“They’re perfect for you.”
“I . . . I so happy that you find them for me.”
“I’m glad. Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She pulled her old studs out and replaced them with Ryan’s gift. Seeing him smile at the sight of her, she stood up, walked into the bathroom, and studied her reflection. The earrings seemed to sparkle, as did her eyes, which glistened with tears. She wiped them away and returned to the table, thanking him once again.
He motioned that she should eat. “The food’s still hot. I had to run up and down those steps a few times, but I’m glad. I like it up here.”
“These my favorite bungalows on whole island. I can see so far.”
“It’s a beautiful view. Just perfect, really.”
She tasted the fried rice, then ate a cube of watermelon. Her heartbeat still hadn’t slowed, and she felt silly sitting at the table, eating, when she wanted to be touching him. “You hungry?”
“A little.”
“Come, I give you free massage. Then we eat.”
“No, you don’t need to—”
“Lie down. On back.”
He pulled the mosquito net aside and moved to the bed. She followed him, helping him off with his shirt. Once he was settled on his back, she reached for the bowl of watermelon and returned to him. “Taste this,” she said, picking up a cube and raising it to his lips. His mouth opened and she held the fruit so that he could bite it in half. His movements were slow and careful, and despite the swirling fan, sweat began to glisten on his forehead. She wondered if he was as nervous as she was, but then pushed the thought aside. The remainder of the watermelon went into her mouth. It was as cool as shade and as delicious as anything she’d ever tasted. The juice filled her mouth, so sweet and strong. She put her knees on either side of his flat belly, straddling him. Another piece of watermelon was held near his lips. Only this time she squeezed the fruit and let its juices drip to his chin. The world began to speed up, to move with the rise and fall of her chest, and she leaned forward, kissing the wetness on his skin. He tried to embrace her, but she held him still, squeezing the watermelon again, then tasting the drops that had fallen to his neck and shoulder. His skin was firm, smooth, and warm. His breath came and went with increasing quickness. He whispered her name, which made her long to feel more of him, to savor the movement of his skin against hers. Without thought or hesitation, she removed her shirt and let it tumble away. Her bra fell next, and his fingers traced the outlines of her breasts. Though she knew they were small compared to those she saw in American movies, she noticed that his eyes were transfixed by them. She reached for another cube of watermelon, pressing it against her chest and then moving forward on him, lowering herself so that he might taste her. His tongue swept along her collarbone to the base of her neck to her right breast, circling her nipple, coming closer and closer until she felt his mouth on it. Her body shifted against his, arching forward and backward—movement without thought or premeditation. Her name sounded again on his lips, and he whispered of her beauty. Because she knew that beauty was fleeting and that this moment would be fleeting, his words made her slow down, despite her desire for haste. More fruit was crushed, dripped, and tasted. She covered him with such a rich, delectable sweetness that it didn’t leave, no matter how many times she kissed and licked him. Her mouth made love to him, consuming his lips, the lobes of his ears, the length of his fingers. Though she had never before done such things, her movements were fluid and serene. His body had become an extension of her own, to do with as she pleased.
The watermelon lasted until the sun had lost much of its strength. Then he lifted her up, laid her on the bed, and began to move in the way that she wanted him to, as if, despite their different histories, they shared the same mind—a mind full of want and wonder, more focused on the future than on the past.
He became an explorer, delighting in discoveries, treating her body like an unknown country that he alone could search and cherish. And as he cherished her, as he empowered her through his tenderness, she rose higher and higher, moving like the sea beneath him, stirring and trembling and merging into another body that for a moment felt like her own.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 26
ten ripples and a wave
About eight in the morning, hundreds of miles to the southwest of Ko Phi Phi, the crew of a fishing boat hauled in their net, which had been left in place overnight. Though the men had worked on the water all their lives, and could read its face like those of their children, they were unaware that miles below the sea’s surface, something was happening.
A massive tectonic plate, the India Plate, shifted, as it had for millions of years. Only on this occasion, a portion of the India Plate slipped beneath the Burma Plate. The collision of the two tectonic plates created a rupture that released more than twenty thousand times the energy produced by the atomic bomb at Hiroshima. The seafloor above the focal point was suddenly thrust upward by six feet, displacing a colossal amount of water, flipping the fishing boat over like a toy, killing the crew, and creating a series of powerful waves.
As they approached nearby coastlines, the waves gathered strength in shallow waters, rising as they rolled forth, engulfing landmasses as if islands and coastlines had been dropped, from far above, into the sea.
Though no one knew it, Ko Phi Phi lay in the path of the waves.
In less than two hours, everything would change.
FROM THE LOOKOUT POINT ATOP the island, Ko Phi Phi seemed even quieter than usual. Sailboats were moored offshore and longboats were lined up along each curving beach. The water of both bays was flat and immobile, almost as if a coat of turquoise paint had been applied to some sort of model ocean. The day was remarkably still—a few clouds seemed stuck in the southern sky, the wind asleep.
