The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  He exhales heavily. “Of course I meant it.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. He sounds weary, just like my mother does when she claims the same. “But not here. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Anything could have happened to you on the way here. They kidnap expats all the fucking time. And if anyone had recognized you…Jesus. There wouldn’t have been a chance of surviving the trip unscathed.”

  “No one recognized me and it was fine,” I reply in a small voice, pulling out my phone. “But don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair. You were clearly busy.” By which I really mean You clearly didn’t want to be associated with me, but I’m not about to sit here and beg for empty reassurances from him. We weren’t what I thought we were. I hoped for too much and made more of this than it was, and I should have known better. That’s all there is to it.

  “Stop,” he says. For one agonizing second I let myself hope he’s going to tell me it’s okay I’m here, though I have no clue what he could say at this point to salvage the situation. “I don’t trust those guys who brought you,” he says instead. “Let me make a call.”

  I perch on the edge of his cot while he holds a terse conversation with someone about “the primary”. He mentions Istanbul, then curses. “Djibouti, then,” he says.

  It’s taken me ten hours and thousands of dollars to get here—for this. To have him kick me out without so much as a hug and a It was so nice of you to come. I’ve never felt more foolish, and I’m suddenly so exhausted even sitting up is an effort. I want to curl into a ball and sleep until this whole thing is over with. And it means we are over. That’s what hurts the most. There is no coming back from this, not that it appears he’d want us to.

  He hangs up finally and leans forward, elbows to his knees, hands briefly over his face. He looks at me at last.

  “What was all that about?” I ask.

  His teeth dig into his lip as he hesitates. “I know some guys here. I can’t tell you who they’re with and you can’t ask, but they’ll get you to the airport in Mogadishu tomorrow before daybreak. They’ll wait with you there until you’ve boarded your plane. You’ll fly to Ethiopia, and leave for the US from there.”

  The tension in his words makes me pause. Is he simply worried, or can he not wait to get rid of me? I don’t know. I only know it hurts. That I feel small and stupid and utterly unwanted. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t ever have continued this pointless, futile thing with him after Paris.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks.

  I blink in surprise and then shake my head. I haven’t eaten and I haven’t slept because all that mattered was him. How excessively one-sided it all was. I’m so stupid.

  “I’ll get you something,” he says. “You’ll need to wait here. I can’t risk having someone recognize you if they haven’t already.”

  He looks at me for a moment and his mouth opens, then closes. Whatever he was going to say, he thinks better of it and walks out instead, zipping the tent up behind him.

  His eagerness to get away from me hurts, but doesn’t surprise me at this point. I’ve invaded his space and now I’m a problem he has to deal with. I’ve turned into Sloane—the unwanted interloper, inconveniently messing up his plans. I wonder if he’d decide to sleep on the couch, if there was a couch.

  How did I ever convince myself I was someone he’d want for longer than a few non-consecutive nights? He’s a doctor who testifies before Congress, while I’m a living, breathing disaster who never even finished high school. Anyone looking at this situation would have known I wasn’t good enough for him, was never going to be what he wanted.

  I lie down on the cot. The pillow smells like him and I feel strangled by grief. A tear rolls down my face and I quickly brush it away. I wanted this to be different and I wanted him to be different and I can’t entirely shake off who I thought he was, even now that he’s shown me otherwise.

  When I hear the tent unzipping, I sit up and try to pull myself together, drying my eyes on my sleeve. I will survive this situation, but I’m not sure I could survive his pity on top of it.

  He steps inside, frowning at the sight of me. It’s as if not a minute has passed since the day I landed in Honolulu. I’m back to being the girl he doesn’t want on the trip.

  He hands me a tray. “There wasn’t much to choose from,” he says with a sigh. “The kitchen’s already closed for the night.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him stiffly. I pick at some rice but I can’t stomach anything else. “I’m mostly tired.” He crosses the room and takes the tray from me. For a moment, we both hold it. It’s the closest we’ve been since I arrived.

  “Lie down,” he says, returning to his seat at the desk.

  “This cot isn’t big enough for two people,” I say quietly. “I can sleep on the floor.”

  “Of course you’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says. “I’m going to stay up until the transport gets here, anyway.”

  He’s really not even going to touch me. He can barely stand to look at me.

  I lie down, facing away from him so he doesn’t have a clue when the tears start rolling down my face.

  43

  JOSH

  She sleeps and I wait. I could probably lie down, but I’m too fucking scared. I know I’d be tempted to do more than lie there, and I’m not willing to let down my guard for even a moment. God only knows who recognized her at the airport or on the way here. At any given moment I expect to see the tent being ripped down the center.

  This is all my fault. I didn’t want her to know how bad things were, but…they’re bad. We have informants all over the camp. Already, I’m certain, someone has left to tell the local terrorists we have a visitor. Even if they didn’t recognize her, they’ll know she’s pretty and young and American, that she looks like she has money. And one of those things would be enough. All of them together—I have to stop thinking about it.

