He’s barely settled before I ask, “So, what do you want to know about her?” He smiles and ducks his head. “Actually,” he says, “I was hoping to learn more about you.” While on the raft, I’d daydreamed of Grey rescuing me, even though I knew it was impossible—that he must have been killed with everyone else on board. Over and over as we drifted toward death on the empty ocean, I’d imagined him coming for me. It didn’t matter than I’d known him barely a week, it had been long enough to fall for him with an intensity I’d never experienced before. He was my first love. And he’d told me I was his. He’s alive. In the black horror of what my life has become, that single point of light now shines. I’ve lost my parents. I’ve lost Libby. Nothing will ever be the same again. I have no other family, no long-lost relatives to take me in. There is nothing left. But Grey. I still have Grey. I cling to the thought as though it is a life raft, knowing that if I hold on tight enough and don’t give up, I’ll somehow be able to survive. I drift asleep imagining our reunion. Already feeling his arms around my shoulders, his hands pressing against my back, holding me tight against him. He’ll brush his lips against my temple and whisper over and over that it’s okay, he’ll keep me safe, and I’ll believe him.
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