The Summer's Child Page 6

  Coffee would make this go away, right?

  "Do you want to check out the surf report?" Roelle asked, sliding her phone over to Samantha. Samantha raised an eyebrow.

  "Today?" She asked, surprised.

  "Yeah!” Roelle bit her lip. “I mean, you don't have to snorkel if you don't want to-"

  "Roe, stop worrying,” Samantha said with an exasperated smile. “I said I wanted to do whatever you planned."

  "I know... " Roelle said skeptically, tucking her phone back into her blazer.

  "Good.” Samantha leveled a mock glare over the coffee container. “Now stop panicking."

  "I'm not,” Roelle mumbled with a pout, “I'm just mildly worried." Samantha grinned.

  "Then stop doing that,” she said, poking Roelle’ shin with her shoe. “Is that all your eating?" Roelle had already finished eating her delicate bowl of cereal.

  "Yeah I don't want to get sick on the boat," Roelle explained. Samantha frowned.

  "Boats make you sick?" She asked, confused.

  "Well, it's never happened in the past, but partially because I'm careful not to eat too much, so I don't want to tempt fate." Samantha smirked and shrugged.

  "You’re a nerd," she decided, but her smile was indulgent, and Roelle felt her heart warm in her chest.

  They finished breakfast quickly, changed, packed a small day bag and met the four other couples going out in the foyer, where a bus picked them up to bring them to port. The other couples were all excited about what they might see - two of them were veteran snorkelers, who had vacationed in the Caribbean before, so they excitedly told Roelle about all the creatures they had ever seen in only slightly accented English. The other couple enjoyed Scuba diving together, and kept on talking about the depth they had swum too, and why they were incredibly experience swimmers, and how this was really incredibly easy for them. Samantha made an effort to drown everyone out - she felt the headache building behind her eyes gain strength, and she desperately tried to divert it. She was grateful that Roelle was distracted by the other couples, though about 10 minutes into the bus ride she threaded her hand through Samantha's to squeeze her hand lightly.

  "Are you okay?" she whispered.

  "Yeah," Samantha whispered back, leaning into her, her eyes closed. "Just tired."

  "Okay," Roelle accepted, though she didn't let go of Samantha's hand. Samantha liked it, and didn't let go either. It was warm, and comforting, and she really liked it.

  Once they arrived at the dock, the bus driver directed them to a medium sized sailing boat. Samantha smiled happily at it - she loved sailing. Although it was only 8.30 in the morning, the sun was already warm on their backs as they piled into the boat and met the crew, a man and his fourteen year old daughter. The daughter spoke English, her father did not. He communicated to them through a series of grunt, indicating where they should sit, what they should not do, and how they should stay out of his way. His daughter smiled happily at promised them that they were going to have a great time.

  "The reef is so beautiful," she promised them, "especially in November."

  Samantha felt herself spacing out, staring at the ocean below her. The coffee in her system hadn’t made her any less sleepy – it had just given her headache fuel, and now it pushed behind her eyes, amassing like a heavy cloud. She swallowed heavily and closed her eyes. She tried to enjoy the sun on her skin and think about nothing other than the fact that she was in France and she was going to be fine, but the sun was prickling and hot on her skin. And the second they got on the water, the wind whipped up around them, and Samantha shivered against the wind. She felt slightly sick with the rocking boat – it was like everything was upsetting the grey force pressing down behind her eyes.

  Samantha got up and tried to pace along the deck, hoping that her own movement might cancel that out of the ship, and make her feel better. It didn’t help much, though it did allow her to try and time her breathing with her steps, which was somewhat calming.

  She started singing quietly: the old trick to help her calm her breathing helped some. She sang a song under her breath, and it helped a little.

  Sadly, the boat was not designed for pacing. With every pace, Samantha had to avoid the duo navigating the boat, as well as the plethora of other people who were lying in different positions, trying to get as much sun as possible. Samantha felt herself frowned at and muttered at until she didn’t want to hear it anymore, and so promptly sat down at the bow of the boat. Samantha buried her face in her hands, and tried to push away this migraine with sheer willpower. Roelle had wanted to do this, and by god, they were going to enjoy it.