  I bury my head in my hands and take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

  It’s impossible to quell my anxiety, though. Even if we get through the night, she’s still got to get back to Mogadishu. The road is the most dangerous part, but the airport isn’t all that safe either. I’m gonna be a nervous wreck until she’s safely landed somewhere else.

  For the next few hours, I listen to her talk in her sleep—those same numbers. Seven, one-ninety-nine, eighty-eight. I wish she’d tell me what they mean. Usually, I hear them once or maybe twice. Tonight she says them again and again, as if she’s trapped in a nightmare that’s on repeat.

  I should never have kept this going. I should never have started it in the first place. Maybe I’ve ruined it anyway, with the way I’ve treated her tonight. That would probably be for the best. Because I can’t seem to let her go, and this proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I should.

  44

  DREW

  Josh wakes me when it’s still dark.

  “Drew,” he says, “your ride is here.”

  He’s still dressed. I’m groggy, but awake enough to feel another flush of shame. I’ve never seen anyone want me gone as badly as he did when I showed up last night.

  I rise from the cot, unable to meet his eye, and grab my backpack.

  “I’m ready,” I tell him, with no emotion in my voice. I’m angry but it’s mostly at myself. I should have known better than to come here. I’ve spent my whole life determined not to do something this stupid again, and look what I did at the first chance that presented itself: I leapt at it.

  “Here,” he says, handing me his Georgetown hoody.

  “It’s hot out,” I argue. And I don’t want your stupid fucking sweatshirt. I want to forget I ever knew you.

  “You need to wear it,” he says, “with the hood up. They need to make sure no one recognizes you.”

  I do as I’m told. “I’ll mail it back to you,” I reply coolly. We’re right back where we were that first morning in Oahu—Josh reluctantly trying to do the right thing and me telling him, as best I can, to fuck right off.
/>   “Keep it,” he says.

  “I don’t want it,” I say, and I’m sure he hears the hurt that leaches out of me with those words. My God, I sound more like Sloane with every second that passes.

  “Drew,” he says, pulling me toward him with his hands on my hips. “Look—”

  There is a tap outside the tent. “Hey, Bailey?” someone says. Another American. “We gotta go.”

  He presses his lips to my forehead. “I’ll call you.”

  I glance up at him for one second, which is as long as I can stand. I think the memory of him is going to break my heart every day for the rest of my life. “Bye, Josh,” I say, and I unzip the tent.

  He starts to follow me and I shake my head. “Don’t, okay?” My voice quavers and after a moment’s hesitation, he nods, and that’s it.

  Two guys in camo wait outside. “This seems like overkill,” I mutter quietly when I see the armored truck waiting for us.

  One of the guys raises a brow. “Only someone who hasn’t spent much time here would say that.”

  Our ride back to the airport is entirely uneventful, certainly no scarier than sitting in the back of a New York City cab. The worst part of the whole trip is how carsick I am until the medicine kicks in.

  I have to wonder, once more, how much of this was actual worry on Josh’s part and how much was him just being not wanting to be seen with me.

  I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s over now, either way.

  One of the guards escorts me all the way to the plane. “Thank you,” I tell him when I reach the door.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” the guy says, “he called in a favor for you he’d never call in for himself.”

  What does that mean?

  It really doesn’t matter, though. It just goes to show how fucking unnecessary it all actually was.

  45

  DREW

  When I finally land in LA, a full day later, there’s a text from Tali. The picture she’s sent shows Hayes holding a tiny human in the palm of his hand.

  It’s a girl! it says. Audrey Bell Flynn.

  I marvel at the photo. While I’m familiar with how people are created, I’ve never seen one come from people I know, people I’ve known since the beginning of their relationship, with all its starts and stops. It’s…a miracle. Out of their tortured back and forth, this gorgeous little girl was created.

  They took the long journey and it paid off for them. Most of us aren’t that lucky.

  I head to the first-class lounge at LAX to shower and change clothes, since I’m too gross right now to be seen much less be in the presence of a newborn.

  I have texts from Davis about the interviews and some movie premiere in a few weeks for which he’s found me a date. I guess I’ve got no reason to say no at this point, do I? I also have several missed calls from Josh and several texts asking me to let him know when I’m back in LA. Responsible as always, our Joshua. Making sure everyone’s taken care of.

  I’m back, I type, nothing more, and then I hit send. His obligation is done and so is mine.

  I reach the showers and have just closed the door behind me when he calls. “How did it go?” he asks. “There weren’t any issues?”

  “It was just peachy,” I reply. “I’m getting in the shower here so—”

  “Drew, wait,” he says with a sigh. “I’m so sorry about how that all happened. I know you meant well and—”

  “It’s fine,” I interrupt. “Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. You’re the only one allowed to pay a surprise visit. So I guess in five years or whenever the hell you’re free to travel and willing to be seen with me, I’ll just wait for a knock on the door and drop all my plans.”

