The Unimaginable

by Dina Silver

  I unwrapped the package. “My very own Buddha!”

  An enormous grin filled my face. Thailand is overwhelmingly Buddhist and wildly loyal to its royalty. You can’t turn your head in either direction without seeing a Buddha statue or a picture of the king. In fact, the country’s constitution makes it an offense to publicly insult the king, so I always warn island newbies to be careful about what they say in regards to the monarchy.

  “Thank you so much. I’ve always wanted one but haven’t found just the right belly yet. This one is perfection,” I said, and lifted the polished gold statue to my sight line.

  In Thailand, the Buddha is ever present and represented in hundreds of types of statues, each with its own symbolism. In one type of statue, representing simplicity and detachment from material things, Buddha is shown unclothed and without jewelry. His all-hearing and all-knowing aspects are indicated by another type, in which he has long ears and a bump on his head. The most common Buddha figures show him smiling or laughing and making various hand gestures, called mudras, that each have a different meaning. This particular one given to me by Mrs. Knight was giddy as ever with a large, scepter-like stick in his hand.

  “He’s holding a travel stick. To protect you from harm during long journeys,” she told me. “We want you to be safe on your trip.”

  The Knights were not keen on me applying for a crew position, but they were supportive.

  I nearly cried. “Thank you. I love him.”

  I gave them each a quick hug and then skipped back to my room and placed the little guy on my nightstand, all the while hoping Buddha wouldn’t get seasick aboard Imagine.

  A week later, Niran, Sophie, and I joined Grant and Quinn aboard Imagine and prepared to sail around to the west-side beaches in Patong to ring in the New Year together. Watching Grant man his ship was intoxicating and left me feeling all light in the head like just after a glass or two of champagne. He shouted a few commands to Quinn and then guided Imagine into the wind and to Patong Bay.

  Patong is a party town. Anything goes at any hour. Stripper poles in bars are as common as alcohol. Quinn described it as being like Bourbon Street on steroids and said that though prostitution is illegal, it’s gladly tolerated.

  “I’m thinking Jessica should man the helm, don’t you think, old man?” he said to Grant, patting him on the shoulder. “Since she begged you for the job, why not test her skills at the wheel?”

  Grant looked at me and nodded. “Agreed.”

  I leapt out of my seat and watched as Grant stood up from behind the wheel and offered it to me.

  “If you want to make it to Patong, you might not want to leave me alone at the wheel quite yet,” I said to him.

  He leaned over me and pushed a couple buttons. His chest pressed against my shoulder for a moment, and I couldn’t help note—or comment—that he smelled delicious.

  “You smell like oranges,” I said, and heard Niran snort out a laugh behind me.

  Grant exchanged a glance with Niran that I didn’t trust for a second. As soon as Grant was back tending to the controls, I glared at my boss, who only teased me with his “don’t look at me” expression.

  “We’ve got autopilot,” Grant said. “So unless you spill your drink on this panel here, we should make it there with no problem.” He stepped away and headed down below, but not before turning back to me as he reached the salon. “And there are fresh oranges down here if you want one.”

  New Year’s Eve 2010. It was a beautiful day, and smooth sailing. The ride took about three hours, and Quinn called on Grant just as we were about to drop anchor in the bay in between dozens of other yachts gathered for the massive firework display. Grant came up and began to lower the dinghy as Quinn secured our position off the shore of the beach. The five of us grabbed our belongings for the night, boarded the smaller boat, and motored over to the beach, where we left the dinghy at a secure lockup spot. There is almost nothing more glorious than the beaches on the west coast of Thailand. White sand, crystal clear water the color of sea glass, mountains, and palm trees. Paradise in its purest form.

  Walking up the beach that day, I found it hard to imagine that exactly six years before, in December of 2004, Patong Beach was one of many along the western coast of Phuket and Thailand that were pummeled by a tsunami, devastating most of the town and killing many of its people. It was, in fact, one of the worst affected areas, but had largely recovered since. You never would have known that New Year’s Eve the extent of damage the town and its people had endured. No, this day would be a celebration and a night I would never forget.

