by Skye Jordan
For several long moments, no one speaks, no one moves. I can only assume the other two are doing what I’m doing, catching my breath and absorbing the terrorizing situation.
We just teetered on the razor’s edge of death. Death. As in killed. Gone for eternity. No more drinks with friends, no more shopping on Rodeo Drive, no more searching for Mr. Right. Not even another eye roll for my parents.
This still doesn’t feel real. Even soaked and battered by the storm, I feel oddly numb. Wooden, even.
Chloe roles to her knees and takes my face in both hands. She has nicks and scrapes everywhere, blood trickling down her forehead and cheeks.
“Oh, Laiyla.” Her soft words make me refocus on the way she’s looking at me, as if in pain. She lifts my head until we’re at eye level. “Look at me.”
“I am.” But not really. Black spots float in from of my eyes, blocking parts of Chloe’s face.
“Laiyla.” KT’s face swims into view. I recoil at the sight of blood covering the right side of her head and deep scratches on her face. “Her pupils look okay. Laiyla, say something. Talk to me.”
“Jesus, I hope I don’t look as bad as you,” rolls out of my mouth.
Both women sag on dual exhales and short-lived laughter.
KT moves to the wall of louvered glass windows and shuts them, blocking out the rain and wind. “Laiyla, help me upend this mattress. Chloe, bring those chairs over here.”
KT is already shoving the mattress off the bed, and I grab one side to help tilt it against the wall of glass.
“Brace this,” she tells me, then moves the nightstands, desk, and dresser up against the mattress to hold it in place against the windows.
“Okay,” Chloe says from behind us. “You two sit down so I can take a look at you.”
KT and I sink into the two upholstered chairs, and Chloe sits on the edge of the box spring, facing us. She assesses my face and gently feels around my head, avoiding the egg I see swelling in my peripheral vision. She lifts her index finger and says, “Follow with your eyes. Good.”
I evidently pass whatever test she’s given, because she focuses on KT and winces. “You, on the other hand, are a pretty big mess. Let’s get you out of the wet suit.”
Outside, the wind sounds like a freight train. Rain hammers the windows. Gusts rock the small building.
KT lies back on one of the two twin box springs remaining on the bed frame, and Chloe and I leverage rips in the wet suit material to ply the suit from her body, piece by piece, until KT is down to her bikini. She is intensely fit. If she were a guy, I’d describe her as ripped. But she’s got some hefty gashes in those long, toned limbs that make me suck air between my teeth.
“It’s not that bad,” KT says, surveying the damages as Chloe gets to work cleaning and inspecting the wounds. KT props herself up with her hands behind her. “Could have been a hell of a lot worse. The coral down there is some of the most stunning I’ve ever seen, but I never would have gone down if they’d correctly forecast this cyclone.”
“They didn’t forecast a cyclone,” I say. “They said it was a tropical storm.”
As if my terminology insults Mother Nature, dark shapes ricochet off the glass, making us all jump.
“That,” KT says, her breath hissing out in a stream, “is a cyclone.”
I can’t quite figure this woman out. She leans a little more toward the masculine than the average woman. “Are you military or law enforcement or something?”
“No, why?”
“Because you’re hardcore. Badass. What you did out there was fucking intense. Anyone else would have drowned.”
Her gaze holds on mine. “You’re the reason I didn’t drown. If you hadn’t come down to the bottom of the steps, there was no way I could have made it through another pounding. I was an inch away from giving up.”
A spring of bubbles erupts in my chest, and unexpected tears sting my eyes. Maybe from her sincere appreciation, maybe from the aftermath of the near-death experience.
KT turns her gaze on Chloe. “And I wouldn’t have made it up the stairs without both of you.”
She reaches out and gives our hands a squeeze, then lies back, resting her arm across her forehead, then casually announces, “I think I have a couple breaks.”
“What?” Chloe asks, alarmed. “Where?”
