Where Sea Meets Sky: A Novel

by Karina Halle

  Everywhere I look there are bright blue-white dots of glowworms shining down on us. They reflect faintly off the water, and it’s as if we’re astronauts, soaring through the Milky Way. I briefly think about Vera and her love for astronomy. She would love to float among the stars like this.

  “It’s beautiful,” Gemma whispers in awe, so faintly that I can barely hear her.

  “Don’t you have this all over your country?” I ask, still massaging her legs.

  “I’ve never seen it like this before.” Her voice is full of childlike wonder that does funny things to my gut. She almost sounds vulnerable. My fingers tighten.

  As the cavern widens, the ceiling lifting, the walls stretching out, the current slows down and we’re no longer moving in a perfect line. I can see the dim lights of the group in front of us, but they seem farther away than they should be, their voices growing fainter.

  “What’s the hold up?” Nick grumbles, and I hear a splash from behind me.

  Gemma says, “Nick, what the hell?” and I turn my head to see him loose and floating past us, his hands paddling him along.

  “You guys are too slow,” he says, as if this is supposed to be a race, and he floats down, disappearing in front of Amber just as the cavern starts to narrow again and the current quickens.

  We whip back into the dark, the glow of the worms fading behind us as the cave’s ceiling begins to press down on us oppressively.

  I can hear Nick let out a “woo-hoo” from down the river as the current picks up speed and feels more like the rapids I had imagined.

  Suddenly someone cries out in annoyance and I hear a scraping sound that travels back down the tunnel. We twist with the river and Amber bumps into part of the wall that juts out. She lets go of my legs and pushes off but the current spins her away and she’s loose up ahead, her headlight shining around the walls in a circle.

  Amber lets out a cry that’s half scared, half having fun and she stays in my sight until Gemma hits the same spot on the wall as she passes. For a moment she seems stuck and is jerked out of my grasp.

  “Agh!” she cries out, and I hear her splashing as she tries to push off back into the current. I spin around so I’m facing her and reach out with my hands, just managing to grip the edge of her foot. I pull her toward me, wrapping my arm around her tube, squeezing in between it and her thigh.

  The light from my helmet catches her eyes and she looks afraid, her brows raised high, the whites of her eyes shining. I don’t know if she’s scared because the others are no longer in our sight, if she thought she was going to lose me, or because I’m even closer to her now.

  She swallows, her throat bobbing, and I have the urge to lick her there and feel her pulse under my lips. We might be wearing the unsexiest things on earth, but she’s still radiating that same sexual energy as she did when we first met. Here in the dark caverns with me, she is more luminous than the glowworms we just passed under.

  “I’ve got you,” I tell her, my voice automatically going lower as the swift river sweeps us forward.

  She smiles, close-lipped. It’s not quite a smirk but it will do. “I think we lost everyone else,” she says. Her voice is hushed, delicate.

  Even though it’s not easy to maintain eye contact without blinding each other, we do it. Her eyes are even darker in here, blacker than the water we’re floating on. “I’m sure we’ll eventually run into them,” I tell her reassuringly, even though catching up with everyone else is the last thing I want. “Unless the river branches out and we go down the wrong arm and over some underground waterfall.”

  “You’re just full of the wrong things to say,” she says, smacking my arm.

  I can only grin at her, which means I’m not looking at where we’re going as my foot catches the side of the narrow wall, sending me spinning off. I remain attached to her though, my arm still wrapped tight around her tube. We drift side by side until the passage narrows like a tie and I’m still holding on. I don’t want to have her legs wrapped around my shoulders; I want her as close as possible. The voices of the rest of the group occasionally drift toward us from the never-ending darkness and I know we’re in no real danger.

  We’re alone. Very alone. I want to take advantage of this.

  “So,” I say, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t bounce off the walls and down the tunnel. Even so, it echoes, mixing in with the sound of the gurgling water. I rub my lips together, my words waiting. I could make things a lot more awkward for us. “Why didn’t you . . .” I begin and then start over. “How long have you been seeing Nick?”

  I’m not looking at her, so I don’t know if the question surprises her or not. When she answers, she’s cautious, almost ashamed. “We broke up before I went away. We weren’t together when you and I . . . well . . .”

  “And you came back here and picked up where you left off.” I try not to sound bitter. It’s none of my business, really, and I have no right to be annoyed.

  “Pretty much,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry . . . I . . .”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” I tell her quickly, not wanting her to think I’m suffering, that I think I have claim to her. “We had a one-night stand. It happens. When I came here, I really didn’t think I’d see you. And I didn’t think you’d be sitting around waiting for me either.” I grow quiet while I think something over. “If we hadn’t run into Nick, would you have told me about him?”

  Now I turn my head to see her answer. The water whisks me to one side so I can only glance at her for a second, but she looks pained. “You know what,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  A loaded silence hangs over us, lower and more oppressive than the cave ceiling.

  Finally she says, “I wish things were different.”

  I can’t help but let out a laugh. “Me too. But you know what? I’m glad I came. I’m glad I’m here.”

  “Really?” she asks.

  “Really,” I say with a nod. “Though I do have to ask . . . why the hell are you going out with such a dicknugget?”