  Quinn, who we referred to as our cruise director, had mapped out the best clubs for us to go to before we’d end up back at a bonfire at the beach in time for the fireworks. As we followed his lead through the crowded streets, I thought of my sister Caroline and how much our lives were in contrast. I’d sent her an e-mail wishing her a happy New Year. Maybe her life was not what I wanted for myself, but I thought—and hoped—she was truly happy.

  We squeezed our way into an outdoor beer garden, and thankfully Niran knew one of the managers there, so we were able to get a table. I took a seat in between Grant and Sophie. A woman wearing what looked like a diaper but instead was the tiniest pair of white leather shorts I’d ever seen, with a white bikini top and white platform heels, was gyrating on a pole behind us, mesmerizing Quinn for a good five minutes before he declared, “A round of shots! On the old man’s dime, of course,” and grabbed Grant by the cheeks and planted a kiss atop his head. Grant smiled, and we all cheered.

  There was music and laughter and new people hanging on our table every half hour. Our server kept a constant flow of cocktails and beers and pitchers of spiked punches coming our way for hours.

  The alcohol-fueled afternoon turned into evening in the blink of an eye, and once the bill was paid we headed back down to the beach, Quinn with his arm around Grant’s shoulders, while Sophie and I locked elbows on either side of a stumbling Niran. I removed my flip-flops once we reached the welcoming sand, which was cool and soft as baking flour. Quinn and Niran walked off for a smoke and left Sophie with Grant and me at the bonfire, where the flames illuminated our faces under the black sky.

  I’d had way too much to drink. I knew this for two reasons: one, I could barely stand, and two, Grant told me. Not in so many words, but he kept asking me if I was okay and encouraging me to drink some water. By the time I sat down on the sand, I nearly fell asleep from the warmth of the fire.

  “What?” I heard him ask me.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I know, but you’re staring at me.”

  “I am?” I asked, blinking.

  “Yes,” he said, laughing.

  “It’s nice to see you laugh,” I said, and cocked my head to one side.

  “Thank you.”

  “How old are you, Grant? And don’t say, ‘How old do you think I am?’ I hate when people say that.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that. I’m thirty-seven.”

  I pulled my knees in and sat cross-legged, facing him. Everything about him drew me in. His voice, his demeanor, the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was thinking about something. The way his body relaxed when he crossed his legs. The way he looked and talked like a young Indiana fucking Jones.

  Reflections of the flames were dancing in his eyes, making it hard for me to focus on anything else, but in the back of my mind I thought about the opportunity and responsibility he was giving me—to crew on Imagine with him—and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. I looked down just before he spoke.

  “I’m getting up there. Closer to forty than thirty,” he sighed, and interrupted my thoughts.

  “You’re hardly getting up there.”

  I rolled my eyes, then glanced at his hands and thought of his wife. It made me sad to think of him losing her so young. I wondered if he thought about her every moment of every day. Did he picture her sitting next to him in front of the
fire? Would he have ever come to Patong with her? Would he have needed to hire Quinn? Would I have ever met him?

  Sophie excused herself to find a bathroom, leaving Grant and I to sit in silence for a few moments. Were he and I both thinking of the same person?

  “I haven’t seen you with your book in a while,” I observed.

  He turned away from me and continued to gaze into the crackling flames. His smile faded, and his lips pursed before he stood and said he was going for a walk.

  “Grant?” I called after him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

  Quinn and Niran plopped down with a bucket of beers just as Grant sauntered off.

  “Where’s he off to?” Quinn asked.

  I buried my head in my hands. “I don’t know what happened. I think I screwed up.”

  “Yes, you are,” Niran added.

