by Marni MacRae
The police believed he had only been saying that to keep from facing murder charges, but began a search at the insistence of mine and Lucas’s families. As well as quite a lot of media coverage from the States.
That explained why the copter responded to my smoke signal. A search plane had spotted the smoke but was unable to land on the islands, the copter was sent as a quicker response than a boat. They hadn't known if medical treatment would be needed, or even if it was us on the island.
Clara had flown in two days after Jok was taken into custody to help keep pressure on the search. No one expected to find us alive. Lucas’s parents had gotten on a plane the moment the call came in that we had been found.
I was grateful Jok hadn't mentioned the dead pirate. I didn't know what to do about that. I wasn't sure what Lucas would be held accountable for. Would it be self-defense? Would there be a trial? Was there a body? Who would even press charges? I decided to say nothing, not to Clara or the police. I wanted a lawyer. For that, I needed an embassy.
Clara obtained a list of local American attorneys who resided in the Maldives from a helpful man at the American embassy in Sri Lanka.
After making a few phone calls, I had a meeting set up only hours after waking in the hospital.
With the help of Clara, I had all visitors refused.
Journalists and even newscasters had called and come visiting, hoping for an interview on the miraculous survival of Sophia Canon. And Lucas Lael. I had come to the quick conclusion that Clara was right. I needed to wrap up these loose ends so I could go home, begin my hunt for Lucas.
I was surrounded now by luxury, the availability of food and water. Soap. A shower, clean clothes. The rescue team had grabbed our suitcases from the church as well as my purse. What hadn't been used as bandages, or sail, was now a pile of salty, sandy rags. Every item suffered at least one tear or burn, and all of them were soiled, sweat-stained, rumpled and filthy.
Clara set a stack of clean clothes in the bathroom connected to my hospital room, along with a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and shampoo. “I'm sorry, I couldn't find conditioner at the little store down the street. Or deodorant, but they had a razor.” She handed this to me and helped me from the hospital bed.
“Take your time, get cleaned up, and sort out what you need to say to the attorney. I'll be right here if you need me.” She released my hand as I stepped across the threshold of the bathroom, and I turned to her.
“Clara, I am so sorry.” I paused, my mind still fuzzy, my heart still clenched and aching, and my panic still coursing quietly through me. I knew I had to compartmentalize; I knew I could do that. I'm stronger now, I can take on anything. Except losing him.
“I know you and the family must have been through hell, and this is just awful, this whole thing. Thank you.” I reached out and pulled her to me, hugging her close, smelling my childhood on her. Growing up, fighting, playing, and learning. Now grown, sisters. Family.
“Thank you for coming. For being here.”
“This is not awful, Sophia.” Clara released me and pulled back to look in my eyes. “This is wonderful. Awful would have been finding your body. Or never finding you at all.” She smiled sadly, and I realized that was what they had all expected to find. A month. Yes, after a month you begin the funeral plans. “Go on now, you smell ripe and your teeth could use a vigorous scrubbing.” She gave me a little push and a genuine grin. Sisters.
I laughed but immediately put my hand to my mouth in shame. Oh yeah. To be clean, the first step. After that, I would tackle the chore of appeasing everyone and getting home.
I stood in the shower, the water set as hot as I could stand it. At first I just let it run over me. Reveling in the sensation, the feel of the tile under my feet, the white tiled walls around me that captured the steam and enclosed me in a cloud of hot mist. Then I opened the bottle of passion fruit shampoo, and the perfume hit me. “Ohhhh...” I moaned aloud before I could stop myself and quickly squeezed a huge palmful of the soap into my hand. I lathered my hair, scrubbing my scalp furiously, then rinsed the long tresses until they were free of suds, and then lathered again. I used half the bottle of shampoo before I deemed my scalp free of sand, my hair free of any trace of the island.
The shower provided a little tile bench, and I sat down to attack shaving. I was dizzy and knew I should prioritize eating, but strangely enough, I felt no desire for food. My stomach was clenched in knots, and my attention was still wholly focused on finding Lucas. Everything else was detail steps guiding to that end. Even shaving.