Brooke and Patch were the only people at the top of the island. Perhaps other travelers were sleeping off their holiday celebrations. Or maybe the looming heat of the day had kept people from making the arduous climb. Whatever the case, Brooke and Patch sat in solitude on a limestone outcropping that marked the highest point on Ko Phi Phi. They held hands but didn’t otherwise touch.
Though Brooke was usually comfortable with silence, she had only a few more days with Patch and felt the need to hear his voice, and to tell him what she’d been thinking while he gazed into the horizon. “Last night,” she said softly, “I wanted to go to your room. I actually left my bungalow . . . and walked toward yours. But then I stopped.”
Patch turned toward her. “You did?”
“Around midnight.”
He sighed, studying her face. “I wanted that too. But I’m glad you stopped.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t be with you . . . like that . . . with Ryan nearby. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have.”
“I hurt him too. That’s why I turned around.” She rubbed an insect bite on her shin and realized that she hadn’t shaved her legs for a few days. To her surprise, she didn’t mind if Patch saw her stubble. “If Ryan was back in America, if a few months had passed, what would have happened last night?”
“Something beautiful.”
“Tell me.”
A long-billed bird with a blue chest and yellow wings landed nearby, hopping closer to them. “I would have tried to give you something . . . an experience you’ve never had before.”
She smiled. “I’m not a virgin, you know.”
His face remained serious. “There’s more to making love than touching someone.”
“So . . . what would you have done?”
“Really? You want to know?”
“I want to know everything.”
“Well, I’d have tried to make the night special, so that we would always remember it.” He studied her face, his mind replaying a scene that he had imagined over and over. His heartbeat quickened as he wondered whether telling her everything might be too much. ?
??I would have asked Lek to borrow his longboat, and I’d have driven us around the island, to a secret cove I know about. We would have anchored there, shared a swim, another kiss by the boat, and later a bottle of wine. Then I would have lit a hundred candles and put them at the front and back of the boat. And I would have created a little bed out of tapestries and blankets, and then . . . made love to you like it was the first and last time that I ever would. Nothing would be rushed. Just savored. And later we would have blown out the candles and watched the stars.”
Brooke bit her bottom lip, sweat building between their hands. “You . . . you thought about this already?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I want that night.”
“I know. Me too.”
The bird hopped closer, as if eavesdropping. Brooke shut her eyes, envisioning the scene that he had described. She longed to ask him to reconsider his decision to turn himself in. If he was imprisoned, anything could happen. As likely as not, the night he had described would never occur.
But needing to honor his wishes, she stilled her desires and reached into a nearby backpack, removing an envelope. “Yesterday, when you were with the children in the tree house, I went shopping for you.”
“For me?”
“I wanted to get you something that would help you, and that would remind you of me. It’s not really a Christmas present, but more of a . . . token.” She handed him her gift. “I’m not through helping you, but this is a start.”
Patch thanked her and carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a small glass vial. He raised it to the light, his eyebrows coming together as he tried to discern what was sparkling inside the glass.
“They’re little diamonds,” Brooke said. “Ten of them. I bought them at that jewelry store in the village.”
“Why?”
“When the time comes you can sneak them into jail, maybe by carrying them in the corner of your mouth. Then, if you need to, you can bribe a guard, another prisoner, someone who can keep you safe.”
“I—”
“And whatever ones you don’t give away, you can keep. And you can look at them, and remember that night we had, under those stars. That night when you told me that I was still whole.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. You don’t need to. I just want you to be safe. And I think . . . I think these little diamonds will help.”
He saw tears forming in her eyes and leaned forward, kissing her. “How is it . . . that I just met you . . . but that I want you so much?” he whispered. “I didn’t know it was possible . . . to feel like that.”
“Neither did I.”
“I think I’m falling in love with you, even though I hardly know you. Am I crazy? Am I so worried about jail that I’m just . . . reaching for something?”
She kissed his lips, his cheek, his forehead. “You tell me.”
“I’m not reaching,” he replied, then shook his head. “Just falling. Falling toward something beautiful.”
“Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. Just keep doing it.”
“I will.”
Hearing the emotion in his voice, and then asking herself how scared he was to go to prison, she put her hands behind his head and ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll help you,” she whispered. “The diamonds are only a beginning. I’ll help you get through this. And you will. You’ll persevere. And then . . . we’ll meet and whatever we want to do, we’ll do.”
“All I want is the chance to be with you.”
“Good. You think about that . . . when you’re in there. You think about me waiting. That’ll keep you strong. And you’ll need to be strong. Strong and resolute.”
His lips touched hers, so gently that she wondered whether he was actually kissing her or she was just imagining it. And so she kissed him harder, needing to feel his presence, to know that he was real. He responded in kind, moving faster, with urgency, not stopping until the glass vial fell from his grip. It shattered, sending the diamonds tumbling onto the limestone.
Nearly breathless from a multitude of desires, they drew apart, cleaned up the glass, collected all of the glittering stones, and then walked, hand in hand, back toward the beach.
