Addison was in bad shape, too. She didn’t appear to be hurt physically, but she wouldn’t speak, even when Shy asked her direct questions about how they’d gotten on the raft and what had happened to their lifeboat. She just sat there against the side of the boat, shivering, eyelids drooping.
When she finally fell asleep, Shy covered her with the rain slicker. She’d been a bitch to him on the ship, maybe the hardest he’d had to deal with, but it no longer seemed to matter. He crossed back to the opposite side of the boat and stared out at the sea. He was freezing and hungry, thirstier than he’d ever been in his life. His ribs ached. He was with other people now—living, breathing people—but he still felt totally alone.
He sat there in the dark, his mind returning to the same simple questions. Why was all of this happening? Why’d he end up out here when he should be back home with his family, even if they all died together in the earthquakes? When he was a little kid his grandma had taught him to believe there was meaning in everything, even how his old man treated him. But now Shy understood there was nothing.
He cracked open his eyes a few hours later.
Still night.
Addison was passed out in the same position. The oilman was awake, though. He seemed to be over his shock. He cringed and held his leg in pain, but he appeared more aware of his surroundings. Shy went to him, picked up the jug of water and urged him to drink.
“Don’t know why you’d waste it on me,” the man said, waving the water away.
Shy took a baby sip himself and said: “It’s not just you. We all need water.”
“You know I won’t survive,” the man said, pointing to his mangled leg.
It was true, the guy looked worse than before. His eyes sagged and his shoulders slumped, his pant leg was caked with blood below the tourniquet.
“I don’t wanna be here anyway,” the man said. “Not without Angela.”
“She’s the one you were gonna give the ring to?” Shy asked.
The man nodded.
Shy figured he should keep the man talking or something, to take his mind off the pain. But he didn’t know what to say. He tried pushing the water again instead, and this time the man took a small sip. When he handed back the bottle, Shy capped it and said: “I never got your name.”
“William,” the oilman said. “William Henry.”
“I’m Shy.” Shy reached out and shook the man’s hand. He seemed so much different than he had on the ship. More humble. Maybe that’s what a nasty shark bite did, Shy thought. It stripped away all the arrogant thoughts people had about themselves. “I wanted to tell you, Mr. Henry,” he said. “Everything that happened with the ship was seriously messed up. Obviously. But, I don’t know, it doesn’t seem fair you never even got to ask her to marry you.”
Mr. Henry forced a grin and shook his head. “I knew her answer, though.”
Shy frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Before dinner I told Angela to wear her pearls to the restaurant.” The man winced and looked down at his leg, touched gently around the wound.
“I don’t get it,” Shy said.
“Most women get caught off guard when they’re proposed to,” Mr. Henry said. He coughed into a fist. “They look back after the fact and wish they were wearing a different dress. Or they wish they’d been wearing makeup. Silly things. We joked about this a few times. So when I told her to wear the pearls, she understood what it meant.”
“She knew you had a ring and everything?”
The man shrugged. “But I saw the look in her eyes when I left her cabin that afternoon. She wasn’t ever coming to dinner.”
Shy had no idea how to respond to this, so he told the man: “You don’t know that. She was probably just doing her makeup, like you said.”
Mr. Henry shook his head. “I know.”
Shy watched him lean his head back against the side and close his eyes, his fingers still touching around his wound. It didn’t seem fair that a guy who got stood up would also get bitten by a shark. But then nothing about the last few days was fair.
Day 4
31
Lost at Sea
By morning Shy’s stomach was cramping, and he felt weak. He was so cold he couldn’t stop shivering, but he knew by the afternoon the sun would be beating down on them relentlessly. His lips were cracked and swollen from the day before, his face so sunburned it felt tight and stung in the salty air. Tiny sores had started popping up on his arms and legs and feet, and his skin was covered in a strange film.
For the first few hours of the day, the oilman slept and Addison shivered in her corner and remained silent. Shy tried to think of a plan. They couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. The movement of the sun told him which direction was east, but what was he going to do, row them all the way back to California? It would probably take a damn year with his one stupid oar. He’d start them toward the islands everyone kept talking about, but he had no idea which direction they were.
When he grew overwhelmed by the hopelessness of their situation, he started watching Addison, remembering how weird she’d acted on the Honeymoon Deck during the storm.
A few hours later, Addison leaned over the side of the boat and said: “God, why won’t they leave us alone?”
These were the first words she’d spoken on the lifeboat. Shy knew she was talking about the two sharks still hovering around the boat, but he took it as an opening to bring up what was on his mind. “Why’d your old man have a picture of me?”
Addison turned and looked at him.
“ ’Cause that’s what you said, right? When you were out there in the storm with your binoculars.”
No answer.
Shy shook his head. “You wanted to know who I am—shit, who are you? And who’s your dad?”
Addison’s face crinkled up and she covered her face with her hands and started crying.
Seeing this made Shy lose his edge. He always caved when he saw a girl cry. “It’s just a question,” he told her, softening his tone. “Seems messed up to tell me your old man has a picture of me and then—”
“Are you fucking kidding me!” Addison shouted at him through her sobs. “I just watched my best friend die! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
Shy startled. He hadn’t expected her to get all psychotic on him.
“And I don’t know where my dad is!” Addison screamed. “He could be dead, too! And you want to talk to me about your stupid picture?”
“Jesus, calm down,” Shy said, rubbing his sore ribs. “All I did was ask a simple question, damn.”
Addison buried her face in her hands again and sobbed so loud Shy felt like an asshole. Maybe that’s exactly what he was. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up out here because nothing from the real world mattered anymore.
“Give it time,” Mr. Henry said.
Shy turned to look at the oilman, who was staring back at Shy.
“I don’t know what you all are talking about,” he said, “but whatever it is, just give it some time.”
Shy hung his head and inspected the sores on his bare foot, mumbling to himself: “Man, none of us have any time.”
They all hid from the sun once it was directly overhead. Addison sat underneath Shy’s slicker. Mr. Henry was covered by the tarp. Shy had taken off his life jacket and draped his shirt over his head and shoulders. He’d had enough of just sitting around and waiting, though. He needed to do something. Now.
He stood up and announced: “We need food and water. And we need to get to those islands.”