  My head shot up. “No, I’m not screwed up—well, maybe I am a little—but I think I screwed things up with Grant. I think I may have upset him or something. We were both just sitting here, and he was all quiet, staring into the fire, when I asked him about his book.”

  “Why’d you ask him about the book?” Quinn asked.

  “I don’t even know why. I was just trying to make conversation when it dawned on me that he didn’t have it with him. I’m so used to seeing him carry it around that I just made a comment about him not having it tonight.”

  Quinn sort of shook his head and reached for a beer. “He’ll be fine.”

  “What is it with that book anyway?” I asked.

  Quinn grabbed a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off, and took a long drink with his eyes closed before opening them and answering me. “I really don’t know. I think it belonged to his wife. There’s a piece of paper in there, always folded up. I’ve seen him take it out once or twice and glance at it when he didn’t know I was looking. I don’t know much else about it.”

  My heart sank. Grant was finally opening up to me—to all of us—just trying to enjoy himself for one moment without the sorrow that plagued him every day, and I refused to let him. I lowered my head at the thought of ruining yet another holiday for that man.

  I placed my hand on Quinn’s leg and pleaded with him. “Please can you go after him? I feel awful. Go get him and bring him back to the group.”

  “I promise you he’s fine. He’ll be back here in no time. Probably went to use the john.”

  Ten minutes later I spotted Grant’s unmistakable stroll. I quickly stood and ran across the sand to meet him before he reached the bonfire. Standing before him in the sand with no shoes only exaggerated his height over me. I craned my neck to meet his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I started. “I never meant to upset you by asking about your book.”

  He looked at me.

  “Quinn told me it belonged to your wife. I had no idea. I never would have said anything.”

  His past was a mystery to me. I basically knew very little about his personal life other than that his wife had died. I didn’t know when, I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know how much of it he still carried with him. But I did know that I cared about him, and the last thing I meant to do was to arouse his pain.

  He took a step backward. “It’s fine, but I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Maybe we should all head back to the boat soon, and you guys can watch the fireworks from there. I’m getting tired,” he said, and walked away.

  I stood with my arms at my sides and my head hung low as I watched him walk past the bonfire and disappear into the night. I followed a few paces behind.

  “Grant suggested we head back to the boat,” I told Quinn when I reached him and the rest of the group.

  “What for?”

  “He’s not fine,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You said he’d be fine about the book, and he’s not. I upset him, and now he wants to leave.”

  Quinn sighed and loosely draped his arm around my shoulder. “Sorry, Jess. Whatever you said, he knows you didn’t mean any harm. Maybe he’s not fine now, but he will be,” he assured me, and removed his arm.

  “We’re just in time!” Sophie leapt to her feet and squealed.

  “For what?” I asked.

  She pointed toward the water’s edge. “The lanterns!”

  I lifted my head to see over the circle of people seated around the fire and watched as a mob of children raced down the beach, holding paper lanterns, which looked more like paper balloons. One by one, they each lit a wick inside their lantern, filling it with hot air, and then released it upward toward the glow of the moon. Thousands of them floated through the air, peppering the dark sky with an almost otherworldly radiance, much like someone had strung the stars with Christmas lights. I shook my head in disbelief and caught Grant staring at the dazzling splendor from a distance.

  After the light show, we listened to someone play the guitar for about ten minutes, and then the crowd on the beach started to grow in anticipation of the fireworks. Grant walked over to Quinn and said something before Quinn waved for us to leave.

  Once we got back to the boat, Grant retreated to his cabin and never returned. There was an uncomfortable silence at first as Sophie, Niran, and I exchanged looks, but thankfully Quinn rescued the evening with noisemakers and party hats. There was nothing more I could do for Grant than apologize to him and give him his space, so the four of us rang in the New Year on the bow. And once the fireworks started at midnight, they never stopped.

