Into the Flame (22 page)
She wrapped her arms around
Douglas
’s neck and kicked her feet to help keep them afloat. ‘‘Did you know that people suffering from hypothermia are frequently . . . are frequently . . .’’ She shuddered with the cold and tried to remember what she was saying. ‘‘Did you know that people suffering from hypothermia are frequently irrational and uncoordinated?’’
Douglas
’s neck and kicked her feet to help keep them afloat. ‘‘Did you know that people suffering from hypothermia are frequently . . . are frequently . . .’’ She shuddered with the cold and tried to remember what she was saying. ‘‘Did you know that people suffering from hypothermia are frequently irrational and uncoordinated?’’
The waves rose and fell, huge swells that lifted them into the air, then plunged them underwater.
Douglas
tried to keep her head in the air, but she sputtered and laughed when the icy water struck her in the face. ‘‘I know.’’
tried to keep her head in the air, but she sputtered and laughed when the icy water struck her in the face. ‘‘I know.’’
‘‘You know what?’’
‘‘That people suffering from hypothermia are irrational.’’ He was
not
laughing. In the white moonlight, his face looked as bleak and stony as the cliffs themselves.
not
laughing. In the white moonlight, his face looked as bleak and stony as the cliffs themselves.
‘‘Cheer up, darling. We’ll be in
China
soon.’’ She shuddered again, her teeth chattering so hard they clanked in her mouth. As the spasm eased, she kissed him and sang, ‘‘ ‘I’m gonna get you on a slow boat to
China
. . . .’ ’’
China
soon.’’ She shuddered again, her teeth chattering so hard they clanked in her mouth. As the spasm eased, she kissed him and sang, ‘‘ ‘I’m gonna get you on a slow boat to
China
. . . .’ ’’
Another wave rolled beneath them, lifting them high, then plunging them into the depths.
She wiped her face, blew salt water out of her nose, and sang louder: ‘‘ ’. . . Get you, um, in my arms evermore. Leave, um, others waitin’ . . .’ ’’ She broke off. ‘‘I can’t remember the words. Do you know the words?’’
‘‘No.’’ He leaned his forehead on hers. ‘‘Firebird, I’m sorry.’’
‘‘For what?’’ She grinned at him.
‘‘It’s my fault you’re going to die.’’
‘‘No. Believe me, I know where to place the blame. It’s the Varinskis’ fault.’’ She rode the rising swell, and at the very tip-top, she lifted her fist and shouted, ‘‘You ruthless pricks, I hope you all eat shit!’’
The sea sucked her down into the depths. Her muscles were cramping, her bones cracking under the influence of the constant, shocking cold. She was an anchor attached to Douglas, one he clutched with all his might.
This time it took longer to come to the surface, and when she did, she had only one thought in her mind. ‘‘Do you think
eat shit
is too crude?’’
eat shit
is too crude?’’
‘‘No.
Eat shit
is just right.’’
Eat shit
is just right.’’
She felt drunk. She felt silly. But she didn’t feel cold now. In fact, she was feeling warmer.
Stupid to feel warmer, but she didn’t care. ‘‘You need to let me go, but before you do, I have something very serious to tell you.’’ She wrapped her arms around his neck and frowned at him. ‘‘It’s about who you are. Because if I don’t tell you, and I die, you’ll never know.’’
‘‘I’ll never let you go. We’re going to die together.’’
‘‘No.’’ She had to concentrate, because she was losing the fight for consciousness. ‘‘Listen. About your family. Listen . . .’’
A light slipped across the water.
‘‘Hey!’’ He jumped in her arms, then shouted again, ‘‘Hey!’’
She watched the light skitter toward them in a detached sort of amazement. ‘‘I guess that’s it. The light of heaven. But . . . maybe not. Do I qualify for heaven?’’
He wasn’t paying any attention. He just kept shouting, ‘‘Hey!’’ and waving an arm.
‘‘I’m not really a Wilder, so I do. Except I haven’t lived an exemplary life, so maybe not. It depends on how strict the angel Gabriel is about the rules. . . .’’
Another light joined the first. The two lights got brighter.
Angels started shouting.
