Page 55 of Dearly Departed

“What the fuck,” Jacob sobs.

I know he can’t get up. There’s no point in asking him, so I sit with him on the beach, rubbing his back and watching the waves roll onto the shore and ignoring the rocks that are digging into my ass for a long time.

It’s not so bad here if you’re just sitting on the beach. I mean, the sand isn’t very nice, but the ocean view is lovely.

I want to just be in the moment with Jacob and let him cry as long as he needs to and not worry about shelter or food, but the sun keeps moving across the sky. Eventually, it’ll set. I don’t want to be out here in the open when there’s an available cabin.

I’m stroking Jacob’s back and trying to think of how to broach the topic of hiking back when he swallows, picking up his head.

“Do you hear that, kitten?”

I don’t hear anything but the wind and the waves and Jacob’s heartbeat.

Then I hear the buzz.

It’s not like a plane, or an insect. It’s something else. Jacob and I stare at the ocean, waiting. I hope it’s not another murderer. I’m too tired for that.

The buzzing gets louder.

A few seconds later, a speedboat comes into view.

“That’s a speedboat.” Jacob points. His chest continues hitching.

“I see that.” It is a speedboat. A normal, white speedboat, with a man standing up at the wheel, the wind in his dark hair. As we stare at him, he lifts a hand to shade his eyes and scans the beach.

He stands tall when he sees us and turns the boat in a wide loop until it’s facing the shore. Then he drives it in and in and in until he reaches shallow water, hops out, and drags the front of the boat onto the sand.

The dark-haired man shades his eyes again.

“Hello.” I wave to him. That’s probably a nice touch. “We’re actually, like, stranded here on the island after a plane crash, and we need to borrow a cell phone.”

“What happened to yours?” Jacob asks. He blinks a few times. No more tears. The emotion fades from his face.

“Harris threw my whole bag into the ocean.” I’m a little heartbroken over the bag. It was my favorite bag in the world, and now it’s probably lost to the tide. “I’m sad about it. But I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll get you another one,” Jacob swears.

The man from the boat cocks his head to the side. “Who the hell are you?”

“Catherine and Jacob Chambers. Who are you?”

“Are you the lady who called me on the radio?”

“Oh! Yeah! That was me!”

“…but you don’t know who I am?”

“No! I have no idea.”

He rolls his eyes hugely, theatrically, and lets out an irritated scoff. “Jesus fuck. You can call me Cancer. Plane crash? Is that what you said?”

“Yes. And we really need a ride to, like, anywhere else.”

Cancer—that can’t be his real name—drags the boat a little farther up on the beach, then comes toward us with long strides. He offers me his hand first. I take it. Cancer has a strong, calloused hand and a nice face. Not nearly as hot as Jacob, but nobody is.

Jacob’s still the hottest person on earth when he’s sitting on the beach with his shoulder slumped, expression blank.

“Your husband okay?”