Once the hot water ran out, I conceded I was pretty close to normal and turned off the tap. I wrapped a white towel around me and stepped out to tackle my teeth, take assessment and see if Clara's clothes would fit me.
I had lost weight. A lot of weight. I was dark with a tan and a few spots that showed burns where my skin simply didn't want to turn gold, insisting red was its color of choice. I suffered a few rashes, mostly from wet clothing rubbing me raw, or from sand-gnat bites. Most of my burns were healed. The major change, aside from weight loss, was the long ugly scar on my thigh. The scrapes along my hip and waist had healed really well, but my thigh would forever be the mark of the island.
Looking at it now, I felt branded, like a slave or a prisoner.
I averted my eyes and finished the task at hand. Clara had provided a slip of a dress. White with a blue hem that hung to my knees. It was a size or two too big for me now, but I knew a month ago it would have fit perfectly. Clara and I had grown up stealing each other’s clothes. The loose fit was comfortable though, and after twisting my hair into a bun to keep the wet mass off of my neck and back of my dress, I deemed myself ready for the next step. Food.
Although my hunger had yet to rear up and control me, I knew the baby needed me to eat, and I knew my strength would be important in what lay ahead. Lawyers. Police. Reporters. Hospital. Lucas. Where are you?
Clara vetoed my suggestion of a cheeseburger and fries, and instead requested mashed potatoes, with gravy, peas, and turkey. It felt like Thanksgiving and not a tropical meal at all. I loved it. As soon as it was delivered, my primal instincts took over. The scent wafting up from under the lid of the dish had my mouth watering. I sat up straight in the bed preparing to attack the plate with gusto.
“Slowly. Sophia, you don't want to throw it up as soon as you’re done.” Clara was playing nurse, and I feared she would take the plate and spoon feed me if I didn't obey.
“Yes, mom.” I raised the forkful of mashed potatoes slowly. Grinning from ear to ear.
Every. Single. Bite was heaven. Every single bite. Clara ordered a large glass of ice cold milk to go with the meal, and I finished in seconds. She ordered another and sat quietly while I ate. Slowly.
I closed my eyes and let the textures thrill me. The salt and butter, the peas exploding with earthiness as I chewed them. It was an all-American meal, and it transported me home, it seeped into me and healed the little spaces that had emptied out. That first meal brought me more than strength of nourishment but of will and spirit.
I was ready. Next step.
I napped a bit while the hours passed. The sun rose high in the sky outside but didn't touch me even once as I nodded off in my air-conditioned room, waiting for the attorney to come and tell me what to do. Finally, Clara shook my shoulder, rising me from dreams of storms, and pain, and the bland taste of fish. I wondered if I would ever eat seafood again.
“Mr. Kason is here.” She gave me an encouraging smile as she left the room, allowing in a friendly, slightly portly man, who strode to my bedside and shook my hand.
The meeting with the lawyer was spent over a snack consisting of strawberries, melon, yogurt and ice-water. I took each bite slowly. Chewing with my eyes closed to enable each flavor to be worshiped properly. I had made the decision to spoil myself and the baby, and eat as much as the hospital, and nurse Clara, would allow. The attorney smiled patiently, pausing between questions to allow me to worship my food,
and would then continue gathering information.
After an hour of talking, and eating, reliving, and explaining, my friendly and helpful attorney, advised me to go home.
“Go home?”
“Yes, I will help you make a statement to the police. You don’t know what happened to the pirate; no one is accusing you of anything. If it isn’t asked, then say nothing. Also, Lucas will not be questioned about it, I know that no one has come forward asking for anyone to be brought to justice for a certain pirate’s death. We have no name, no body, no witness, and no proof. For all you know, that man was napping on the hallway floor. Aside from the vagueness of it all, you and Lucas are survivors of a tragic circumstance that the Maldivian government wishes to put behind them. Quickly and quietly.”
