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But I was looking. I was always looking at her. It was impossible not to.
In the end however, even with Atarangi gone, it made Daisy and I grow closer.
It caused my heart to open up and find space in there for her, just as she found the space for me.
It brought us together like nothing else could, and for that I am forever grateful.
It made Daisy and her sister grow closer, too. They still fight, of course, but there’s now trust between them when they fight.
As for the newlyweds, I’m sure the shipwreck prepared that couple like years of pre-emptive counseling. They’re solid as a rock now, and I have to say, both of them have lightened up considerably since then. They like to trek all over the South Island and camp, and Richard recently bought a motorbike. I’ve not actually seen him on it yet, but if he passed the test, then I guess he’s okay to ride.
They’re also going to be parents soon. Lacey is six months pregnant with a boy. They’re absolutely over the moon with joy, and Daisy and I have already been appointed godparents. The both of us aren’t too keen on the idea of kids ourselves, especially now that we have a couple of rescue dogs, and a cat, but we both plan on spoiling the baby immensely. Anyway, the kid is going to want a tough uncle to look up to. At least that’s what Daisy says. She says Dick Boner Junior shouldn’t have to follow the footsteps of his father.
The shipwreck also brought all our families closer together. When I got back to New Zealand, after spending three weeks with Daisy in San Francisco, I made a point of spending more time with my parents. Not that I didn’t before, I was always visiting since I lived so close. But I wanted to get to know them on an even deeper level. I also just wanted to relish the time I have with them, knowing how easy it is to have all that taken away.
Meanwhile, both Daisy and Lacey have formed a closer relationship with their parents. They’ve spent a Christmas out in Oregon, and her parents have also managed to come to New Zealand again. The girls don’t believe it sometimes, but their parents are very proud of them.
I know it’s cliché, that good things come out of the bad, that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, that the light at the end of the tunnel can be brighter than the light before. But they are cliché for a reason, because they’re true. If you can’t find rhyme or reason in this crazy, unpredictable world, at least you can find solace in that.
Daisy looks behind her at the setting sun, then turns around, and gives me the thumbs up.
I raise my hand and tug at the writing slate attached at my BCD, or buoyancy compensator.
She does the same.
Then falls back into the water.
I copy her, flipping backward, fins over my head.
I hit the water with a splash and then right myself.
I see Daisy on the other side of the six-foot Zodiac and swim through the bubbles over to her.
She gives me a thumbs up again.
I do the same.
Then I follow her lead.
It would be easy to say that Daisy turns into a mermaid underwater, with her voluptuous body, and that flowing red hair, but I’d say she’s more like a shark. She’s quick, confident, and knows exactly where she wants to go. She’s done countless dives at this spot, just off Goat Island, because so many of her classes are here, and she knows the underwater landscape like the back of her hand.
The water here is clear, and in the dying light, a gemstone green.
I watch as she goes and spies on an octopus moving along the sand, she points excitedly at the rays swooping over the reef.
It’s beautiful, it’s magical.
It’s time.
While she’s following the rays, entranced by them, I unclip my writing slate and start writing on it with the attached pencil.
Will You Marry Me?
Yes, it’s simple, and maybe a bit corny.
But this feels right for us, here, under the waves.
It’s been a few years that I’ve wanted to do this, but I wanted to get all our ducks in order first. Wanted to make sure that this was what the both of us wanted.
I can’t imagine my life without Daisy. She makes everything that much better.
I hold out the slate, waiting for her to turn around and see me.
Finally, she does.
She’s too far away to read it properly, so she swims closer.
Stops.
Bubbles erupt from her mouthpiece and her eyes go wide.
I point at the slate for emphasis, just in case she doesn’t understand it.
She stares for a few moments more, then hastily unclips her slate and writes something with what seems to be a lot of exclamation marks.
