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.For a long time he just stands there, looking into the wind, out at the sea.His bad shoulder curves in a little, almost a hunch, and in spite of his young body, glossy and firm, it’s enough to make me think of a maimed Captain Ahab.Exile island is, for whatever reason, Clemente’s white whale.I think back to the night of our planning meeting in my kitchen, when, with only the countertop island between us to keep us from coming to blows, we argued about whose trip this really would be.I watch him at the prow now, rubbing his shoulder, massaging the ache, and realize he was right.This is his trip.But why?CHAPTER 27Things don’t go back to the usual.And by that I mean we don’t retreat to our own quiet places anymore.This has become a team endeavor.We spend the days cleaning the Intrepid—it’s a particular bitch scrubbing the paint off the bridge windshield without crumbling the spider-webbed glass.And as for the nights, we spend those camped on the main deck, rolled up in blankets scavenged from our bunks.Ostensibly this is because our cabins are still too torn up to be livable, but I know the real reason is that none of us likes the idea of sleeping down there just yet.It’s too easy to be caught off-guard down there.Better to sleep up here, where the moonlight is bright and the air is open—where even the smallest sounds are like foghorns in the night.Sounds like the cute little groans Colby and Marcus make when they alternate inside-spoon and outside-spoon.I heard them having sex in Marcus’s cabin once while I was sweeping broken glass out of my own.The sound of their muffled grunting behind the thin door made me happy—it was proof that we won.Those plastic pirates can go fuck themselves.And it’s probably good that we’re all sleeping outside on the deck, because I’m not sure that I’m ready to be alone with Clemente yet.We haven’t been alone since our last moments clinging to that cooler—a topic he and I still haven’t discussed but that the other guys won’t let up on.Colby and Marcus, at least.They tease us mercilessly about it.“What’d you boys do, clutching on to each other for all that time?” Colby keeps asking.“Any repeats of your super-happy fun-time?”They’re pretty easy to distract, though, when we start talking about the shark.Clemente has an old cider box he uses to represent the cooler when he does his impression of the pirate getting eaten.“Dude was like, Yaaarrrr, me legs! Me fuckin legs arrre gooone!”“He was not,” I keep correcting.“He didn’t make a single peep.”But the truth doesn’t stick.It’s better the way Clemente tells it.And maybe if he and I can remember it that way it’s less terrifying.We’ll keep the real truth about what happened between us.So we continue uneventfully to Hawaii, free of pirates, free of sharks, but with heavy hearts—at least for me, and for Clemente too, I think.As I watch him, shirtless and blue-shouldered, jumping around the deck, zinging the box comically in the air as he flops to the floor, my feelings about getting there, about seeing Ryan, grow ever murkier.In some way that makes the mission even more important—for closure, for an ending.But as I look at Clemente and see how he sometimes looks back at me, I think that what I want from Ryan isn’t his goodbye at all, but his blessing.I just don’t want to break anyone’s heart.PART 4Exile IslandCHAPTER 28At night we arrive at the coordinates.What we believe is exile island is one of a pair of islands separated by an inlet a half-mile wide.It’s too late and dark to do anything now, so Marcus finds us a nice little cove on the second island, and under cover of darkness he parks the Intrepid and drops anchor.I stand on the main deck looking at shadows stretching across the rolling waves, waves that after so many miles finally have a sandy beach to break on.As the windscreen rattles down, sweet-smelling air rushes over my face.In the dark Clemente comes up beside me, leaning with the rail against his belly.He’s close enough that our arms are touching.“Got so used to the smell of sea air,” I say.“All this greenery.Wow.Smell it?”He inhales, lifts his shoulders, stands on his toes—a full-body breath.“Like sticking your face in a salad,” he says.“So romantic.”He laughs.“Think it’s the right place?” I say, meaning the other island.“I don’t know, McHenry.Sure hope so.”“What if it ends up as empty as this one? What if it’s not exile island at all?”“We didn’t come all this way for nothing.” He squeezes my shoulder and as he steps away he lets his grip slide smoothly down my arm and off.Alone again I look up at the stars, take a deep breath, and try to feel Ryan.I try to feel if he’s close by.But the only thing I feel is the fading tingling sensation on my arm where Clemente touched me.Morning reveals the cove to be something straight out of a romance movie.Aqua-colored water laps a black sand beach; beyond the beach is a tangled wall of green—vines and flowers and leaves as big as bicycle wheels.There’s no trace of civilization—it’s like the land time forgot.I wouldn’t be surprised if a brachiosaurus head on a long slender neck rose out of the canopy, chewing plants lazily with flat teeth.Here and there wisps of volcanic steam seep from among the trees.The bird-calls are a relentless music.It seems like paradise.For us it’s merely a way-station.“We’re down a dinghy since we decided to play Good Samaritan,” Piper says, standing on the bridge with hands on hips.“So we’ll put what we need in the one we have, and swim it ashore
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