  “Are you okay?” Samantha looked up from her perch; Roelle was leaning over her, concern written in her face. Samantha swallowed thickly again.

  “Yeah, just feeling a bit dizzy,” she said, squinting up at Roelle. Roelle crouched down next to her.

  “Are you feeling sea sick?” She asked, frowning.

  “I don’t know,” Samantha murmured. Roelle put her hand on her forehead, and Samantha leaned into the warm touch.

  “You look pale,” she muttered, brushing tiny hairs out of her face.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine, Samantha,” Roelle chided, settling down next to her. Samantha leaned into her, closing her eyes. “When I used to feel sea sick my father would always tell me just to stare out at the horizon.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t feel sick,” Samantha grumbled. Roelle shrugged.

  “It wasn’t sick so much as dizzy most of the time,” she admitted. “My grandfather owned a boat.”

  “He did?” Samantha shifted to look at Roelle in surprise. “Really?”

  “He was a Admiral in the Navy,” Roelle said with a shrug. “Even after her retired, he wanted a boat.”

  “He was?”

  “Yeah. My grandmother was a professor in the Naval academy, that’s how they met.” Samantha stared at her, amazed.

  “Really?” She asked.

  “Yeah, she was the first black professor of the academy. She hated it, but after they married, my grandfather told her they could go anywhere she wanted.” Samantha raised an eyebrow.

  “And she wanted to go to California?” She asked skeptically.

  “No, she wanted to go to Canada, but after a single winter in Montreal, they moved to California instead.” Samantha snorted and settled back against Roelle’s shoulder.

  “I love that,” she murmured.

  “The Carltons have never done well with cold winters.”

  “The Lees love their cold winters.”

  “Northerns,” Roelle said disdainfully. She gently started stroking Samantha’s wrist again. Samantha closed her eyes against the feeling, trying to concentrate on it, and the melody of Roelle’ voice, instead of the pain in her head. It was hard to concentrate – the migraine felt like a poison infecting Samantha’s body. She breathed out steadily. They just sat in silence, Roelle’s fingers warm and steady on Samantha’s pulse point and Samantha trying to relax onto the rigid plastic shell of the boat.

  After about ten minutes or so, the father grunted, and his daughter translated that it meant they were here. She unpacked the flippers and the goggles and the snorkels, gave a fifteen minute lecture on safety, and then let everyone go. There was a scramble while everyone tried to get the newest looking pair of goggles, and Samantha hung back, staring down at the reef instead.

  The water didn’t look clear from here. Perhaps it was clearer when you were in the water?

  Roelle handed Samantha some bright green flippers and large goggles. Samantha accepted them with a grateful smile, and looked down, concerned.

  “You know, I read about reef sharks once,” she started but Roelle rolled her eyes.

  “You’ve gone surfing in Hawaii, Samantha,” she pointed out. “I don’t think you can claim you’re afraid of sharks in the Mediterranean.”

  “It’s not my fault! My brother went through an intense period of fear. He read a
lot of articles.” Roelle put on her goggles with an authoritative snap. Samantha looked up, and grinned. Roelle somehow still managed to look attractive despite large goggles that were a terrible shade of pink.

  “You look wonderful,” Samantha assured Roelle. Roelle pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her bikini.

  “I know,” she agreed with a small smirk. “It’s why you’re my girlfriend, remember?” For a moment, Samantha forgot. She forgot they were play-acting, and she blinked at Roelle, mouth agape. “Because we’re fake dating?” Roelle prompted after a second of Samantha’s mouth hanging open. Samantha laughed; it was more of a forced exhalation she tried to force into a laugh. Yes. She remembered. They were fake girlfriends. She was probably being weird. She should have taken Giselle instead.

  Her headache came crashing over her again.

  “Come here,” Roelle murmured, and she gently pulled Samantha up. “Do you think you might have sun stroke?”

  “We’ve been outside for like thirty minutes, Roe,” Samantha muttered, looking down at her goggles and flippers.

