Changes in Latitudes Page 25

A helicopter.

  As the propeller sounds grow closer, the radio finally blasts out a message.

  “Sunny-Side Up, this is the US Coast Guard on scene for a medical evacuation. Do you copy? Over.”

  I swallow and try to keep my voice level and authoritative as I answer. “Copy Coast Guard. Over.”

  “Please change course to put wind thirty degrees off port bow and provide clear area at stern. Stow all gear, turn off radar, and keep all persons out of the way unless instructed by rescue swimmer. Please advise on survivor’s condition. Over.”

  I reply to the part I understand. “She came to, but is sleeping now. She’s still bleeding slightly from a cut on her forehead. Over.”

  “Roger that. Preparing to lower rescue swimmer off your stern. Over.”

  I yell the other instructions up to Drew, who begins moving us into position instantly. I debate staying by the radio, but I also want to see what’s happening above. I settle for standing on the steps, my head in the cockpit, but poised to return to the VHF at the least little screech.

  High above, the helicopter circles, shining a bright spotlight onto our deck. When it moves slightly and the light wobbles, I can squint around it to make out the shadow of two bodies in the open doorway.

  And then one is dangling midair, at least twenty feet above the water off our stern. He’s wearing a mask with a snorkel protruding, a helmet, and a slightly baggy orange suit that covers him completely.

  With the dark camouflaging the cable I know he must be hanging from, it looks like he’s flying. Like a superhero. That’s basically how I’m thinking of him at this point. I mean, seriously, who volunteers for this job? My gratitude at seeing him threatens to get the better of me and I force myself to take a deep breath and stay alert, in case anyone needs me to do anything.

  The swimmer unclips from the cable and drops into the ocean, cutting strong strokes to our platform. In less than a minute he’s climbing aboard.

  “Hello all, I’m Birger and I’ll be your rescue swimmer tonight.” His manner is friendly and reassuring, but he’s focused as he assesses the situation. “How’s everyone doing?”

  We both mumble “okay” and Drew gestures to my mother. Birger moves to her and drops to his knees, speaking over his shoulder to my brother. “In a minute they’re going to lower a trail line to send down the litter. Think you can try to grab it?”

  “Of course,” Drew answers, and my heart swells with pride.

  “Should I be by the radio?” I ask, and Birger darts a glance at me.

  “You’re good where you are. Stay put for now.”

  He turns his attention back to my mother, examining the gash on her head. Above us the helicopter lowers a line and Drew is able to lean out over the railing and grab tight. A stretcher with curving sides begins to slide down the cable, like it’s traveling along a slow-moving zip line. I’m fascinated, my eyes bouncing between it and Birger.

  “Can you tell me your name?” he’s asking my mother.

  “Twenty-seven motorcycles,” she answers.

  His eyes slide to me and I climb fully into the cockpit and crouch next to her too.

  “When she woke up before, was she lucid?” he asks.

  “I—yes. At least, at first. She did say one weird thing, but I thought I misheard her, and then she fell back asleep, so I didn’t . . .”

  Drew shoots me a questioning look, but I’m more focused on Birger, who offers a reassuring smile.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “You kids did great here. Talking gibberish can happen sometimes with traumatic brain injuries. It isn’t necessarily as bad as it sounds.”

  I must go ten shades of pale at the words “traumatic brain injuries,” because Birger reaches over and covers my hand with his. “It’s too early to tell anything. Nine times out of ten, cases like this turn out just fine.”

  What about the other time? I want to ask, but I’m too afraid for the answer.

  “Her name’s Elise,” I murmur, and he nods gently.

  The stretcher hits our deck and Birger leaves Mom temporarily to disconnect the cable. He and Drew lay it flat by the cabin opening and Birger returns to my mother.

  “Can you squeeze my hand, Elise?”

  She must, because he smiles and says, “Good. Okay, do it again if you have any nausea.”

  I hold my breath. Birger shakes his head and says, “No? Good. What about any dizziness? Squeeze my hand if you do.”

  He smiles. “No? Great.”

