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“You’re on the island alone?”
“Yes, okay?” I spat. “I came here to work on myself. That’s not exactly a team sport. If I’d brought a gaggle of girlfriends, we’d have spent all our time drinking and shopping. Which is exactly what I do in Seattle. I needed a reset.” I flapped my hand at my ankle. “This was not on the itinerary.Obviously.”
Asher wore a grudging look of…mild surprise? Understanding? Doubtful. To him, I was just another dumb tourist. Even dumber for coming here solo.
Roy and his Basket of Doom were brought over in a tangle of straps and buckles.
My pulse kicked up another notch.
“You want me to lie down in that? On purpose?”
“It’s safe, I swear,” Asher said.
“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
The guys helped me into the basket. I lay down flat on my back, clutching my muddy backpack to my chest. Silent under his white helmet, Roy busily worked attaching various buckles and straps.
“Where are you taking me, Roy?”
“They’re going to land you on dry ground,” Asher said when Roy declined to comment. “An ambulance is waiting to take you to Wilcox Hospital. Where are you staying on the island?”
“Kapa’a.”
“Then you’re right there.”
A lot of good that would do me. I couldn’t drive. Couldn’t walk. Outside of Silas, there was no one I wanted to call to help me get through this. I wasn’t one for freaking out, but at that moment, it took all I had to not burst into tears. I was allergic to being emotional, but I felt so helpless when I’d come here expressly for the opposite reason.
Asher read my expression and frowned, a furrow forming between his brows. “You good?”
“Just peachy,” I managed. There was no way I was going to lose it in front of this guy. “Does it change anything if I say I’m afraid of heights?”
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
“Thanks.” I looked up at the helicopter above. “This is nuts. Do I have time for a photo?”
“Seriously?”
“When is this going to happen to me again?”
“Next week?”
“You’re cute, but you still need to work on your bedside manner.” I fished my phone out and took a shot of the helicopter above me, then whipped my phone to the right and grabbed a pic of Asher. “To show the folks at home the hero who rescued the dumb tourist with the bad shoes.”
“That’s Roy. Not me. And you’re not dumb. Shit happens.”
Did I detect a twinge of remorse in his gruff, manly-man voice? I had no time to contemplate. Takeoff was imminent and I wasn’t going to see Asher again.
“Take care, Faith,” he said as he and the rest of the guys backed away. “And be more careful next time.”
“Thanks, but there is no next time. This trip is over with a capital O.”
Over before it even began.
Roy made a circular arm motion, and the chopper rose higher, taking us off the ground. Through the basket’s mesh bars, I caught sight of Mike with his sons amid a bunch of gawking tourists. He waved at me. I waved back.
Only a slender cord, curved by the breeze, tethered Roy and me to the helicopter above us. Below, the earth—beautiful as it was—swept beneath us at a frightening distance.
I looked to Roy, attached to the side of the basket by cords and buckles. “You do this often?”