  “Yeah, but the waves refract sunlight, don’t they?” Samantha frowned.

  “Refract?” She asked, confused.

  “Reflect it many times over,” Roelle supplied.

  “Oh. No, I don’t think that’s it. I think jet lag just got me.”

  “Does jetlag normally affect you this much?”

  “Roe,” Samantha complained gently, pushing Roelle away. “Stop worrying about me.”

  “It’s hard not to! You look like death.”

  “Wow, you really know how to charm a woman.”

  “I’m not trying to charm you, Samantha. I’m trying to diagnose you.”

  “Diagnose?”

  “You look ill.” Samantha frowned at Roelle, then sighed.

  “Let’s go diving,” she decided, “and you can diagnose me later.” Roelle bit her lip.

  “Are you sure?” She asked gently.

  “Yes. Don’t worry about me, Roe.”

  “It’s hard not to!” Samantha rolled her eyes.

  “God, after this vacation, Giselle is going to be out of a job.”

  “She’s not the only one who cares about you.”

  “I suppose so. Now, go in.” The boat was nearly empty. The daughter cocked her head at Samantha as Samantha watched Roelle carefully toe into the water. Roe gave out a loud breath as she jumped in, and then she grinned at Samantha.

  “The water is cold,” she promised her, “it will help with your headache.” Samantha gave her a wavering smile and clamped on the goggles. They were incredibly tight, and immediately made her headache worse. Samantha clawed them off her face and tried to loosen them. They were old, and the salt of a million dives meant they were stuck. Samantha found herself tugging at them for at least five minutes before the daughter came over, clearly having taken pity on Samantha, and loosened the goggles with one smart tug. She gave them back to Samantha with a small smile.

  “It’s especially beautiful over there,” she said, gesturing left. Samantha looked there. “You can see some of the most beautiful fish that way.” Samantha smiled back at her, and nodded.

  Roelle was right - the water was cool. Samantha let go of the back of the boat and submerged herself in a moment of joy before she slipped her goggles over her eyes and put the snorkel in her mouth and started swimming towards the mentioned area.

  Samantha’s goggles seemed to have a leak. After less than thirty seconds of swimming, her eyes were stinging from the salt water, and she jerked up and pushed her goggles off her face as quickly as possible. Frowning at the old things, Samantha tried and tightened them. They wouldn’t budge until Samantha yanked at them, and then they slide off.

  Samantha felt her breathing quicken as panic clawed at her throat. She breathed out steadily, trying to remind herself that there was nothing to panic about. She kicked her feet harder, as if to prove to herself that she was swimming fine, and she was. She rolled over onto her back as she tried to fit the goggles on her face again, but struggling with goggles while in the water proved a complicated task. And Samantha was not up to it.

  She blinked furiously as she tried to quell the panic again that took her, and she jammed and yanked the goggles until they were finally back on her head. Who cared how much they hurt? It didn’t matter if they made her headache worse, she was here to snorkel and by damn she was going to enjoy it.

  Samantha started swimming towards the area where everyone was staring and mumbling, and the goggles steadily filled up with water again. Samantha tried to ignore it, blinking as often as she could, but the salt water stung her eyes. Which was dumb - weren’t tears salt water? Didn’t that mean her eyes should be used to this acidity?

  Roelle swum up next to Samantha - Samantha twisted her head to greet Roelle, but by doing so accidentally plunged her snorkel under water - she inhaled a gulp of seawater and immediately sat up, choking and retching as the seawater burned into her lungs.

  “Fuck this,” she hissed, angry tears pricking at her eyes. Samantha yanked off the goggles and the snorkel. Roelle straightened in surprise.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, spitting out her snorkel and furrowing her brow.

  “No,” Samantha snapped. “I hate snorkeling. I’m going to wait on the boat.”

  “Samantha!” Samantha breathed out steadily and closed her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice acidic. “Please, enjoy this. I’m just going to sit on the boat. I want to be alone anyway.” Roelle shrunk back - Samantha hadn’t masked the anger in her tone well. Samantha didn’t care - her head was hurting, she was pissed off, and these god damn goggle -

  She pulled them off and swam back to the boat with her eyes mostly closed.