Mr. Kason leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “Tourism is bread and butter here. Pirates are a very bad draw for tourism. The last thing they want is for you to give interviews. I am willing to bet that not only will you be expedited on your way home, but compensation for your tragic experience will be offered. Take the offer and go home.”
I was relieved and grateful. The stress and worry began to recede; perhaps things would be simpler than I had feared. I begged my new best friend attorney to find Lucas for me. Help me find out the hospital he was taken to. But medical records are impenetrable, and without representing Lucas he couldn't ask for the personals on him from the police.
Mr. Kason assured me he would poke around, see if anyone knew where he had been taken, and try to dig up his contact information. I made him promise to contact me as soon as he knew anything.
“Anything at all. I can't believe I don't have his phone number, his address.” I confessed.
I had been wracking my brain since awaking, trying to remember every detail of every conversation, and I couldn't recall either of us exchanging personal contact info. So strange in this day and age when you friend each other on Facebook the moment you meet, or text each other, call, tweet ... so many ways to talk. Yet we had never once said where we lived, we’d never needed to rattle off the seven digits it would take to pick up the phone and get some answers. I didn't know where to begin my search. Montana. Somewhere outside of Billings.
With my attorney at my side, I gave a very brief statement to a police officer who seemed very sorry for my tragic circumstances indeed. He asked a few perfunctory questions, took notes in a small tablet, offered his apologies and went on his way. I couldn't believe it was that simple.
“There are no charges?” I asked my attorney.
“What charges would they bring, Sophia? You did nothing wrong. They have no Lady Sun, no pirates, only Jok, and they are dealing with him, believe me.”
I shook my head and gave a shrug. “It’s taken longer to issue me a traffic ticket in the States. Just seems like they're missing something.”
“They will continue contact with me, and I with you, but as I said, their main concern is keeping this quiet, and wrapping it up. They assume you will file charges against the company you were traveling to ... the Tropic Escape, is that the name?”
“Yes.” I wasn't sure how I wanted to handle that and left the comment hanging.
“Well, I will put together a summary for you that you can look at when you are settled at home and have things straightened out. The best thing for everyone right now is for you to get back, get healthy, and see your family.”
“And find Lucas.”
“Yes.” He gave me a gentle smile and patted my hand. “You have been through a great deal. No one wants to cause you to suffer anymore.”
Mr. Kason informed me he would send a notice to all concerning parties that any future contact or questions were to be diverted through him. “Let me handle what I can, take some things off your plate so you can focus on you.”
Chapter 32
Focus on me.
The next two days crawled by.
The hospital ran tests, the doctor informing me that I appeared surprisingly healthy given everything I had been through. He drew blood, took scans, and inspected my leg, assuring me that a plastic surgeon would be able to do wonders with the scar. And then he took me to a little room to do an ultrasound.
I knew I wouldn't see anything, he warned me not to expect much, he just wanted to be sure of the embryo's relative health, and mine. The scan showed me my uterus, my ovaries and a dot he said was the baby that I couldn't really see, but when the doctor pointed to it, I cried. It was there. The little seed of a baby, it was really there. Growing despite the struggles, and the stress, and the hunger, and thirst.
“You’re strong, like your daddy.” I whispered to it aloud. To make Lucas alive and beside me. To solidify all this as real and hopeful.
The doctor advised me that once back home I should schedule an appointment with my regular physician. In a few weeks, I would be able to hear a heartbeat. I'll wait until Lucas can be there, he deserves to hear it with me.
While the doctors poked and prodded, and I napped, and ate, and stared at the walls, Clara had been busy. She contacted the airlines who graciously booked a return flight, free of charge, due to the publicity they would gain. First-class, no less. She then began replacing my lost items. My tablet had been completely destroyed, and no data was recoverable. But she contacted the manufacturer, and after hearing my ‘lost on an island and kidnaped by pirates’ story, they jumped on the publicity bandwagon and replaced it, free of charge, along with a lifetime warranty. Next she pulled the same heartstrings on the makers of my smart-phone and returned with packages from the local shops in Malé.
