In Between Frames (11 page)

Jon also got out of the boat and began shouting for Stephan, walking in the opposite direction, but after a few hollers, he, too, realized that it would be futile to try to out-yell the sound of the surf.
 
As they turned back towards the grounded sailboat, Sam saw the same worry in his eyes as she felt.
 
He was someone’s son, too, she thought.
 
Even if he was a selfish prick.
   

Aaron was looking over the sailboat.
 
“No holes,” he said, to Miles, who was the only one trying to keep track of everything and everybody at the same time.
 
“No crash.”

“What’s inland?” Miles asked, to nobody in particular.
 
“Would they have gone there?”

Sam felt a bit embarrassed not to have thought of that.
 
Of course they would have gone inland.
 
It was hot, and knowing Stephan, he probably didn’t bring any food, so that meant that Mabel would have tried to forage something for them.
 
The Greek coast was mostly barren, but there were occasionally shrubs and olive trees growing in the thin, rocky soil.
 
Inland would be trees, maybe some edible plants.
 
If Stephan brought matches, maybe they might even be cooking something.
 

“How can we get up there, though?” Sam asked, pointing to the shelf of rock.
 
It was well above their heads.
 

“Here,” Aaron said.
 
He’d found a steep footpath leading up the rock, little more than a foot wide, winding precariously back and forth.
 
Hot rage surged through Sam’s veins.
 
How the fuck did he dare? Mabel was only five.
 
Taking her up the cliff, which was at least as high as a two-story building, on a ledge so narrow that even she had qualms about climbing it—if she wasn’t going to kill him before, she certainly was, now.
 
She could feel her hands balling into fists.
 

Aaron was leading the way up the path, followed by Miles.
 
Jon waved her in front of him.
 
“Lady first,” he said.
 

Sam swallowed, and tightened her stomach muscles to contain the feeling of butterflies she was feeling.
 
Aaron and Miles were making their way up, leaning into the side of the rock face.
 
She copied them, trying to ignore how quickly she was rising above the beach and how much space there was around her, and how precariously empty it all seemed.
 
It was a little easier to do when she turned her thoughts to the fact that Mabel had made it up without falling.

As she neared the top, Miles leaned over to give her a hand, because the rock side they’d been leaning into was disappearing.
 
“You did it,” he said, encouragingly, as she collapsed on the ground behind him, letting her knees turn watery with the release of the fear she’d been repressing for the last few minutes.
 
Miles and Aaron helped Jon up—though in his case, it was because he was red-faced, sweating profusely, and breathing like a freight train.
 

“Everybody okay?” Miles asked.
 
He and Aaron were the only ones who seemed none the worse for the climb.
 
“I used to set up shoots in far more dangerous situations,” he told Sam.
 
“Once I duct-taped myself into a tree for three hours.”

“Do you ever get over it?” she asked.
 
“Your fear, I mean?”

Miles shrugged.
 
“You get better at appreciating what’s solid,” he said.
 

They waited for Jon to get his breathing under control without talking, taking in the landscape—shrubby, rocky, but covered with thick mats of plants interspersed with openings of knee-high grass and empty plots of gravel.
 
Aaron whistled.
 
“Too wild for me,” he said.
 

Jon said something; Aaron threw his hands up, and stomped off.
 
“He’s afraid of snakes,” Sam told Miles.
 

But Jon didn’t harangue Aaron.
 
Instead, he stomped off in another direction.
 
Presently, both men returned, each carrying a large stick.
 
Aaron had taken out his pocket knife and was expertly sharpening the end of his to a point.
 
“Protection,” he said.
 
“Poison snake in place like this.
 
Very common.”

Sam felt her eyes grow wide at the thought.
 
She’d had no idea that poisonous snakes lived in Europe.
 
And here she was, sending her daughter out to play in the wooded patch and on the beach—whatever minor miracles had kept Mabel safe up until now, Sam said a silent prayer that they would continue.
 
Just until now, and I swear, I’ll never take her safety for granted again, she thought.
 

Miles had drifted away, but he, too, returned, with two sticks.
 
He handed on to her.
 
“Stab the ground in front of you when you walk,” he told her.
 

“Why are they sharpening theirs?” Sam asked, watching Jon take Aaron’s knife and cut his stick to a point, too.

“Probably to kill the snake,” Miles said.
 

“Kill?”
 
She was getting nauseated just thinking of snakes, and the risks she had taken with Mabel—the idea of having to kill one filled her with a queasy dread.
 

“In my experience, you don’t have to kill them,” Miles said.
 
“Bang on the ground, and they slither away.
 
Some people think the only good snake is a dead one,” he added, tilting his head at Jon and Aaron.
 
“I assume they have their reasons.”

