Cross Currents (39 page)

But then another miracle happened, for she felt one of Yai's hands against her bottom, pushing her up with an astounding strength. Brooke lunged away from the water, her fingers encircling a small branch and pulling on that branch with a ferocity she didn't know she possessed. Suddenly she was higher, and able to reach thicker branches. She grasped them, pulled herself to safety, and then reached down for Achara.

The water was up to Yai's chest. She squeezed Achara, kissing her lips and telling her to always be happy. Then, using both hands, she lifted her wailing granddaughter higher, shrieking with effort, rising to her tiptoes as the water knocked her off balance. She smiled as Brooke grabbed Achara's hand and pulled her to safety.

Yai blew her granddaughter another kiss. Then the water swept her away, dragging her into darkness. For a moment, she tried to fight this darkness, but it was too strong, too omnipotent.

And so she let the darkness carry her wherever it wanted. And while it carried her, she thought about her loved ones, how they were safe, how they would be happy and fulfilled. As a searing pain gathered within her lungs and chest, she pictured the treasures of her life, seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter. And these sights and sounds transported her through the blackness into a world free of doubt and fear, a world defined by beauty and hope.

Memories flooded into her, replacing her pain with warmth, filling her with light.

A HALF MILE OUT TO sea, the water had ceased its tortured gyrations. Patch and the children were no longer sucked under. The current that had dragged them so far out was a shadow of its former self. The slicks of oil and gasoline were mostly dispersed.

Though such changes should have boosted Patch's spirits, he would have traded away all such tidings to find a large piece of floating debris. Such objects existed, but they were far away, too far to swim to with his swollen knee and in his weakened state. Much to his horror, it took all his will and strength just to tread water.

Suchin and Niran clung to the yellow buoy, which barely kept them afloat. They had offered to swim while Patch rested, but he'd refused. Help would come, he was sure, but that help would likely be hours away. And if the children exhausted themselves swimming, they wouldn't be strong enough to cling to the buoy. They'd drown before any rescuers arrived.

Patch had decided that the children must live. The buoy, the lifeline, was theirs. And though the decision gave him a sense of purpose, the thought of his own looming death seemed to steal the air from his lungs. Fighting to control his panic, he paddled with his hands. His right leg was worthless. Though normally, even without the use of one leg, he could have treaded water for hours, he'd used almost all his strength to survive the wave. Time and time again, he and the children had been sucked under, and he'd dragged them to the surface, gasping for breath, his body bloodied and aching.

Suchin started weeping once again, and Patch reached out, stroking her forehead. “Don't,” he whispered. “You need . . . to be strong. Strong for yourself. Strong for Niran.”

She bit her bottom lip, lost her grip on the buoy, and slipped underwater. Patch helped her up, kicking hard enough that the pain made his world spin. When she was secure, he stopped swimming for a moment, needing to rest, letting himself sink slowly beneath the waves. The children screamed his name and, using his hands, he propelled himself to the surface. Niran pulled him to the buoy, and his additional weight sent them all under. Realizing that he was doing exactly what he feared most, Patch rallied once again, swimming hard, helping the children back to the buoy.

As they floated, he looked again for debris, turning slowly. The sea was getting choppier, however, and the waves made it difficult to see far. Plastic bags and bits of wood topped the water, but nothing significant enough to keep him afloat.

“You . . . you be good to each other,” he said, his tears mixing with the seawater as he thought about Ryan. “Love each other.”

“Don't go under again,” Suchin replied, shaking her head. “Please, Patch. Don't go under.”

He managed to smile at her. “I was looking for shells. For Niran's tank.”

“Don't go under!”

“I won't.”

“You promise?”

A wave slapped him in the face, sweeping away his tears. “Stay strong. Help will come. Your father . . . he's on his boat. He's looking for you.”

Niran glanced toward Ko Phi Phi but hardly recognized the center of the island. Most of the large structures and trees were gone. “How . . . how did the ocean do this?”

“I . . . don't know,” Patch said, spitting out water. “But someone . . . should learn why. You should learn why.”

“I don't want to learn that.”

“But if you did . . . you could help . . . in the future. You could help the people of Ko Phi Phi.”

Niran wished the ocean hadn't done such a thing. He wanted to call out to his parents, to see their smiling faces. Thinking of the bodies he'd seen twisting in the water, he started to cry. He was terrified of his body going limp, of watching Patch die.

Patch tried to comfort Niran but was too weak. A wave rolled over him, and he rested for a moment, sinking. Then he swam up and breathed deeply, more aware than ever of how air felt within him. He held his breath, letting his expanded lungs keep him afloat. Seeing that Niran was about to break down, but lacking the strength to help, Patch asked Suchin if she would tell them a joke. She shook her head at first, but he winked and nodded at her, and she appeared to realize why he was asking.