She looked up as they grabbed her under the arms and dragged her onto the boat, and she sang, ‘‘ ‘I dreamed last night I was on the boat to heaven, and a great big wave came and washed me overboard. . . .’ ’’
The light shone right in her face.
Douglas
was speaking, wrapping her in a blanket. She couldn’t feel it—she was too cold—and when he tried to talk to her, she sang louder, then broke off to say, ‘‘I’ll bet you didn’t know I played the lead in
Guys and Dolls
in high school.’’
was speaking, wrapping her in a blanket. She couldn’t feel it—she was too cold—and when he tried to talk to her, she sang louder, then broke off to say, ‘‘I’ll bet you didn’t know I played the lead in
Guys and Dolls
in high school.’’
‘‘I didn’t,’’ he admitted.
‘‘I can’t sing.’’ Her head flopped to one side.
‘‘I do know that.’’
She felt a vague indignation, but then the shivering started, racking her bones.
She deserved the pain. ‘‘I should have told you. . . . Listen to me, Douglas. I should have told you. I almost didn’t get the chance. We almost died, and you would have never known. . . .’’
He wasn’t paying attention. He was listening to the angels, listening with an attitude of concern, then anger.
The angels were talking among themselves in low tones, and she shouted, ‘‘A little louder, boys, I can’t understand you.’’
Douglas
stood with his hands on his hips. He still wore his uniform, he was dripping and shivering— ‘‘Handsome as sin,’’ she said—and he talked back to the angels. He was loud enough, but it still sounded like gibberish to her.
stood with his hands on his hips. He still wore his uniform, he was dripping and shivering— ‘‘Handsome as sin,’’ she said—and he talked back to the angels. He was loud enough, but it still sounded like gibberish to her.
Or—she tilted her head—was it Russian? Her parentsspoke Russian. She spoke a little.
‘‘Zdravstvuite,’’
she said.
‘‘Zdravstvuite,’’
she said.
The angels fell silent. The angels stared at her. Stared with their eyes bugging out of their heads.
The boat rocked.
The wind whistled.
One angel reached down toward her throat.
Douglas
caught his hand and spoke sharply.
caught his hand and spoke sharply.
Suddenly, the angels scurried to tend their sails. The captain’s strong voice lifted. He shouted orders.
Then the boat took on a life of its own, catching the wind, the waves, the tides, and moved toward a destination she couldn’t imagine.
For one moment, her judgment returned. She was alive. Not on a boat to heaven. She knew how close she’d come to death, how close she still was—and she realized that Douglas must be in the same shape she was, yet he stood over her, protecting her.
‘‘
Douglas
, please.’’ She lifted the edge of the blanket. ‘‘Come to bed with me. You know you want to.’’
Douglas
, please.’’ She lifted the edge of the blanket. ‘‘Come to bed with me. You know you want to.’’
Nervous male laughter swept the boat.
She’d been too loud. She had no control.
Tears filled her eyes.
Douglas
knelt beside her. ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a bigger body mass, I had less wine, and the cold affected me less.’’ He pressed his hand on her forehead. ‘‘Go to sleep. I’ll take care of you.’’
knelt beside her. ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a bigger body mass, I had less wine, and the cold affected me less.’’ He pressed his hand on her forehead. ‘‘Go to sleep. I’ll take care of you.’’
‘‘But who will take care of you?’’ She lifted her violently shaking hand and touched his face. ‘‘I promise . . . promise to live so I can take you . . . to your mother.’’
Chapter Twenty
Firebird woke.
It was morning.
Or something.
She could see light behind her closed lids. But her eyeballs hurt, so she didn’t open them.
Her bad ankle hurt, too.
Everything
hurt, but her ankle especially. It was cocked sideways. And she couldn’t move it. Because when she tried, that
really
hurt. Finally, in profound irritation, she reached down to pick up her leg and found something in the way. Blankets.
Everything
hurt, but her ankle especially. It was cocked sideways. And she couldn’t move it. Because when she tried, that
really
hurt. Finally, in profound irritation, she reached down to pick up her leg and found something in the way. Blankets.
Irritation turned to rage. Viciously she ripped the covers aside. Which made her twisted ankle straighten. Which caused so much pain she shouted, ‘‘Goddamn son of a
bitch
.’’ And at last, she opened her eyes.
bitch
.’’ And at last, she opened her eyes.
