The Unimaginable

by Dina Silver

  “Our convoy is breaking up in the morning, so I guess tonight was as good a time as any for this to happen.” Grant looked at me. “I don’t say this very often, but I could really use a drink,” he said, shaking his head.

  Chapter 21

  I scurried down the stairs to the galley and grabbed two beers from the fridge, then rejoined Grant in the cockpit. It was just after midnight, and Grant said he’d wake Quinn at 2 a.m. instead to give him some extra sleep.

  He took a long sip from his beer bottle and breathed an even longer sigh of relief.

  “I gotta be honest. That really shook me,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “I’m sorry to put you in that position. For all we know, it could have been fishermen screwing around—or simply in the vicinity—but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  “Do people fish at this hour?”

  He cocked his head. “Not typically.”

  “I’m okay, really. It was a little intense, but I’m just glad it’s all clear. Do you think everything is okay aboard the Libra?”

  “I think so. I’m sure we would’ve heard if it wasn’t. The helos cover a lot of area.”

  Grant went to set his beer down on the crowded console and accidentally knocked the stack of magazines and his beloved Emma onto the floor. My jaw dropped as the letter fell out again, as it had the other night when I was alone. Instinctively, I reached down to grab them for him, and he met my eyes when I placed the letter in his hand.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  I couldn’t take my focus or my thoughts off the letter.

  “It’s a letter from my late wife, Jane,” he said matter-of-factly. Hearing her name for the first time made me catch my breath. “This was her book. I’m sure Quinn must have told you. It’s his favorite thing to razz me about. He’s always threatening to toss it overboard when I wake him up too early.”

  I smiled. “He hadn’t mentioned the letter to me,” I said. But I’d already read the letter. Quinn didn’t need to divulge any secrets, because I’d already committed such an intrusion into Grant’s life I could barely forgive myself and would expect he could never forgive me if he found out.

  Grant took a breath and smiled sheepishly before placing the piece of printer paper back inside the book. “I can’t quite let it go. Weird, right?”

  “Absolutely not. No,” I assured him.

  “I’m taking the letter and the book around the world and then burning them.”

  I just stared blankly at him.

  “Weird now?” he asked.

  I let out a small, nervous laugh. “No, Grant, you’re not weird at all. In fact, you’re one of the kindest, smartest, strongest, most normal people I’ve ever met in my life, and I’m so sorry you lost your wife,” I blurted out. “She . . . Jane . . . must have been something special to have found you.”

  “Thanks, Jess. She was.”

  I hated myself for being such a snoop. Why couldn’t I just fly under the radar like Caroline used to tell me? I never learned.

  “What was she like?” I asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Not many people ask me about her. I guess I give off a ‘don’t talk to me about it’ vibe, but I really don’t mind talking about her at all. Jane was just . . . a really good person. You know? Trustworthy, kind, generous. One of those people who no one could say a bad word about. She was on the quiet side at parties and such, mostly because she wasn’t a fan of large groups of people, but one-on-one she could talk your ear off. She was happiest just being with me. She was very smart and was in nursing school when we got married. She found out she had breast cancer right after her graduation. Unfortunately, she’d caught it too late.” He paused. “We did everything we could. Chemo, experimental drugs, holistic medicines, but she died about two years after being diagnosed.”

  I felt compelled to say something but was momentarily silent. After a beat or so, the words “I’m so sorry” escaped my lips in a tiny whisper.

  He nodded. “Thank you. It was a pretty bad time, and I do still miss her, but she wouldn’t want me to suffer for it, and I don’t want to diminish what we had by sulking for the rest of eternity.” He mustered a smile. “It’s been almost four years now since she passed.”

  I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him, squeeze away the pain, and never let go. The words he used to described Jane were exactly the words I would’ve used to describe him. I lowered my eyes, thinking of the letter and her beautiful words. I owed it to him to tell him, and just as I was about to lift my head and confess, my eyes welled with tears.

  He gave me a funny look. “Jess? You okay?”

  I shook my head and blinked, releasing droplets onto the front of my shirt.

  Ever the gentleman, he gently lifted my chin with his finger, reached for a tissue, and then handed it to me.

  “You’re very sweet,” he said. “But I’m fine now. Really.”

  I shook my head again and lifted my hand for a moment. “I’ve done something terribly wrong.”

  He sat back an inch or two and questioned me with his eyes.

  “You may never forgive me,” I said, and dabbed my cheeks.

  “I’m sure that won’t be the case.”

  “No, I mean it . . .”

  “Jessica, what is it?”

  I squared my jaw and gazed into his eyes—dark blue, like the water that carried us—so that he might sense a shred of the shame that was festering inside of me.

  “I read the letter. Jane’s letter. The one you just tucked back into the book.”

  He held my stare, then looked away, releasing a breath through his nose.

