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“Where is she? Where’s Connie?” The desperation in my grandma’s voice and the apology in Malakai’s eyes curdles my stomach. I should never have left the island. I should never have left. None of this would have happened.
“In here,” Malakai responds. He gives me one last lingering look before moving out into the main cabin. I watch as he presses his hands flat against the table then leans over, his head dropping between his shoulders. My heart aches for him, for us.
Grandma Silva stops briefly by his side, resting her hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she says, meaning it. Then she sees me, and she’s rushing forward once more. “Oh, Connie, child. Oh my darling, darling, girl,” she cries, folding me into her arms. I cling onto her, sobs bursting from my lips freely now.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I mumble.
“No! You never,everapologise to me, child. This isnotyour fault.”
But it is. It is my fault. I left the island with Peter with the aim of doing one thing and one thing only: to get Malakai toseeme, to follow me.
And he came.
But he’s going to leave again, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
