Lying there in the hollow beneath the tree, covered over by palm fronds, she struggled against sleep. She had to stay awake. Carl was risking his life for her. What if he came around the island with a boat, and she was asleep? She pictured it happening: imagined hearing a puttering sound just audible over the lapping waves, then louder and louder, and pictured herself looking out and seeing the boat. This image blurred with the memory of another boat, one she’d seen long, long ago, when her father—her real father, when he still lived and she was just a happy little girl—took her to the Seattle waterfront, down to the docks. She remembered how warm and nice the sun had been that day, rare weather in coastal Washington, and how small her hand had felt in her father’s and the smell of fish and a dog barking on a boat, a little dog and— She jolted upright. No! She’d drifted into sleep again. You have to stay awake. She pressed the shell into her hand until she had to grit her teeth.