She takes a deep breath and winces. “Rib, and maybe my left foot.” Then she grins, and her normally broody expression melts into a rare and stunning kind of beauty. “Sorry, Chloe, I’m going to opt out of your ‘deep breath’ clinics.”
“Ha-ha,” Chloe says with a good-natured smirk.
I laugh, hard and unexpectedly. The pressure immediately creates knifelike pain in my head. “Oh, shit. Ow. Ow, ow, ow.”
“The adrenaline is waning,” KT says. “That’s when all the pain kicks in. I’m going to look like an eggplant for weeks.” To me, she says, “You’re going to look pretty rough too.”
I think of my parents and the fuss they’ll make. Maybe I’ll extend my vacation so I can heal before they see me. I seriously can’t take one more you-stupid-girl look from either of them.
More shapes blow past the building—a lounge chair, an umbrella, a small tree, something. They bounce off the glass, making us all jump again.
After a moment of nothing but the storm filling our ears, KT lays her head back on a groan and stares at the ceiling. “I’d give my right arm for a juicy cheeseburger.”
“With double patties,” I add dreamily, “extra cheese, a basket of fries—”
“Animal style on both,” Chloe says, referencing the gooey combination of cheese, fried onions, and Thousand Island dressing used by the well-known American restaurant In-and-Out Burger. “And a milkshake. Thick, creamy chocolate.”
I gasp dramatically. “Chloe, you cheating little spirit junkie.”
Chloe and KT laugh. “I’m into self-awareness and the universal laws of happiness and love. That doesn’t mean I’m vegan or a masseuse or a member of PETA. They’re not one in the same, however, I do happen to be a good masseuse, or so I’m told, and I’m also a yogi.”
“Spirit junkie will definitely stick,” KT says.
“Picked it up in one of a dozen books I’ve read trying to figure myself out,” I say. Then to Chloe, “In the introductions, didn’t you say you were living in Nepal?”
“I am, but I grew up in the States.”
“Where?” KT and I say in unison.
“Northern California,” she says. “What about you two?”
“I’m in LA,” I say.
“I’m a flyover state girl,” KT says. “Michigan.”
The little bungalow is alive with the sound of wind and rain and distant thuds and crashes that could only be the main resort receiving a real pounding.
I stand and look around. “Do you know whose room this is?”
When both women say no, I open closets and drawers, looking for anything that might help us ride out this storm. “I’m going to be completely inappropriate and scour this place. I’ll apologize later.”
“I’d love a first aid kit or tape,” Chloe says. “She’s going to need real stitches, but I want to create some butterfly stitches until we can get her to the hospital.”
I find dry clothes in the drawer, a stash of granola bars, and instant oatmeal in the suitcase in the closet, along with a first aid kit. In the toiletries, I find ibuprofen. “Does anyone know how long these cyclones last?”
“Anywhere from two to twelve hours or so,” Chloe says. “I’ve been in a couple of hurricanes, but not this bad. I’ll bet this storm jackknifed. The weather changed really quick.”
I lay my stash on the box spring. I pull out Band-Aids and antiseptic and ibuprofen and push them toward Chloe. “I’m going to kiss the woman who is staying in this room when I find her.”
I decide we all need a distraction from the terror outside these walls. “Let’s do some storytelling, speed-dating style. You know, background, family, what
you do for a living, why you came on this retreat. Oh, and what your biggest dream is. You first, KT.”
“Okay, well, I was raised by a single dad. My mom ran off when I was a baby. He was a mechanic, owned a car repair shop. I had a wrench in my hand by the time I could walk. When I wasn’t in school, I was at the shop with him. We were tight. He was an amazing dad. He dived as a hobby, and he taught me. I’ve been diving since I was eight, certified since I was ten. Mostly in the Great Lakes as a kid, but a lot of different places since I’ve been on my own.
“When my dad got sick—lung cancer, he was a smoker—I ran the repair shop and went to school, mostly online, to get my marine engineering degree. He passed away three years ago. I sold the shop and the house and took a job with a cruise ship company as a mechanic. I came to this retreat because I’m in between assignments, and I’ve been really missing my dad. I live on whatever cruise ship I’m working on and explore the ports of call when I get a break.”