Clara replaced my suitcase and my purse, and purchased bags of new clothing, bras, underwear, and makeup. She thought of everything. I spent the remainder of my hospital stay programming my phone, with the help of Clara's contact list, sorting through my belongings, tossing the unsalvageable, and storing the barely salvageable in my new purse and luggage. I downloaded apps and books onto my tablet and more apps and music onto my phone. It all seemed so petty, it didn't help me at all in my search and only served to pass the time, but I was grateful to Clara who was trying her best to get me back to normal.
I called my mother the first night as soon as the time difference allowed it was morning in Washington. We spent the first few minutes sobbing and trying to talk over each other before it all sorted out and she assured me the farm was fine, to just come home and she loved me so, so much. I hung up and dried my eyes, wiped my nose, and began to call Anna, but stopped.
I couldn't do it. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk, and my throat hurt from closing up just thinking about her, about the princes, Audrey, and Lily. I decided it could wait until I saw them. Then we would have a big cry-fest and hug it out.
Once my tablet was online, I spent hours Googling for Lucas. There was no Lucas Lael listed in Billings. There were no Laels listed at all. I didn't know the name of his ranch or if he had named it. I didn’t have a clue what high school he graduated from, or college. I couldn't find him on Facebook or Twitter. He was a ghost, which I knew was typical for the cowboy type. He had never made references to technology, even with all my pop culture jokes, he would laugh but hadn't joined in with rebuttals. I began to realize that this search was going to be much harder than I thought.
First-class seats made me realize I wanted to grow up to be rich. There was no struggle for the aisle, no sitting on a stranger's lap. I could lay my seat all the way back, and the food was plentiful and actually quite tasty. Any other day, in another universe, I would have enjoyed it to its fullest and been an annoying, new-money kind of traveler that made all the other first-class travelers roll their eyes.
But this flight took me further and further from where I had last seen Lucas and closer and closer to where I hoped I would see him again. I felt confused and stressed, and exhausted.
Clara chatted and filled me in on the happenings at home. How everyone had handled my disappearance. How it all unfolded.
“On January the t
hird, Mom got a call from the Maldivian police. They explained that the boat that you booked for your transport to the island you were to stay on had disappeared.”
“It was a yacht.” I could still see the Lady Sun glistening and shiny in slip number twelve. How impressed I had been, how excited. I closed my eyes and sighed, letting Clara continue with her tale.
“Yes, well we did discover that tidbit further along, but at the time the police informed Mom that they had searched the island for you and another passenger, later we learned his name was Lucas, and the island was empty.” Clara waved her hand vaguely. “Mom called everyone, and we all met at her house. No one left for almost a week.”
I imagined that. I knew just what had happened. When our brother died, we had all converged at Mom's. We sat in shock, made calls, cried, drank coffee and slowly began piecing together the next steps. The funeral, the viewing, the obituary, flowers, notices, all the details you don't ever want to have to know how to do. The losing of someone dear.
I saw them in my mind’s eye, the questions, the search, the tears. Mom thinking she had lost another child. I felt my chest tighten and looked out the plane window at the cloud cover below.
“I'm sorry.” I knew it wasn't my fault, but I had such a weight of guilt for that brief time when I had considered staying, escaping, not thinking of anyone but myself. I was ashamed that the temptation of a seeming paradise at the time had clouded my reasoning. It took Lucas setting me straight, and the island revealing its not-so-paradise side before I had conceded to reality. Now I steeled myself to hear the suffering of those most dear to me, as they searched for someone they thought was lost.
“We all started making calls, to governments and search parties, but no one was sent to look. The yacht, as it turned out, had a homing device, but its last known location was the Maldives, just beyond the island you were to stay on. The authorities assumed it had been disabled by the pirates. They told us they didn't know where to look. They didn't know where the pirates originated from, or where they were going. This apparently happens often enough they quoted figures stating there were few to no recoveries of ships in these circumstances.” Clara paused in her story and took a sip of water.