  “You can’t be serious right now,” he says. “Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in? Do you have any idea—”

  “Please stop,” I say. My throat aches with the desire to cry. “You made it abundantly clear when I was there that I was nuts to have shown up and I definitely don’t need to hear it all over again. More to the point, this is done. So you don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

  “Drew,” he says hoarsely, “don’t do this. I know it’s a messed-up situation, but I’d give anything to—”

  I’d give anything to—. Those are the words that bring me up short. I’ve heard that before. It was bullshit then, and it’s bullshit now.

  “No, Josh, you actually wouldn’t give anything, because if that was true you’d be here. And if that was true, you’d be willing to tell your family and you wouldn’t have hidden me from your colleagues. Let’s call a spade a spade: you’re not willing to give up a fucking thing.”

  And then I hang up, block his number, and get into the shower where I cry like a child for a very long time.

  A nurse ushers me back to Tali’s room. She, of course, is gorgeous and radiant, smiling wide when she sees me.

  Only Tali would look this freaking cute right after giving birth. Hayes sits in the corner, still in scrubs, holding a baby so tiny in his arms she hardly seems real. There is something soft on his face, something I saw there on the day he and Tali married. He flashes me a quick smile but then his gaze is on the bundle once more, so besotted with tiny Audrey he can barely stand to look away.

  “You poor thing,” Tali says. “You just landed, didn’t you? You look more exhausted than I do.”

  “I wanted to see her before I sleep for a thousand hours,” I reply. “How’s the vagina? How ruined is it on a scale of one to ten?”

  Hayes shoots us a quick, alarmed glance while Tali laughs. “I wound up needing a C-section, so I imagine things are intact,” she replies. She turns to her husband. “Hayes, you have to share the baby.”

  Hayes gives her a sheepish grin and rises with the baby in his arms. “Do you want to hold her?” he asks.

  I blink uncertainly, looking from him to Tali. Does anyone really trust me with the baby?

  "I don't know," I say. "I've never really… She’s so small."

  "You'll be fine," Hayes says.

  I wash my hands and sit before he places her in my arms. She’s the most darling human I have ever seen in my life, with her tiny rosebud mouth pursed, sucking in her sleep as if she's dreaming of being fed. Her fingers are impossibly small, clutched into tiny fists, and I feel something unfurl inside me as I look at her. "She's perfect," I whisper, and to my horror, my voice cracks.

  Hayes glances over at Tali. "Do you think she's hungry?" he asks. "She's doing that sucking thing with her mouth."

  Tali smiles at him adoringly. "You worry too much," she says. "I assure you she will not just forget to eat."

  He takes the seat beside her and their eyes meet. For a quick second, it’s as if they’re the only people in the room. I used to claim that I didn’t want what they had, that I didn’t want a little girl like the one in my arms, but it was simply that I thought those things were impossible for me.

  And it turns out I was right.

  But it hurts a lot more now than it used to.

  46

  JOSH

  She’s blocked my calls. I have the insane impulse to get on a plane and beg her back, and I fight it every day. She could have gotten killed coming here the way she did, and if she had, it would have been my fault. Just like it’s my fault that she got hurt by this whole thing. I knew better than to start this, and I certainly knew better than to continue it.

  I get through work every day, but my heart is no longer in it. I find myself wishing I’d never gone into medicine in the first place, simply so that I wouldn’t have come, so they wouldn’t need me to stay.

  I’ve told the director of operations I need out, and he asked me to give him a year to find a replacement. It’ll take every day of that year. We just had another bomb threat yesterday, one of our guards was shot this morning and a refugee camp to the south was attacked while I was in Hawaii. No one with an ounce of sense would choose to come here now.

  So…a year. It will be too late to win Drew
back by then, but what was I going to do anyway, under the circumstances?

  “You look awful,” my mom says when I call.

  She does too, but I keep that to myself. “Just busy here,” I tell her. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’d feel a lot better,” she says, “if you were home and your brother was okay. Have you spoken to him?”

  “We’ve texted,” I tell her, though in truth it was just one text I sent asking him to look in on our mother, to which he did not reply.

  “The breakup with Drew has really hit him hard,” she says. “I think he’s drinking.”

  I laugh, scrubbing a hand over my face. For once my brother and I have something in common. “Mom, was there ever a time when he wasn’t drinking? He spent most of the trip to Hawaii drunk. Aside from the part he spent in jail for drugs.”

  She sighs. “Your father thinks he needs to go to rehab, but I just think if Drew would come back he’d—”

  “Do not suck her into his spiral, Mom,” I say. Her eyes widen at my tone. “She’s got enough going on. She doesn’t need to be dealing with an addict on top of everything else.”

  “But…he could support her too,” she argues. “They could be there for each other. Marriage and a baby would change everything for both of them.”

  “A baby?” I repeat, aghast. Aside from the fact that marriage and babies didn’t seem to improve my parents’ life much, it’s not really ideal for a guy with addiction issues and a very recent arrest record. Mostly, though, it’s for selfish reasons I want to derail this entire line of thought.

  “He’s been talking about it,” she says. “The other day he was here. I guess that friend of Drew’s, the writer, just had a baby. She posted about it. Joel thinks maybe if he made a grand gesture, she’d come back.”