“That explains a lot,” I say, riveted. “Biggest dream?”
She smiles dreamily up at the ceiling. “I haven’t really thought about it, but maybe dive in every ocean—sans hurricanes and cyclones.”
“Very cool,” I say. “What about you, Chloe?”
“My story is similar to KT’s to some degree. My mom ran off with another guy when I was young. But my dad was a drunk and lived in the bottle, so I was raised by my older sisters, who both bailed as soon as they were eighteen, leaving me alone to take care of my dad.
“When I was old enough, I followed their lead and became a nomad, searching for healing. I mean, I didn’t know that’s what I was looking for, and I sure as shit fell into my share of potholes, but the universe eventually guided me toward spirituality and amazing people who have helped me heal from the abandonment. I’ve traveled all over, and I love seeing different countries and meeting so many amazing people. I’ve been basically training myself in spirituality and meditation and even personal coaching. What started off as a need of my own has turned into a passion I love to share. I’m on this retreat to help other people find peace and meaning and to continue learning myself.”
“So you really walk the walk,” I say, moved by these women’s stories.
She laughs. “Every day is a struggle. I have to constantly bring myself back to my practice. It’s never a straight path, and I often find myself slipping into negativity, fear, even anger. But what I’ve learned over the last five years has drastically improved my life, my outlook, and my happiness. I’ve come to deeply believe that everything happens for a reason and wherever we are in life is exactly where we’re meant to be. I’ve cultivated patience and acceptance and compassion—with myself and others. I’m legit terrified of where I’d be without the grounding beliefs I’ve developed over the years.
“My biggest dream? Maybe the whole Eat, Pray, Love thing, you know, share everything I’ve learned that’s helped me. Someday I’d like to spread what I know through every country.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s pretty hard to compete with.”
“No competition,” Chloe says. “Anything that pulls one person forward benefits everyone. What about you, Laiyla?”
I wince. “Well, after your stories, my troubles seem petty compared to what you two have been through.”
Chloe shakes her head, her hands working quickly to tear off the adhesive from the Band-Aids and create little Xs across the worst of KT’s gashes. “It’s all relative. Everyone has a unique set of challenges. Your problems aren’t insignificant just because our struggles seem harder on the surface. There are a lot of factors that go into working your way through life—personality, strengths, sources of support. We never really know what we’re capable of until we push ourselves. Like what you did out there, for example. I bet if I told you yesterday what you’d do today, you would never have believed it.”
“I guess,” I say, considering.
“So, what’s your story?” KT asks me.
I’m embarrassed to say, but this was my idea after all. “I have wealthy parents, and I’ve been provided with only the best my entire life. I have an Ivy League education and a ridiculously well-paying job with my parents’ hotel chain.”
I stop, feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment in myself for feeling so frustrated with my life.
“There’s a lot of darkness beneath the sparkle of that description.” This comes from Chloe, seemingly wise and sage. “What is it?”
“Expectation, I guess. Before they started the hotel chain, my father was a surgeon and my mother was an entertainment lawyer. Being the only kid of parents like that… It’s just a constant struggle to live up to their expectations. They love me, there’s no question. But in my heart of hearts, I feel like that love is conditional, and the burden to hold up under their scrutiny can feel crushing. My parents think I’m on vacation in Fiji, because they’d never understand how I feel, but I came here hoping… I don’t even know what I was hoping.”
“To find yourself, probably,” KT says. “The real you, underneath all that expectation.”
“Or to find a way to get out from under the expectations,” Chloe suggests. “To find love for yourself as you are. The unconditional love your parents haven’t provided. What about your dream?”
“Oh, well…” I have lots of goals. I do the whole one-, three-, five-, and ten-year projections on January first, giving me pages and pages of goals. But I’m definitely questioning all of it now, and I realize I’m really not sure what my dreams are. “Maybe to have something of my own one day. A business of some kind. Maybe in hospitality. Maybe my own line of hotels.”