  At about one thirty in the morning, Quinn—wearing nothing but his boxers and a party hat—lay snoring on top of his bed. Sophie was wrapped in a blanket on the couch below in the salon, Niran was passed out like a drunken sunbather on the bow, while I was curled up, half asleep, under a cardigan in the cockpit. I lifted my head and sat upright when I heard footsteps and saw Grant emerge from below.

  “Hi,” I whispered, and glanced at the dashboard clock with one eye open. “We missed you.” I pulled my knees to my chest.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “I’m okay. It’s only a little chilly. Nothing like New Year’s Eve back home, though, so no complaints.”

  He sat on the bench across from me, wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, and leaned back against the cushion, with his legs stretched in front of him, ankles crossed. “Come by me,” he said, and rested his palm on the spot next to him.

  I glanced at his hand, then made eye contact with him before walking over and sitting down. He reached into a storage drawer underneath the seat, grabbed a beach towel, then wrapped it around my shoulders and pulled me close to him. “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded, staring down at my bare feet, my heart beating rapidly. He had me in an embrace with my cheek pressed against his chest. Yes, my body temperature was definitely warming, but it had nothing to do with the towel. I wanted to say something about what happened before, but maybe his departure meant that he just wanted to put it all behind him. The silence made me shiver.

  His hand and fingers were slowly caressing my right arm just above the elbow, and every time he paused my heart would skip a beat. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to muster the strength to lift my head and look him in the eyes. I wanted to know that things were good between us and there were no hard feelings. His eyes would give me the answers. The eyes always say more than the mouth.

  I shifted my body toward him ever so slightly, curling myself even further into his embrace. He tightened his grip on me and then continued to move his hand up and down, rubbing away the chills. I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then opened them and lifted my chin. He immediately looked down at me, stopped moving his hand, and squeezed hard, forcing the tips of his fingers into my arm. I froze. He studied my eyes and then looked away, loosening his grip.

  My breathing intensified as I brought my hand to his cheek, brushing my thumb across his stubble and turning his face back to mine. He shifted his body, threaded his fingers through my hair, and rested them at the base of my neck. Just as I inhaled, he bent down and
pressed his lips to mine. First, hard and firm, then soft and exploratory as he parted my lips with his tongue. My head went back, and my body fell forward into his arms as his hands tugged at my hair and the back of my shirt.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he said without a second thought.

  He was lifting my legs up onto the bench under the weight of his body when we heard a cough.

  Both our heads spun as Niran was gesturing to get past us to the bathroom. Grant sat up and smiled, and I did my best to threaten Niran with my wide eyes as he snickered and passed. He brushed me off with a wave of his hand, unconcerned, and accidentally woke Sophie when he bounded down the stairs.

  “Remind me to smack him when he resurfaces,” I said, my eyes ripe with disappointment.

  Grant adjusted the towel on my shoulders and smiled. “That won’t be the last time I kiss you.”

  I sat motionless, desperate to rewind and relive those last twenty minutes. I placed my hand over his as Sophie called my name from below. I stood and said good night, then walked down into the salon.

  It was nearly 6 a.m. by the time the last of the fireworks fizzled out with the rising sun.

  Chapter 18

  The morning of January 22, 2011, my bags were packed and I was ready to set sail.

  I wasn’t certain of how often I’d be able to communicate with anyone, so before heading out I sent a quick e-mail to Caroline.

  Hey you,

  My excursion/adventure/boat trip extravaganza starts today. Just wanted to touch base with you and let you know that I’ll be aboard Imagine for a few weeks and likely only able to communicate through e-mails. I know what you’re thinking, so here are my answers to all your questions:

  Yes, I’ll be careful.

  Yes, I’ll write as often as I can.

  Yes, I’m excited.

  Yes, I will have a great time, thank you.

  I love you too.

  Jess

  I said good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Knight and told them to expect me back sometime toward the end of February. Sophie borrowed Niran’s car and gave me a ride to the marina, where Grant and Quinn were readying the boat for our departure.