“I'll tell an American joke,” she said, holding on to her brother and the buoy.

“What joke?”

“What is gray, has gigantic wings, and gives money to elephants?”

“What?”

“A tusk fairy.”

Patch smiled. “A tusk fairy. That's good.” He tried to think of a joke to make her laugh, but his mind didn't seem able to put his thoughts together. “Can you . . . maybe you can tell us a story,” he finally said, spitting out seawater, wondering how it would feel in his lungs.

“I'll finish your story,” she said. “Your story about the whale.”

He nodded to her as she spoke about how the whale had taken the three companions to a magical island where rainbows were born. While Suchin spoke, Patch imagined her island, and then the beauty of the reef near Ko Phi Phi. He knew that in a few minutes he'd go under for the last time. And he didn't want to think about suffocating in the dark, deep water. So he envisioned what he'd seen at the reef—angelfish, brilliant coral, the moray eel. Dying in such a place wouldn't be so bad, he told himself, trying not to cry in front of the children.

“I'm going . . . going to look for our whale,” he said, interrupting Suchin. “I'm going to send her to you.”

She shook her head. “No! You have to stay!”

“The whale . . . she's down there. I just need to find her.”

Niran reached for him. “Stay, Patch!”

“I can't. But I'll—”

“Stay!”

The children tried to pull him up but sank in the process. He kissed their hands. He told them to be strong, to wait for the whale. Then he swam away, saying that he loved them, that he was proud of them, and that they would survive.

He looked around, saw the beauty of the sky, which was like a blue blanket draped over him. Reaching upward, he felt the sun's warmth, basking in it, hoping that he wouldn't be cold down below. He said good-bye to his loved ones, praying for them. And then he took a final breath and sank beneath the surface.

AS A WAVE PICKED UP Ryan, he saw a commotion not far ahead. A pair of figures had been flailing at the water, crying out, then disappearing. As the woman continued to sing, Ryan kicked hard and called to them. Another wave lifted him, and he saw two dark heads and thin arms belonging, perhaps, to children. He redoubled his efforts, shivering, fighting to keep his body moving.

The sea seemed to tilt down, to send him tumbling toward the struggling figures. He reached into the darkness and pulled them up. The voice grew louder, and he glimpsed a face, a version of his own face. He yanked up with all of his great strength; he saw himself open his eyes, and then the answer came to him.

PATCH COULDN'T BELIEVE THAT SUCHIN and Niran had reached so deep to pull him up with such force. But somehow they had. And he opened his eyes, stunned to see Ryan. Somehow his brother had found him.

At first, Patch wasn't able to speak. He clung to his brother, as did Suchin and Niran. He kissed the side of Ryan's head, holding him tight. The brothers wept together, shuddering as the waves lifted and dropped them.

“How?” Patch finally asked.

The word seemed to drift to Ryan. His ears didn't work properly. Though his mind still put thoughts together, parts of his body were shutting down. “The water.”

“What?”

“It carried you. It carried me. The same direction.”

“Are you all right? Your leg. What's wrong with your leg?”

“And a voice.”

“A voice?”

“I followed . . . a voice.”

Switching his grip on the life jacket that Ryan wore, Patch lifted his brother's leg out of the water, then closed his eyes at the sight of Ryan's wound. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

“It's all right.”

“Oh, God. Please don't do this. Please.”

“It's . . . done.”

Patch put his arm around Ryan's neck, drawing him closer. He stroked his brother's forehead. “Help's coming. They're coming for us.”

The cold seemed to be leaving Ryan. His leg no longer ached.

He felt so tired, felt himself slipping toward sleep. And though that pull was as irresistible as anything he had ever experienced, he fought it, biting his own lip, tasting his blood, awakening himself. “Do . . . you love her?”

“What?”

“Brooke.”

Patch shouted for help and then felt the strength of Ryan's grip.

“Do you love her?”

“Maybe.”

“Yes or no?”

“I'm . . . falling in love . . . with her.”

Ryan nodded. “Good. She . . . she deserves that. And so do you.”

“Why are you—”

“My passport. Take it. It's high up . . . in the Hillside Bungalows.”

“But why—”

“You can leave together. Be me for a day. Leave Thailand . . . with her. And then . . . then you can be happy together.”

“No. You'll need it. You'll need it, Ry.”

“Promise me . . . you'll take it.”

“I can't.”

“You have to. For her. For you.”

“It's yours.”