“That rocks,” KT says, echoed by Chloe. I realize I’ve never shared my biggest dreams with anyone, not even my parents. I’m warmed by the reception of ideas that seem well out of my reach.
The roof of the cabin rattles, and we all look up and shrink until the gust passes. “One thing’s for sure. I never expected to spend my twenty-third birthday like this.”
“Today’s your birthday?” they ask in unison, then look at each other and say, “It’s yours too?”
The spontaneous choreography of the moment makes me laugh. But then I sober, and a tingle raises the hair on my arms. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,” they say in unison again.
KT looks at me and Chloe in turn. “Are you guys shitting me?”
Chloe and I shake our heads, and while KT and I continue to find this unbelievable, Chloe beams. “This is proof of divine intervention. This is how the universe or spirit or God—it doesn’t matter what you call it—shows us our path. There is no way all of us ended up trapped in this room together by accident or coincidence.”
Her conviction is infectious.
“I know you’re both skeptical,” she says. “Most people are. It’s difficult to accept that there is an unseen force at work for our greater good. One that yearns for us to be the best version of ourselves, but I hope you’ll continue searching once this retreat is over, because the more you look, the more you see.”
Chloe finishes closing the wounds on KT as best she can and grins at both of us. “For now, I think we should just rest and get to know each other.”
We take turns in the bathroom, finishing the cleanup process, and rummage through the available clothes to find dry T-shirts, tank tops, and shorts to wear. When I find out whose belongings we’ve scrounged, I’m going to buy her a new freaking wardrobe.
There is a lump the size of an extra-large, Grade A egg on my left temple, but the ibuprofen has taken the edge off my pain, and learning about these amazing women has soothed my ragged nerves.
In a round-robin, sprawled out on the box springs, or curled in a chair, we discuss everything from politics to religion, friends to family, hobbies to pet peeves. And while we may seem drastically different on the surface—nomadic spirit guru, cruise ship mechanic, and hotel chain management—we are also comfortingly similar. I don’t know if it’s the harrowing situation we�
�re in together or our age or our identical birth signs or just the luck of the draw, but the three of us mesh like we’ve been friends for years. Our comradery brings me a depth of relief and contentment I’ve only ever found when I was very young, spending summers at my grandfather’s house on Wildfire Lake in California.
When the conversation makes its way to significant others, we discover none of us are currently involved, and while Chloe and KT have had what sounds like a relatively easy time making connections with men, albeit superficial by their own preference, I haven’t had the same, superficial or otherwise.
Except for Levi.
“Your turn,” KT tells me, popping the last bite of a granola bar into her mouth as the lightning round begins. “Seeing anyone?”
“No.”
“Last hookup?” KT asks.
“Six months ago.”
“Memorable?”
“Hardly.”
“Last boyfriend?” Chloe asks.
“Real boyfriend, like only seeing each other, would have been seventeen, Levi.”
“First kiss,” from Chloe.
“Sixteen, Levi.”
“Aw,” Chloe says, warming to whatever vibe she got from his name. “Levi.”
“First sex,” KT says.
“Seventeen, Levi.”
“My heart loves Levi,” Chloe says. “He’s a good soul.”
“He is—or was. I don’t know about now, but I’m guessing that didn’t change.” Thoughts of Levi can still make my soul ache, even six years after I last saw or spoke to him.
“First orgasm.” KT is all business, matter-of-fact, while Chloe is sentimental and mushy. The contrast is humorous. The way they both openly accept their different personalities warms me and cements the knowledge that these are good women.
I sigh. “Seventeen—”
“Levi,” we all say in unison and laugh.
“And only, to be honest,” I find myself admitting for the first time to anyone.
“Only orgasm?” KT asks in obvious shocked disbelief.
“Only man I’ve been able to orgasm with.” I crunch up my nose. “I haven’t had much luck with men.”