  “The other night during my solo shift, I was trying to tidy things up, and the letter fell out of your book when I moved that stack of magazines. Just as it did a minute ago. Anyone with any sense of decorum would have put it right back, but I didn’t.” I paused. “You and I have become closer, and I care so much about you that I just couldn’t help myself . . . I mean, I could have, but I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Grant.”

  He nodded, then stood after a beat. I watched as he walked up the side to the bow of the boat and leaned over the front rail with his elbows. I lowered my head. What more could I say? I did a terrible thing, but I was honest with him, and I couldn’t take it back. I sat and waited as he processed what I’d done. The sound of the water lapping against the boat, while normally comforting, put me on edge. After about five minutes, Grant returned to where I was sitting.

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

  “What’s done is done.”

  “I violated your privacy and your one remaining piece of intimacy with your wife, and you can’t imagine how awful I feel about it.”

  He tapped the cover of the book, then placed it back up on the counter, tucked next to the console where it wouldn’t be disturbed. “It is a sacred thing, that letter, and as much as it might seem like I guard it like the Holy Grail, it’s just a letter. Believe it or not, it’s one of many that Jane wrote to me right before she died. If you or anyone had ever asked to read it, I would have let you. But . . .” He shrugged.

  “But most people with common decency know how to respect people’s private property without being completely intrusive and inappropriate,” I interjected.

  “May I finish?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “But . . . no one has ever dared to ask. For all I know, you’re not the first to read it behind my back either. I’ve read that letter many times, and it’s not an easy read, so don’t think for a second I don’t know how you feel. But please don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s over with,” he said. “As I mentioned, I don’t get the chance to talk about Jane much anymore, but when I do, I always feel so much better. So thank you for that.”

  He smiled at me, and our eyes locked. If he had leaned forward even one millimeter, I would have kissed him.

  “Grant, only you would thank me after I
’ve been so intrusive,” I said, and then hugged him hard. I embraced him with every ounce of my being and with every bit of desire that I’d been holding on to for the past three months. He wrapped his arms around my back and buried his head into the base of my neck. “You’re welcome,” I whispered into his chest.

  I pulled away slowly when he loosened his grip on me. We both paused as our faces were inches apart. I scanned his lips and his five-o’clock shadow and smiled, before sitting back in my seat. My heart was pounding as I watched him lean back into the cushions and cross his legs.

  He draped his arm over the back of the seat. “Why don’t you tell me something about you now?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Something personal about yourself. Then we’ll be even.”

  I inhaled through my nose and stared at my bare feet. I was never very good at opening up about myself. Always more interested in learning about other people’s issues than divulging my own. I turned toward him. His arms were now crossed in his lap, and there was a hint of a smile across his face. Did he really care to learn anything about me, or was he just being polite? I thought for a moment, trying to come up with something equally substantial, but everything about my life before Thailand seemed trivial. Except for one thing.

  “I didn’t cry when my mom died,” I said, shaking my head slightly.

  He tilted his head to one side. “When did she die?”

  “About six months ago. Just before I left Indiana.”

  He looked at me and released a barely audible “hmm.”

  “Do you feel badly about it?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment and dropped my gaze to the ground again before responding, “I guess I do.”

  He pursed his lips.

  “She never understood me, and she never wanted me,” I said.

  “That’s doubtful.”

  “No, really. I’m not even fishing for sympathy here. She was forty-two years old, and I was an unplanned pregnancy. I was mostly raised by my eldest sister, Caroline, who by the way was a sobbing wreck at the funeral.” I paused. “Church was Mom’s life, and what with God, nine kids, and my father, the woman had her hands full. She’d had a child every two years since the age of twenty-two, then as soon as she thought she was done she gave birth to my twin brothers, Andrew and Michael, when she was thirty-four years old. Then eight years later, and nine days before my father’s scheduled vasectomy, she found out she was pregnant with me. Clearly a condemnation for agreeing to the vasectomy.”

  He smirked.

  “Rumor has it she literally handed me over to Caroline the day I was born and said, ‘This one’s yours.’ My relationship with her was like a relationship with a distant grandparent. I tried as hard as I could to get her attention, but I hated going to church.”

  “Why did you hate it?”

  I shrugged and considered his question. I never understood what Mom saw in God anyway. He didn’t save my Uncle Berty when he got lung cancer. He didn’t save my favorite cat from the one car an hour that drove down our country road, and he never allowed my sister Caroline to get pregnant with the baby she so badly wanted.

  “Probably because my mother was always there and put the church before her family. She always said God’s work was never done. But as it turned out, too much of God’s work gave her a heart attack.”

  He smiled at me without an ounce of pity on his face, and I was so grateful for that.

  “Well,” I said, throwing my arms up, “enough of this rookie therapy session.”

  He arched an eyebrow, causing me to pull at the hem of my shirt.

  “Last time I’ll mention it . . . but I’m truly sorry for jeopardizing your trust in me. I really like being with you, and I don’t want there to be any bad feelings between us,” I said as honestly as I could.