  Samantha had been sitting on the boat for fifteen minutes now, draped in the towel the daughter had wordlessly handed her as she came back up on the boat. Her father was reading Le Monde, and he looked up at Samantha and said something to her.

  “He wants to know if you want some the paper,” his daughter translated. “He hates the travel section.” Samantha had shook her head, and went to sit on the stern.

  The boat was a catamaran, which meant that it had two hulls parallel which were equal in size. It was good for sailing around reefs because it was light on the water. When they were in Hawaii, Janine had explained all this to Samantha, because Janine knew how to sail one of these things, and she was very proud of herself. It also meant that the boat was very close to the water, so when Samantha went and sat on the side looking away from the divers, out towards the south, her feet could just about touch the water. Roelle appeared at her ankle, pushing up her goggles and looking up at Samantha with a small tilt of her head.

  “Can I come up?” She asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Samantha mumbled, shifting to the side. “I’m sorry about snapping at you.” Roelle hoisted herself up, and for a second the sunlight glinted on her skin, and her biceps tense, and Samantha’s mouth went dry.

  Then the daughter came and gave Roelle a towel, and Roelle wrung her hair out over the side of the deck, and she smiled up at Samantha, and Samantha blushed.

  "It's okay," Roelle promised.

  "I feel shitty," Samantha mumbled.

  "You're tired," Roelle pointed out. Samantha sighed and looked at the horizon, annoyed.

  "But why am I tired?” Samantha whined, glancing at Roelle with the corner of her eye and then looking back at the horizon. “I can sleep anywhere."

  "Do you want to sleep now?" Roelle asked. Samantha pouted.

  "No," she mumbled.

  "Do you want to go home?" Samantha shifted and nodded.

  "Yes," she admitted.

  “We’re leaving here in like five minutes, and the wind seems perfect to bring us back to shore. We’ll probably be back at the hotel for lunch.”

  “Oh man. That sounds so good,” Samantha hummed, and leaned against Roelle. Roelle didn’t stiffen at all, instead brushing a hand through
Samantha’s wet hair and twisting a strand of hair around her finger.

  “You can nap.”

  “Awesome.”

  "There's karaoke on the schedule tonight." Samantha sat up, dismayed.

  "Oh no," she whispered. Roelle laughed.

  "Please, it's like you don't even know me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was going to offer that we stay in and watch a movie." Samantha grinned.

  "A bit of Netflix and chill?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Look, you're already feeling a little bit better," Roelle said in exasperation. Behind them, the daughter said something; they turned around. The rest of the couples had returned, and they were getting ready to sail back to the shore. Samantha sighed, and Roelle reached over and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. Samantha looked down at their clasped hands and felt a lump in her throat.

  "Thanks for sitting with me," she mumbled.

  "Of course,” Roelle said with a smile, “now stop dangling your feet across the boat."

  "Why?" Samantha’s forehead furrowed.

  "They're going to burn," Roelle explained.

  "I'm not that white, Roelle," Samantha argued.

  "I'm not going to carry you everywhere when you have sunburn feet, so stop complaining and start sitting more on the boat."

  "Yes, Ma'am." They sat in silence together, looking across the sea. Roelle's dark sunglasses hid her eyes, and Samantha squinted up at her once or twice, wondering if she should break the silence. But then she realized she liked it, and she settled into it.

  It was weird - Giselle always complained about long silences like this, and Charlie was never able to hold them for long. Both of them wanted to chat, to make something out of their time together. But Roelle seemed to be able to take a deep breath, and let the moment linger. It was relaxing.

  The breeze from the ocean tickled Samantha's back, and she sighed happily as they started sailing back towards the mainland.

  "You know what I realized?" Samantha glanced over at Roelle and raised an eyebrow.

  "What?" Roelle let go of Samantha’s hand so she could lean back on her arms, tilting her face towards the sun. Samantha pouted.