SARAI LOOKED FROM SUCHIN TO Niran. “Patch has to leave us,” she said softly, reaching for their hands, unaware of the other people on the pier. “He loves you both, but he has to leave us.”
Suchin shook her head, her mouth opening and shutting as if she were a fish out of water. “Why . . . why would he leave?”
“He doesn’t want to. But he has to. His family needs him back in America.”
“But we need him too.”
Squeezing her daughter’s hand, Sarai glanced at Lek, wondering where his thoughts had taken him. The four of them stood at the end of the pier. A ship carrying supplies had just docked, and Lek held the handle of a cart, which would soon be filled with crates of beer, bottled water, and soda. “You’ll see him again,” Lek said. “Someday, you might even see him in America.”
“That’s if you work hard,” Sarai added. “If you study hard, anything is possible.”
Niran released his mother’s hand. “But he just finished the tree house. And now he won’t even get to play in it.”
Men started to carry supplies off the ship, loading nearby carts with electronic goods, building materials, medicine, foodstuffs, and mattresses. Sarai dropped to her knees so that she was eye to eye with her children. “There are some people, Niran, who will come into our lives, and who we will never see again. And there are some people who we will meet, leave, and then who will come back to us, time and time again. I think Patch is one of those people. I think you’ll see him again. You’ll play with him again.”
Suchin saw that Niran was trying not to cry. As her mother rubbed Niran’s back, Suchin turned to her father. “But Patch helps you. He does so much. And if he goes, who will lift the heavy things? Who will climb up and fix the leaky roofs?”
“You will,” Sarai answered. “You and Niran will help your father, just as I will. The four of us can do anything we want. That’s what families do—they help each other. And that’s what makes them so strong. And that’s why, in a few minutes, when they’ve loaded our cart, we’ll push it back home together. Your father can’t push it by himself. But when we work together, it will be easy.”
Lek nodded. “Your mother’s right. She’s always right.”
“Of course I am,” Sarai replied, longing to see smiles alight on her children’s faces. “Did your father marry me for my money? No, of course not. For my looks? No, he’s not blind. So, he must have married me for my brain. And my brain tells me that everything will be fine, that if we always work together, we won’t need the help of anyone else.”
Though Suchin nodded, Niran appeared unconvinced. “But Patch was going to build me a stone pit. For my hermit crabs. We were going to do it together.”
“You were?” Lek asked.
“Right over by the tree house.”
Lek reached into his pocket and removed two pieces of hard candy. He gave one to each of his children. “I can build that pit. We can build it together.”
“You won’t have time.”
“Look,” Sarai said, pointing. “They’ve almost filled our cart. We need to pay them; then we’ll push it home. While your father and I unload it, you two can swim. Then we’ll make your pit, Niran. We’ll make such a great hermit crab pit. It will be deep and wide, and if Suchin gets too feisty, you can stick her down there too.”
Niran smiled, then picked at a scab on his elbow. “She’s always feisty.”
“You’d be feisty too if you had a little brother,” Suchin replied.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would.”
A pair of men finished loading the cart. Sarai double-checked the inventory, then handed one man a roll of bills. A few months earlier, he had tried to raise the price of his delivery, but Sarai had refused him
and started walking toward one of his competitors. Since then, their arrangement had been unchanged, though occasionally Sarai sent him back with a bag full of hot food.
Satisfied that the correct items were on the cart, Sarai once again turned to her children. “Are you ready to push?”
Niran thought about Patch, and felt sad that he would be leaving soon. Patch had always been eager to talk about fish, to play a game of soccer. The thought of Patch leaving seemed to create a dampness within Niran, as if a fog had settled inside him. But when his parents and sister placed their hands on the cart, he did the same. The cart began to roll down the pier, slowly at first, but soon gaining momentum. As Suchin started to tell their parents about a story she was writing at school, Niran put all his weight against the cart, wanting his muscles to grow, knowing that without Patch, he would have to help his father even more. Though Niran often pretended not to hear his parents’ whispered concerns about money, he understood the obstacles they faced. So did Suchin.
Grunting, Niran pushed harder, thinking about how Patch had become the big brother he’d always wanted. “I’ll miss you,” Niran whispered, glad that he looked at the ground, that no one could see how his eyes glistened. When a tear fell, he wiped it away and continued to push, his legs and arms tired, but his determination stronger than ever.
“IF YOU HAVE TO WORK, of course I’m going to be your customer,” Ryan said as he stepped into the massage parlor. “But you don’t need to do anything to me. I’ll just lie down and you can pretend to work.”
She shut the door behind him and smiled. “But then I no get tip.”
“Oh, I’ll give you a tip. Tonight.”
“You naughty, King Kong,” she replied, slapping his shoulder. “Why you want to be so naughty?” She watched as he undressed and put on the thin shorts that she had handed him. “Your muscles look tired. You get too much exercise last night?”