Page 59 of If I Go Down with This Ship

I’ve traveled through much of Europe and parts of Asia, Africa, and North America, but my knowledge of the Caribbean and its many islands has been scoured from media—movies and television.I don’t know where we are, but I don’t care.The thought of land, of that beach is enough to calm the growing unease in me.

“We need to rebuild.”

The voice soothes something in me.I turn toward Silas ashe glances across the water to the island.He’s standing a fair distance back, but he is speaking to me, and that is all that matters.He’s been beating himself up over the ship, over the loss of crew, but there’s hope in his tone.

“We’ll rest first,” he says.“Give the crew some time.”

I straighten in surprise.“What about the lead?”I whisper.

His expression is blank, his dark eyes unreadable.

“We already suffered a loss this crew should have never suffered.The storm and the foremast…” He shakes his head and sighs.“If I do not give them a moment to grieve, to rest, I won’t have a crew for much longer.”

I take a step closer.Hesitating, he turns to leave, but as he does, he brushes his fingers over the back of my hand.It’s so minuscule, so brief that no one would have noticed, but I know what he’s trying to say all the same:Thank you.I want to curl my hand over his, pull him toward me, but now is not the time, and here is not the place.

So I settle for a soft smile.

As Silas disappears, Jack stops before me, the logbook under his arm.“Laszlo, can you grab the materials for sail making?We ’ave some work ahead of us yet.”

Nodding, I push my way through the crew crowding the deck and jog down into the hold.It’s still eerily quiet down here, and I fight a shudder as I search through the bags in the dark.I gather up the bag of sailcloth and other materials, but as I lift and hoist it over my shoulder, I spot the bag of discarded garments I hid in the corner.

I set the bag down and rifle through the contents, coming away with my phone, still zipped up tight in the bag Louise insisted I use.If I recall correctly, I had about 60 percent battery left, and I’m tempted to check it, to pretend like themagic that brought me here will hook me up with cell reception.Opening the phone bag, I slip my little notebook into the back and stuff it into my pocket before closing the top of the canvas bag and grabbing the supplies.

Sail-making materials thrown over my shoulder, I hurry to the main deck and climb down into one of the boats, settling into the seat across from Silas.Sir is curled in his lap, tail twitching as he stares out at the water.Silas looks from me to the bag at my feet with a frown as I assume my place at the oars.

“What took you so long?”he asks.

I shrug as I fight through the ache in my muscles and row us to shore.“Wasn’t where I thought it was,” I lie.

The other boats trickle from the ship, and it is almost routine now as I leap out of the boat and drag it to the beach, helping lift supplies before trudging up the sand to set up camp.But I can feel the weight of my phone in my pocket, a strangely unfamiliar thing now after weeks without it.My fingers stretch out as if to reach for it, but Silas stands silently across the sand.His dark gaze is trained on me, waiting to see what I am hiding.

Because he already knows me so well.

I wish I could tell him, show him.But it could ruin everything.He might stop kissing me the way he does, stop opening up, stop trusting me.I don’t want a silly little piece of technology to come between us.

Gathering up some of the fabric for the sails, I trudge through the sand and find my way to a spot under a nearby tree, sinking onto the beach and spreading my legs out before me.Jack kneels beside me, affixing a leather tool around the heel of my palm with a round, hard surface along a thick strap.

“A sailmakers palm.It’ll ’elp push the needle through,” he explains.

He shows me how to punch holes in the fabric with an awl, a tool with a long, sharp end and a short wooden base.When the holes are punched, I guide the waxed thread through a large needle and begin.Though I am no master sewer, my stitches are only slightly crooked, and Jack gives me a nod of approval before checking on the others.

As I work, the last boat arrives fromShe Deceitful, and some of the crew tie up tarps to supply shade across the beach.When I’ve stitched along one seam, I sew over the tail of the thread before lodging the needle into the fabric.I pull off the sailmakers palm and check to make sure no one is watching.Humming under my breath, I slide out my phone.It’s still in the protective case, still here somehow.Oh, how I missed it.It is strange and smooth in my fingers, and I press my thumb to the power button.

I’m sweating, not from the heat, but from the nervous energy that has my knee bouncing as my phone takes its sweet time powering on.It vibrates in my hand as the screen lights up.

My lock screen pops up, a photo of Louise and me as kids frozen in action as she presses her ice cream cone to my nose.I smile.Though a certain pirate captain has preoccupied my thoughts as of late, I miss Louise.I miss her strange mannerisms, her endless supply of energy, the way she pushes me when I’m ready to give up.I miss my friends.I miss reading books and writing stories and meeting readers and authors.Things and people I took for granted.

Something in me aches as I stare down at my phone.

“What is that?”

I squeal in surprise and throw my phone.With fumbling fingers, I catch it, drop it, and catch it again before turning slowly to stare up at Silas.Ohno, oh nonononono, this is the worst possible circumstance.

“It’s nothing,” I lie.Damn it all, I hate lying to him.

He crouches before me, drawing a finger in the sand.Wincing, I slip my hand and phone under the sail fabric as the pit in my stomach bottoms out.“You’re lying to me.”He looks pointedly to the sailcloth where I’m hiding the phone, his brow cocked.“What is it, Laszlo.”

It is not a question, it’s acommand.