Page 65 of Dance Practice, Marooned: Part 2

Her hand finds mine, it’s warm, but clammy. “How does something like this even happen?” she asks, voice trembling. “Like, how dumb am I. I impaled myself. Has that even happened to someone before?”

I smile, even though it feels as though the entirety of my insides are shaking. “I honestly have no idea. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault. You were just trying to fix things.”

She snorts. “Some fixer. Can’t even keep myself together.”

“Hey, shush,” I say. “You’re the only person I know who could survive a splinter the size of a baseball bat through your gut. Just hang in there, yeah? Adrian’s going to fix that radio, and everything will be okay.”

She licks her lips and looks at me with something like awe. “Somehow, Grace, you always make it sound like things aren’t fucked. Even when they are.”

“Comes with the territory,” I mutter, and try to smile.

We sit like that for a long time, the silence broken only by the occasional thud of something heavy being dropped onto the deck above us, and the distant echo of Zeke’s cursing. There’s a peace in it, almost, the stillness of Tati’s shallow breathing and the world narrowed down to the tiny, dim-lit room, the two of us holding on for the stupidest, most stubborn reasons.

Eventually, Ace appears in the doorway, ducking in with a bottle of water and four little pills in his palm. He kneels next to us, and holds them out to Tati. “For the pain, and the infection.”

She raises her brows, just a little. “Is it morphine at least? Something epic that will make me forget that I am laying here with a fucking piece of wood in my stomach.”

He actually smiles, the first smile I’ve seen since the accident. “It’s not morphine, but if you want, there is a stash of weed I can light up for you, make this room a fuckin’ smoke show,” he says, and then winks.

She coughs out a small laugh, and winces. “It’s tempting.”

Ace grins again. Then we both carefully move her head up just enough so that she can swallow the pills.

“Sip,” I tell her, bringing the bottle to her lips. She sips, winces again, but gets it down, then chases the pills with a gulp.

Ace settles in beside me. For a long while, we say nothing, just listen to the ship creak and groan. Tati falls asleep again, her breathing soft. Ace has his hand on my thigh, thumb stroking small circles, but he doesn’t say a word. Maybe he’s thinking about everything we survived to get to this point. Maybe he’s just waiting for another shoe to drop. When I finally can’t take the silence any more, I murmur: “Do you think this is going to work?”

He doesn’t lie to me, and I love him for that. “I dunno. But if there’s anyone on earth who can fix a radio with a ball of tinfoil and a battery, it’s Adrian.”

A long pause.

“Did you ever think we’d get this far?”

He shrugs, but the motion is heavy. “I figured we’d die on that island, if I’m being honest.”

“Me too,” I whisper, and thread my fingers through his.

He gives my hand a squeeze, then leans back against the wall.

I let myself stare at Tati for a long time, watching her chest moving. The part of me that still believes in miracles is screaming to do something, anything, but there’s nothing left but waiting and the slow motion of grief.

“Come on, let’s go and get some fresh air,” Ace murmurs, low. “You need a break.”

He’s not wrong.

He helps me up, and I walk slowly, trying to shake the dread out of my bones. Up on deck, the sky is a beautiful shade of blue with a golden streak from the morning sun. We walk to the back of the ship, breathing in the salty air and weird kind of peace you get out here. Pulling out a cigarette, Ace inhales deeply and offers it to me.

I don’t say no.

I inhale, cough and then pass it back.

“She’s tough,” he says, voice rough, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

“I know she is, but I can’t stop thinking about what happens if Adrian can’t fix that fucking radio, or if we hit a storm, or any of the million things that can kill us.”

I stare out at the sea, the nothingness.

“We make it work, sweet pea. We always do.”