  “I like being with you too.” He kept his eyes on mine for a beat longer and then glanced at the radar.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Have you kissed anyone else since Jane died?”

  “Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

  I nodded.

  “Is there more you want to know?”

  I shook my head.

  He leaned toward me and brought his face close to mine. “Does that bother you?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you think you were the first person I’d wanted to kiss in four years?”

  My body stilled. It seemed as though our minds were on the same page, but I was not about to make the first move.

  “No,” I whispered. “But if that’s the case, can I ask why you reacted the way you did in Bangkok?”

  He averted his eyes for a second. “I guess my feelings caught me off guard. It felt different between us, and you’re one of the first women I’ve wanted to spend any length of time with.”

  I could feel his breath on my skin as he spoke.

  “Why?”

  He thought for a second. “I can appreciate what you’ve done with your life and your desire to see the world. Relocating to a foreign city with limited modern amenities is not an easy task for every small-town girl. And I admire what you’ve done with your students and how much your face lights up when you talk about your work with them. I can tell how grateful you are to be living your life.”

  His words moved me.

  I swallowed. “Well, lucky for you then that I’m stuck on this boat for the next few weeks.”

  “Yes, it is lucky for me,” he said, and then leaned back against the seat behind him. “What about you? What’s your story with men?”

  I let out a laugh. “This should cure your insomnia. You don’t want to know.”

  “Apparently I do, as indicated by my question just now.”

  I took a sip from my bottle before answering. “There’s not much to tell really. My only serious relationship was in college. I dated a guy for about a year and a half. Besides that, not much to write home about.” I shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Who pulled the plug? You or college boy?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It was never meant to be. Neither of us ever talked seriously about getting married, and we couldn’t have been more different. At least as far as our future goals were concerned. He wasn’t a bad guy, just not for me. The only places he’d consider traveling to were football stadiums.”

  “Stadiums?” He stretched his legs and smiled again, this time more curious, as he sipped his beer.

  “We were never right for each other. His dream girl will produce three children, make a killer macaroni casserole, and have a degree in scrapbooking. I couldn’t have been more wrong for him.”

  “Is that why you moved? To get out of Dodge and away from the boys next door?”

  “I moved because I never wanted to stay in Indiana. My mother’s passing and me losing my job were just the catalysts. There was never anything holding me back except for myself and maybe Caroline. We’re very close.”

  “The sister you just mentioned?”

  “Yes. She’s like a mother to me, and it was hard to leave her, but she was really the only reason I stayed as long as I did. In the end all she’s ever wanted was for me to be happy, but I wasn’t happy there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can hardly tell you.” I shrugged and considered his question. There was simply nothing in LaGrange County that appealed to me. On paper my life was good there. I wasn’t miserable, and I loved my job and my students, but I always felt out of place. Like I was just biding my time, waiting to be transported somewhere else where people wouldn’t roll their eyes at my curiosities and desires to see new things and meet new people. But I was a practical girl with student loans and little savings to fund said curiosities. So I learned to curb my enthusiasm, fly under life’s radar, and wait until the time was right to follow my dreams instead of everyone else’s.

  “Maybe ‘happy’ is the wrong word,” I said. “I was never comfortable. A
nd what I’ve learned from moving away and living in Thailand is that in the end I think I was running to something, rather than running away from it. Does that make sense?”

  He nodded.

  “Indiana is not a bad place. In fact, I couldn’t have grown up in a nicer community of people. Things like family values and hard work and common courtesy are still revered. It’s a place where kids play outside and people leave their doors unlocked, but I never fit in.” I scratched the back of my neck. “My mother never let me do anything except come straight home every day after school when I was young. Any interest I had in leaving home or participating in activities that were outside the norm always angered her. I had only a tiny handful of neighborhood friends, and my closest siblings in age are eight years older than me, so I spent a lot of time alone, masterminding a future for myself. I never had any desire to work on our farm, and the only things that interested me were the things I knew nothing about or had never experienced.”

  “Are you happy in Thailand?” he asked. “It seems like you had high expectations for yourself.”

  I thought about his question for a moment, then nodded. “I am. I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll stay and what lies ahead for me, but I’m extremely pleased with my decision to move there.”

  We both studied each other for a moment. He had one elbow rested up on the seat cushion behind him and his beer in his other hand. There was a palpable energy floating between us. Sexual, kinetic fireworks bursting around us and staking claim aboard Imagine. He had promised me on New Year’s Eve that he would kiss me again. If it didn’t happen soon, I might not survive the wait.

  I went down to my cabin that night, opened one of the drawers beneath the bottom bunk, and pulled out the photo album of my parents’ honeymoon that Caroline had sent to me. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was more like our mother than I ever knew. Maybe my mom was just never able to find the courage to follow her dreams like I did. I stared at a picture of her, so young and beautiful and unrecognizable to me, and began to cry. I longed to know that girl, and I was determined to make her proud and fulfill her dreams for her.

  Chapter 22