They had a brief discussion about how to search.
 
Miles produced two whistles from two separate pockets (“Why didn’t you keep them together?” Sam asked.
 
“Because I didn’t know I had them.”), cheap, plastic things that parents put in kids’ party gift bags for the express purpose of annoying the
everloving
fuck out of the other parents.
 
He gave one to Jon and Aaron, saying, “Blow a short tweet—“ he demonstrated, “—every minute, and long ones if you find them.”

Jon gave his whistle a tweet, surprising himself at how loud and shrill it could be.
 
But it was a sensible plan, and they parted ways, Jon and Aaron, Sam and Miles, scanning the area for signs of Mabel and Stephan, banging their sticks on the ground to terrorize any snakes out of their way.
  
There was no trace of them.
 
It was going to be a long day.

~~~

Miles had never been this thirsty before.
 
He and Sam had trekked thus far in silence, so he assumed that she, too, felt the claws of thirst scratching at her throat.
 
It was maddening, this sensation of wanting to take a drink but there being nothing around.
 
He focused on blowing the whistle every minute—Jon and Aaron were somewhere to the left of them—but as the day dragged on he began to resent the loss of moisture teach tweet represented, and began to fantasize about pools of cool water, drinking it, feeling it run down his parched throat.
 

They came upon some boulders lying in the field, and without a word, Miles clambered to the top of the largest one, while Sam silently vomited.
 
That worried him.
 
If they didn’t find them soon, they’d have to call for help for her.
 
He saw Jon and Aaron poking and stabbing away in the distance.
 
A little to the right of them, a large shrub rustled suspiciously, given that there was no breeze.
 
Miles could imagine that there might be an opening in the foliage of the small tree or large shrub, and that there might be a decent amount of space under it.
 
There was an outline of something vaguely human in the branches.
 
It was as good a shot as any.
 

“I think I see her,” he tried to say.
 
His tongue felt furry, and he wasn’t sure Sam understood him.
 
But he put the whistle to his lips and blew for all his worth.
 
Jon and Aaron turned around, and he pointed to the tree.
 
After some wild gesticulating, Jon saw what Miles did, and his whistle, too, began cutting the air with its thin screech.
 

“Come on, Sam,” Miles whispered.
 
“We’ve found her.
 
She’s not far, just a little father.”
 

Sam nodded.
 
She was so grim she could murder death, but Miles knew then that she would be all right.
 
They’d found Mabel and Stephan, they could probably justify calling a med-
evac
for one of them—they’d both be dehydrated, to the very least, at least if Miles’s condition was anything to go by.
 
One of them probably sprained an ankle, or something.
  
They could hear Jon and Aaron in the distance, their voices hard and angry—everything was going to be all right.

But as they approached the tree, he had the distinct sensation that there was something wrong.
 
Aaron was standing in the shade of the tree, and while they couldn’t read his face from where they were, it was obvious that he was not celebrating anything.
 
As they drew closer, a long, agonizing howl came from the shrub.
 
They began to fear the worst as they approached, which was only confirmed as they approached Aaron.
 
“No,” Aaron said to them.
  
“Don’t.”

A sob broke out from Sam, and she brushed past him.
 
There was a shriek, followed by, “Mummy!” and Miles came as close to dying of relief as a living man could.
 
“God damn it, why did you tell us not to?” he asked Aaron, unsure whether to be irritated or relieved that Mabel was alive.
 
.
 

“Stephan,”
 
Aaron said, quietly.
 
He drew a finger across his throat.
 

Miles felt a pang of shock, and, much to his surprise, genuine grief.
 
It never occurred to him that Mabel might live while Stephan would die.
 
Stephan looked to be in his mid-twenties, strong as an ox—how could he possibly die?
 
“What happened?” Miles asked.

“Snake,” Aaron said.
 
“Little girl told us.
 
I call helicopter for help, but Stephan…”
 
He shook his head.

As if on cue, Sam emerged from the brush, carrying a crying Mabel and chugging a bottle of water.
 
She set Mabel down and tossed a bottle to Miles.
 
He cracked it open and drank down the warm, plastic-tasting water, draining the bottle without once removing his lips from it.
 
It felt like heaven.
 

“What happened to Stephan?” Miles asked, as soon as his tongue seemed to go back to its usual size.
 

Mabel, hiccupping, said, “A snake bit him.
 
He thought he would be all right, but he wasn’t—and—“ and the little girl burst into tears again.
 

“It’s not your fault,” Sam said, gently.
 

Jon came out last, tears streaming down his reddened face.
 
“My son,” he said, and began weeping.
 
Aaron hugged him, and so did Sam. Miles joined them after an awkward moment.
  
They retreated into the shade of the brush.