  They go through the same steps for ringing in her ears and headache and she only squeezes his hand at the last one. I’m not sure whether to be reassured or not, but Birger is the picture of calm, so maybe things aren’t so bad after all.

  “Okay, headache we can handle, Elise,” he says. “Hang tight for a few secs while I get you set for transport.”

  He works fast, applying a bandage to her wound and taking a neck brace from his kit. He’s quick to reassure us. “Not taking chances. The litter can be jostling.”

  I glance at the helicopter hovering above, and it sinks in that my mother is going to have to travel through the air all the way up to it.

  Oh god, am I?

  Do we stay here? Do we go with her? Are we allowed to go with her? And if so, what happens to this boat that doesn’t belong to us? If we abandon ship, what if we’re held liable for any damage it sustains, floating alone out here?

  While Drew helps Birger settle my mother gently onto the stretcher, I weigh the pros and cons of both scenarios, but I’m relieved when the rescue swimmer takes the decision out of our hands.

  “If you have the ability to sail her back to shore, my recommendation would be for the two of you to stay with your vessel. An ambulance will meet us at our base at LAX and transport your mom to Marina Del Rey Hospital—she’ll be well looked after until you reach her.”

  I hate to let her out of our sight, but I’m not in any state of mind to argue with the person most in charge at the moment. If he thinks that’s best . . .

  When Drew and I both nod numbly, Birger signals for pickup and the cable lowers again. He hooks it to the stretcher and gives a thumbs-up. It begins to rise into the air, and I trace every inch with my eyes as my mother dangles dozens of feet over our boat. As soon as she clears the mast, the helicopter moves back and to the left, and I’m breathless as my mother is pulled inside.

  I can’t believe this is even my life.

  It takes a few minutes for the cable to lower again, and Birger uses the time to make sure we’re comfortable being left behind and that we have a plan for getting back to shore. Drew assures him we are and that we have others in our caravan close by who will help. He points out something I hadn’t noticed before now—mast lights in the distance.

  “They’ve been coming closer,” Drew says, and Birger seems reassured. I desperately want to be too.

  Please be Jonah.

  The helicopter returns to its earlier hover spot and a cable lowers again. Birger easily grabs it and hooks on. With a reassuring smile to us, he gives someone above another thumbs-up and rises into the air.

  Drew and I watch silently as he reaches the helicopter and is hoisted inside. They hover for another few moments, and then they turn to point east. Neither of us says a thing as they disappear from sight, the noise of the propellers fading a few seconds later.

  32

  I’m at a loss for words over how surreal that all was.

  I stare at the ocean in silence for a few seconds, trying to take it all in, but as usual, Drew is already thinking practically.

  “We need to radio Amy and Miranda again,” he says. “I don’t have a clue how to set new coordinates to get us to LA.”

  I follow him below.

  “Tide Drifter, this is Sunny-Side Up. Do you copy? Over.”

  Before they can reply, our radio buzzes. “Sunny-Side Up, this is Reality Bytes. We’re approaching off your starboard side. Over.”

  Christian’s voice washes over me and I slump in re
lief. It was their mast lights we saw, and they were closing in fast. Thank god. I’m frantic to get to Mom as quickly as possible.

  Amy’s response comes next and is frazzled. “We’re going crazy here. Give us the update. Over.”

  Drew fills everyone listening in, and Amy reassures us that they watched the pod of whales pass by and that their boat is now also pointed our way. We return to the cockpit and stare at Reality Bytes approaching. Even though they’re gobbling up distance, it’s nowhere near fast enough.

  I know my mother won’t reach the hospital for a bit yet, but I feel so helpless being out of touch with land. It’s not like we can radio the emergency room for an update. We have Wi-Fi, but how do you email a hospital?

  I can’t sit. I can’t bear not knowing what’s happening with Mom right now. Replaying her nonsensical responses in my head makes my blood chill. People don’t start speaking gibberish and then bounce right back. I’m fairly certain of that. What if she does have a traumatic brain injury—the actual “traumatic” kind? Or a brain bleed? What if she’s taken a turn for the worse already and we have no way of knowing? I should have fought to go with her. Or for Drew to have. We don’t both need to be bobbing at sea, completely helpless.

