We packed up our stuff as quickly as we could and brought it up to Dex’s black Highlander, another sight I almost cried at. I hugged the car, so grateful to see something from our other life, something solid, real and familiar.
We had driven through the streets looking for some place to gather our strength before the morning came and we would have to explain to Zach what happened. The boat was fine despite everything, but Dex would probably have to replace the Zodiac, which wasn’t going to be inexpensive. The money didn’t seem like a big deal after everything we had gone through, but it was nothing to sneeze at either.
The other issue was that not only had Dex’s iPhone drowned when he went to rescue me from the coffin, but we lost the backpack with the Super 8 camera to the depths of the sea. The only concrete footage we had, the only footage that was really spectacular and proved we weren’t full of shit, was now resting at the bottom of the ocean, alongside the library books about the island. They were probably the only books in publication too. Maybe that’s where they all belonged. Their watery grave.
Dex wasn’t sure what to say to Jimmy about the loss. He was going to see what he could salvage from the other cameras before he brought them on the boat. There was the scene with the deer in the night, and a few other instances that might be compelling enough to make an episode out of them. We would have to wait and see. And of course the intro we shot, my red low–cut shirt, the setting sun over the beach. My goodness, that seemed like another lifetime.
I got up from my seat and looked at the iPhone, which was charging at the wall outlet beneath the counter across from us. It was powered and the texts from Ada and my family were coming in one after another. I just didn’t have the energy to deal with them.
I sat back down and took a sip of my hot peppermint tea. “Give it a few minutes. Too many texts coming in.”
“You should tell your parents you’re alive,” he said. “I have a feeling they’ve put an APB out for me.”
“It’s the facial hair, I’m telling ya.” I smiled, even though his beard was taking away the rapist qualities of his moustache.
“I’m serious,” he said and I could see he was. “They must be worried sick about you. Go call them now.”
“It’s 2 a.m.”
“They aren’t sleeping.”
I sighed and unplugged the phone. It had enough juice for a quick call. I went into the women’s washroom for privacy and dialed.
My dad answered right away.
There was a lot of yelling and crying and screaming and sobbing and lecturing. Not only from my dad, but from my mother and from Ada as well, who was also up and worried sick. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Well, I could tell them the truth but I knew it was pointless. So I told them an abbreviated version of the truth. Zodiac deflated (mysteriously), phones had died, storm came in, yadda yadda.
I knew that once I arrived at the house tomorrow, I would get the same lecture, yelling, crying all over again, and I’d once more have to explain my whole story. But I would be home and that was the most important thing of all.
“By the way. Happy Birthday,” my dad said before he hung up. “We love you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, feeling teary. “I love you guys too.”
I staggered out of the bathroom, a weight lifted from my shoulders, and handed the phone to Dex, pressing it into his hand.
“Now it’s your turn. You have a family now. Call your baby mama and let her know you’re dandy, capiche?”
He sucked on his lip, probably thinking of excuses why he shouldn’t. But he nodded and got up. The responsibility must have started to sink in.
He left the diner at the front door and stood outside, lighting up a cigarette and putting the phone to his ear. I couldn’t read his face from the fluorescent glare inside.
He was on the phone for only a few minutes. He puffed on the cigarette, the smoke rising around him and floating away into the night. He stared across the parking lot, transfixed by nothing in particular, thinking about who knows what. Then he stubbed out the cigarette and came back inside.