did she hate him now?
Luna rolled to her side, still sleeping, but facing him. That seemed hopeful, more comfortable, more like sleep, instead of the medicated forced-pass-out of before. He put his head back down on his arms on the edge of her cot and tried to sleep some more.
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“Beckett?”
He jerked awake. “Luna? You’re awake.”
“Beckett?”
Her eyes were open, but unfocused — she sounded disoriented.
He said, “Yes, I’m right here.”
“Beckett?” Her face screwed up, tears flowed down her cheek onto her fingertips. “I’m so sorry, I was going to come.”
“I know you were.” She stilled, as if she hadn’t expected him to speak.
He rose up on his knees and wrapped his hands around her hands. “You were coming and you were halfway there but there was a storm. And none of it was your fault, but now you’re on my ship. With me. Safe.”
He yawned, a giant convulsive yawn.
She said, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“About what?”
She said, “The knot. I didn’t—” Her voice sounded desperately sad. “I should have been better. I should have—” she covered her face with her hands and her shoulder shook with sobs.
“But now you’re safe. And you need to sleep now, and when you wake up, you’ll feel better.” Beckett hoped it was true. Her confusion and tears frightened him to his core.
“Can you hold me?”
He nodded, pushed her a bit to the side and slid onto the cot. He slipped his arm under her body and pulled her head to his chest. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, and she cried there for a long long time.