  What if that was the last time I’ll ever see her alive? It’s not outside the realm of possibility.

  “Cassie, quit it.”

  I stop midstride. Have I been talking out loud? But no, Drew gestures to my feet, and I realize I must have been pacing like a mad person. I plop down on the bench.

  I can’t help it—I start to shake uncontrollably. I know it’s a delayed reaction to the shock of everything that just happened, but it still doesn’t make me feel like any less of a wimp next to my totally stoic little brother. Especially when he disappears below and returns with a blanket to wrap around me.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. It’s not lost on me that this is the second time recently that someone has wrapped me in a blanket during a freak-out.

  I steal a glance at Drew. “How come you’re so calm? Not just now, I mean, but, like, always. About everything.”

  “I dunno.”

  But I need him to know. I need him to have an answer. I need him to feel half of what I’m feeling, because I can’t be alone with all these emotions anymore. I stare at him and fight back a sob.

  “I’m tired of being afraid and I’m pissed off!” I yell at the sky. I lower my head and level my eyes at my brother. “Why aren’t you pissed off?”

  Drew coughs and shakes his head. “Because this is just life.”

  I don’t have to accept that. It’s not the life I used to have. Before this year, a bad day for me would have been getting a B− on my history midterm or losing one of my plants to an early frost.

  “Anyway, now I know I can do it,” Drew says, so softly I’m not sure he’s spoken.

  “Do what?”

  “Get through something like that, if it happens again,” he says. “Like the divorce. I thought it would be the crappiest thing ever . . . and it was, but I survived. So now I know that about myself.”

  I must look like one of the pelicans we saw in Half Moon Bay, my jaw hanging wide open. Only I don’t want fish, I want answers. “So now you know that about yourself? What does that even mean? Why would you want to know that about yourself? That’s a terrible thing to have to know. Aren’t you furious you were forced to deal with the divorce in the first place? Aren’t you scared right now?”

  My brother stands and switches off the distress lantern before answering. “I was pissed, a little, but not really anymore. Even if it was under crappy conditions, knowing I could handle it was a good thing to learn about myself, don’t you think?”

  How has my fifteen-year-old brother figured this out and I haven’t? Haven’t even come close. I’m about to ask him more when he adds, “And for the record, I’m scared shitless right now.”

  “Me too,” I whisper, wishing he were still sitting so I could lean over and hug him. Or maybe so he could hug me, since our roles as big and little sibling seem to be reversed at the moment. “I just want these horrible things to stop happening.”

  Drew smiles tightly. “Yeah, except you can’t control that, only how you deal with it.”

  It sounds like what Jonah said. Has Jonah gotten to Drew? Or is this just who Drew is? Damn—he’s like a little baby Buddha. How did I not know this about my own brother? I knew he was mellow, but I never knew there was actual . . . I don’t know, depth to his chill vibe. How did he get this way? Have I been trying to shield him from Mom’s cheating this whole time, thinking I was being the protective big sister, and he never even needed that from me?

  “You’re a totally weird kid, you know that, right?” I tell him, tugging the blanket tighter, but grateful that my shaking seems to be slowing.

  He laughs. “Pfft. Whatever. You just can’t handle that I’m an old soul. Nana always says it, only you never pay attention.”

  “I don’t remember her ever saying that.”

  We’re both quiet for a second, then I ask, “How come we’ve never talked like this before?”

  Drew cracks a small smile. “Well, usually you don’t want to get close to me because of the deodorant thing.”

  This is true. I roll my eyes at him, but then sober.

  “What if I’m broken?” I whisper, scared for Drew’s answer. I don’t know if I can handle the truth right now.

  “You’re not broken.”

  “How do you know?”

  Drew glances at me. “Because if you were broken, you wouldn’t be fishing with me, or playing Frisbee on the beach, or sticking your tongue down Jonah’s throat every possible second.”