  She snorts but she seems more shocked than amused. “Excuse me,” she says indignantly.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I know he’s your boyfriend and all, but you can do a hell of a lot better, Gemma.”

  “And I suppose you’re volunteering for the job.”

  “If there was a position available, yes,” I tell her and let the word position sink in.

  She’s quiet again before she says, “He’s not my boyfriend, you know.”

  “Fine. Your fuck buddy is a—”

  “Josh,” she warns. “It’s just the way things are.”

  “And I don’t understand it.”

  “Because you don’t know me,” she says, rather bitingly.

  It doesn’t hurt, because I suppose it’s the truth. But it sure makes me feel like a fucking idiot.

  I guess not, I think. I guess the girl I met in Vancouver was someone else. I guess you were just a ghost, just a figment of my imagination, another drawing from my sketchbook.

  But I don’t want to play that role, go that route, be that guy, not here in the dark where everything seems deeper than it is.

  “Well,” I measure my words out carefully, “I would like to know you.”

  I wait for her to shut me down, but instead she says, “Okay.”

  “Oy, guys!” Nick’s voice carries toward us, and as we round a bend we can see another cavern up ahead with a smattering of bobbing headlights gathered near the entrance. We shut up and let the current run us into the group.

  Nick narrows his eyes at us suspiciously while Amber looks relieved.

  “I’m so sorry, Josh, I was trying to hold on,” she says, although she looks all right. They all do—happy to see us but having fun of their own.

  Blair gives us an enthusiastic smil
e and the thumbs-up sign while he holds on to the edge of the wall. “Right on, you made it.” He looks to everyone else. “Okay, we’re about to go into another cavern. It’s not as wide as the previous one but it’s just as pretty. I’m going to get you to stay together as we go into it, so try hooking your legs under the next person’s arms instead of over the shoulder, for more traction. You won’t separate as easily. But after the cavern, we’ll need to break apart—the cave gets so low that you’ll need to place your hands along the roof to push yourself along. It will feel like a coffin for a few minutes and you could hit your head. But that’s why we have helmets, aye?”

  Oh great. Who doesn’t love being in a coffin?

  This time when we hook back together, I don’t massage her legs or squeeze them. I just hold on, and after the brilliant blue glow of the cavern subsides and fades away, like stars disappearing at dawn, I let go of her for good.

  The rest of the trip did in fact include a portion where it felt like I was in a coffin. If I really started to think about where I was and what I was doing, I nearly flipped the fuck out. I mean, I had to lay flat back and there were still only a few inches between my body and the roof of the cave.

  But eventually the cave opened up again and there came a few times when we had to leave one cave system and climb into another by way of a ladder and drop in over a small waterfall in our inner tube. My hips are so narrow I nearly sank right through my tube once I crashed into the water but I managed to stay afloat. Thank god for my broad shoulders.

  I don’t know how many hours we were underground but we eventually emerged into a fern grotto, climbing out of the dark and into the light, which even though it had grown overcast, was extra blinding. We all blinked at it like newborns in a strange new world.

  Once we were done, we were allowed to use their showers before getting back into our regular clothes. Being dry never felt so good. Then we were treated to a bowl of homemade tomato soup and a bagel, but to be honest, all I wanted to do was drink a gallon of beer.

  Naturally, once the four of us got back to the campsite, that’s exactly what we did. It was still the afternoon, but we loaded up on more supplies and parked our asses down in the camping chairs, refusing to move. We filled up on hot dogs again, copious amounts of alcohol, and at some point during the night Nick stopped being a douche long enough to play several drinking games with us.

  It was actually a lot of fun. The caves had somehow made us all bond together in one way or another, but by the time the sky grew dark and the stars peeked through the clouds, we could barely move our tired muscles.

  We called it a night.

  And I, well, for my own safety I slept in the tent.

  Chapter Eight

  GEMMA

  “Please tell me you have Advil,” Josh moans, his hands together in mock prayer. “I will do anything you want if you just give me one. Just one.”

  “Anything?” I ask, cocking my brow.

  We had to get up bright and early again to make it to just outside of Wellington tonight, but that was easier said than done. We all ache from our necks to our toes—even me and Nick, and we’re used to physical exertion. Being in that cave absolutely slaughtered us and made us strain muscles we never knew we had, and though I wish I had packed some ibuprofen with us to ease the pain, we’re all going to have to suffer.

  “Anything,” Josh says, and I can see he wants to make it sexual but manages to rein himself in. Or maybe it’s me who wants him to make everything sexual. I push that thought away as I shove a piece of hair behind my ear and spy Nick coming back from the washroom block. I’m already feeling extremely guilty for what happened yesterday.

  Armed with the chilly bin packed with leftover food and drink, I press past Josh, who is sitting in the doorway of the van, begging for mercy, and start placing stuff in Mr. Orange’s fridge. Bacon, eggs, hot dogs, potato salad, cans of beer. At least it will be on during the drive and our stuff will stay cool.

  “I wish I could make you do anything,” I say, shutting the fridge door and placing the chilly bin in the storage space behind the backseats. “Because I have a wicked imagination. You should be glad we didn’t play truth or dare last night. But I don’t have any drugs, and it’s called Nurofen over here, by the way.”