She was in
Douglas
’s bedroom. He stood over her. For a moment, memories merged; dinner at Mario’s had never happened, and she was facing
Douglas
again for the first time after the passionate interlude on this very bed.
Douglas
’s bedroom. He stood over her. For a moment, memories merged; dinner at Mario’s had never happened, and she was facing
Douglas
again for the first time after the passionate interlude on this very bed.
Then she saw the way he looked, like a man who had been to hell and back, and the evening at Mario’s and in the ocean, with all its confessions and its horrors, tumbled into place.
‘‘You’re better.’’ He pulled the covers all the way to the foot of the bed.
She wore an old-fashioned flannel nightgown, long-sleeved and buttoned all the way up to her throat.
Where had that come from?
‘‘How do you figure?’’ Her voice had an odd rasp, as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper.
‘‘You’re swearing.’’ His blond hair hung in insolent curls on his forehead. ‘‘It’s good to hear that.’’
‘‘You’re weird.’’
He leaned over, gathered her in his arms, and gently scooted her up onto a cluster of pillows.
She groaned. Her bad knee. Her bad ankle. Every joint in her body ached. Her skin felt raw. Her head pounded.
He offered her an open bottle of water with a straw stuck inside, and two white pills resting in his palm. ‘‘Pain reliever,’’ he said. ‘‘Ibuprofen. For that headache.’’
How did he know?
Obvious answer—she must look like hell. She took the pills and washed them down with a drink that didn’t stop until the bottle was half-empty. Relaxing back on the bed, she reached up and ran her fingers through her hair—and sat straight up. ‘‘What happened to my hair?’’
‘‘I had to cut it with my knife.’’ He braced himself as if he expected an attack.
He was a smart man.
‘‘Give me a mirror.’’
‘‘I don’t have one.’’
She wanted to call him a liar. But he was barefoot. He stood there in jeans slung low on his hips and an old, thin T-shirt that stretched tightly across his shoulders and lovingly molded the ripples of his taut belly. He had a long scratch on one cheek, and a bandage padded one shoulder above his collarbone. Gauze wrapped his right hand, and new wrinkles tightened his mouth.
Her gaze wandered around his bedroom. He’d dragged one of his comfortable chairs over by the bed and placed it so he could watch her. A tray with a half-eaten meal sat near the chair that faced the muted television. There the Weather Channel showed yet another winter storm wound up and ready to hit the
Washington
coast.
Washington
coast.
On the bedside table, a single yellow rosebud floated in a clean cereal bowl.
The whole scene had the appearance of a death-watch.
Which brought her to the thing she’d been avoiding: her fragmented memories. ‘‘The last thing I remember was jumping. Hitting that freaking cold ocean and being glad because it was the water and not a rock. Getting caught on something.’’ She broke into a sweat. ‘‘And struggling until I passed out.’’
He picked a washcloth off the end table and wiped her forehead and the palms of her hands. The washcloth was cool and damp. His voice was calm and soothing. ‘‘You were caught in the kelp. I almost didn’t find you in time. Luckily, cold water lowers metabolism, allowing the brain to withstand a much longer period of oxygen deprivation. Mostly it happens with children, but . . . well, you were singing.’’
‘‘Singing? That’s stupid. Why would I have been . . .’’ Recollection swept through her. ‘‘The rip-tide was carrying us out to sea.’’
He tossed the washcloth aside and leaned forward, his palms flat on the mattress. ‘‘Tell me what you remember.’’
‘‘I had a flash of waves heaving up and down, so rough, and you trying to keep my head above water.’’
‘‘You’d swallowed enough of the ocean already.’’
‘‘We were headed for
China
.’’
China
.’’
‘‘You kept saying not to worry, we were fine.’’
‘‘I figured we’d die of hypothermia before we got there,’’ she said.
Hm
. She was still a little snappish. ‘‘How did we get back
here
?’’
Hm
. She was still a little snappish. ‘‘How did we get back
here
?’’
‘‘There was a boat from up near the Canadian border, filled with Russian immigrants.’’
I’m going to get you on a slow boat to
China
. . .
Oh, no. She
had
been singing.
China
. . .
Oh, no. She
had
been singing.
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