  He makes a face at this last one, and I nearly laugh before I catch myself. That would not be appropriate, given the circumstances. But I’m flooded with relief that at least one person has faith in me.

  Drew shrugs. “I think maybe you’re just . . . bent.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. Only a quick one. “I’ll give you bent, you brat!”

  He smiles, and by unspoken agreement, we both go back to staring at Reality Bytes—she’s close enough now that I can make out her outline clearly and even see someone moving around on the deck. I don’t know what Drew is thinking about now, but I’m trying to digest everything he said. Never in a million years did I think I would be learning life lessons from my baby brother.

  As if sensing my train of thought, he suddenly says, “Many of the truths we cling to depend on our point of view.”

  I groan. “Seriously, Jonah taught you that quote, right? First Mom with all her ‘the journey is the destination’ crap, and then Jonah with his philosophy mumbo jumbo . . .”

  “You don’t seem to mind Jonah’s mumbo jumbo so much,” Drew says. I narrow my eyes at him, but he just grins. “Anyway, it’s not something either of them taught me. It’s Yoda!”

  “Yoda?” Star Wars. I should have known.

  “The Force is strong with this young Padawan learner.”

  I make a gagging noise, then ask, “What was it? ‘Truths cling—’”

  “‘Many of the truths we cling to depend on our point of view,’” he repeats.

  “So then?” I wait for his brilliant assessment of how it applies to our situation.

  He endures a coughing fit, then says, “You think Mom is to blame for all of this, but what if you were going to feel this way about any bad thing that happened, because you’re just someone who hasn’t learned how to deal with crap yet?”

  So, not how it applies to our situation. How it applies to me. His delivery makes me bristle, but then I pause to take in the words themselves. Could that be possible? Would I have fallen apart in the same way if Dad got sick, or one of my friends got into a car accident, or something else equally terrible had rocked my world? Would any of those have been the thing that pulled the rug out from under me, if Mom hadn’t snuck in and pulled first? I swallow. It’s a lot to digest, and I’m not sure I can even try right now, with
everything else crowding my head.

  “What else does Yoda have to say?” I ask, to change the subject.

  “Um. ‘When nine hundred years you reach, look as good you will not’?”

  I look at Drew. “Funny. Though not super useful.”

  “If you wanted useful you should have said so. Okay, then. ‘Judge me by my size, do you?’”

  I snort. “Also not useful. And clearly a line written by a guy to make underendowed nerdy boys feel better about themselves.”

  Drew scrunches up his face. “That’s gross. Do not even try to ruin Star Wars for me, because—”

  He’s interrupted by Jonah’s voice cutting across the water. “Cassie? Drew? Are you guys okay?”

  Obviously, in many senses, we’re nowhere remotely close to okay, but I’m still flooded with warmth.

  It only takes another few minutes for them to maneuver alongside us, and for a second time this trip we tie our two boats together—this time in a sea so calm even I would consider the leap from one deck to another. But I don’t have to, because Jonah comes to us.

  Before I can get a word in, he covers the three strides across the cockpit it takes to reach me and gathers me to his chest. I exhale a ragged breath and fall apart in the protective circle of his arms.

  He strokes my hair gently as the soft words he speaks to Drew make his chest rumble. I can only make out a few of them, but when I hear “hospital” I force my sobs to quiet.

  “—on hold with them now,” Jonah’s saying.

  I jerk my head up, the rest of my body still trapped tight by his hands clasped at my back.

  “What was that last part?” I ask.

  “Christian’s got the hospital holding on his satellite phone,” Drew answers. “She arrived not that long ago and they’re taking her for a CAT scan, but the nurse said Mom was answering questions normally when she got there.”

  I search Jonah’s face for confirmation and he nods, offering a tiny smile. I press my forehead into his shoulder and take a deep breath. Thank god she made it there okay. Thank god she’s speaking lucidly again. Just . . . thank god for all of it.

  I turn my face and catch my brother’s eye. “You okay?” I mouth.