  “Right,” he says. “And what did you call that cooler earlier? A chilly bin?”

  “Well, it’s a bin that keeps things chilled,” I point out defensively.

  He starts ticking off his long fingers. “Right. And a truck is called a ute, and the hood is called a bonnet, and the trunk is called the boot, and you fill up with petrol before you drive your tyres, spelled with a y, on the bitumen.”

  “Everything you said makes perfect sense.” I try to keep a straight face but his exasperated expression is just so cute. His upper lip snarls just so, like it’s taunting me, daring me to bite it and show it who’s boss.

  “Almost ready to go?” Nick asks, suddenly appearing at the door and giving me a fright. I look at him and nod. That wash of guilt comes over me again, like someone has doused me with petrol. I haven’t even done anything but I still feel it soaking me to the core.

  I’m in danger of igniting.

  My problem is, no matter what I do, I can’t stop being attracted to Josh. I’ve tried, but the moment he first threw his backpack into the bus and climbed aboard, I began a wrestling match with my hormones. And, though I’ve kept myself totally appropriate, I can’t help my body from the physical reaction it gets just by being near him, I can’t help my mind for wanting to focus on him all the time, and I can’t help the butterflies that seemed to have escaped my gut and moved into my heart.

  I can’t help any of it, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to fight it.

  So far, being squeezed in an underground cave for hours has been the easiest part of the trip.

  Once Amber comes back from the showers, her hair piled high in a wet, messy bun, Nick gets into the driver’s seat and taps the passenger seat for me to sit down. I do so somewhat reluctantly. I want Amber or Josh to have the front row of the journey down to the south tip of the North Island, but if Amber sits with Nick then I’ll be in the back with Josh and things might get weird. And forget about Josh sitting at the front. Nick would probably say something asshole-ish, and I now know that Josh is not a fan of him. What had he called him again? A dicknugget?

  We pull away from the holiday park and hit the open road. Pink Floyd’s “Flutter” seemed to work yesterday as good morning music, so I put it on again, sliding it into the cassette deck with a satisfying snap. I don’t know why Uncle Robbie only had these tapes in Mr. Orange, but they bring back old memories of my childhood and will hopefully make some new ones here.

  Because everyone is worn out and aching, we all keep quiet, stopping only once outside Waitomo to get coffee. It’s a beautiful morning, though—warm, golden sunlight hits the damp cool of night, causing clouds of mist to gather in the fields and flank the base of rolling green hills. When I can tear my mind away long enough from the problem at hand, I’m caught up in a sense of adventure and freedom that I’ve never had in my own country before.

  And yet it’s all an illusion—the adventure will be short-lived and there never was any freedom. Not here, not when I’m caught like a fish on a line, not strong enough to fight.

  I glance at Nick. He’s concentrating on the road, his brows together. I know he wants the old bus to go faster, but it just can’t. It’s not built that way. It’s built to take its time, to do more than get people from point A to point B. It wants you to savor the journey.

  Nick is all about speed. Even his features—sharp and short nose, small eyes, straight brows—move quickly and dramatically. You get a glance at him and you have an idea of what he’s all about. You don’t need to keep staring. But still, he’s handsome, in that overly athletic way—deeply tanned skin, thick neck, white teeth. I
t was his smile that won me over the day we first met in his gym, that and the fact that he was successful, had a career behind him, and a new one in front of him. But he’s not smiling much these days.

  He’s not happy to be here. He’s always been a rather hot-headed person—especially when he was playing rugby—but for the most part he’s aloof. He keeps that all buried, and all you see is the professional. Here, though, everything seems to put him on edge. What he did with Blair was embarrassing, yelling at him like that and smacking his hand away just for touching me. I want to say it’s out of character, but something tells me it’s not. I may not know Josh but I’m not sure I know the guy I’m seeing all that well either.

  It’s like being here is the last thing he wants to do. He’s sullen, moody, immature. At first I assumed that Nick was coming because he wanted to do this trip with me and Josh had just spurred him on. But now I’m starting to think the only reason he’s beside me right now is because he doesn’t want to lose face. He doesn’t want to lose, period. He’s competitive to the very core, and I’m just a prize.

  As the easy acoustic notes of “Fearless” play out over the speakers, I glance at Josh in the rearview mirror. He’s sitting back beside Amber and staring out the window, his legs splayed, wearing flip-flops, jeans, and a tight black T-shirt. His tattoo snakes masterfully down his arms, like an organic extension of his shirt, and his thick, rich black hair is free of product and occasionally falls across his forehead. He’s lost in thought, his pretty blue eyes taking the passing scenery in.

  Josh’s face invites you to stay awhile, to spend some time taking him all in. You want to dwell on his features—the soft, Elvis-like curl to his upper lip, his arched dark brows, the slant of his cheekbones. Most of all, you just want to stare into his eyes. Sometimes they’re so easy to read that you think you can see right into his soul. Other times they’re clouded, like a storm rolling down a blue glacier, and you have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s wanting.

  I want him to want me.

  I want him to not want me.