Chapter 3: Gary

Jake called me as soon as he heard the toilet flush, and I was outside her door thirty seconds later, waiting. Finally, I saw her finger tips at the curtain. This one was going to try my patience; it was forever before she pulled it open and I saw her face.

It wasn't a tortured face, like it had been last night. She just looked shocked by the light and looked hung-over. I searched her eyes, once they opened again, for signs that she was still on the edge, but the signs weren't there. She seemed – alive – and perhaps resigned to having to live at least one more day. Then she saw me, and I could see her flinch. Then she dropped the curtain closed.

This was it. It was time to barge fully into her life. Without knocking, I opened the door to see her slumped on the bed with her head down. I came in and closed the door carefully behind me. I shifted the heavy chair so that I could sit before her. I didn't say anything, choosing instead to wait for her.

"Are you the bastard that grabbed me?" she finally asked.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I've always felt that suicide was an unnecessarily permanent solution to temporary problems," I told her in quiet confirmation.

She looked up at me and stared into my eyes. The intensity was somewhat disconcerting. Her expression, though, wasn't one of anger or hatred, nor merely one of resignation or indifference. She seemed scared, or even startled, and whether that was from my answer or my appearance, I couldn't say.

"Where are we, and what are you going to, like, do to me?"

I took this as very good sign. If she was still intent on killing herself, neither answer would matter.

"We're on my yacht, the "Furthurmore". It's 156 feet long and runs on biodiesel when I can get it and regular diesel when I can't. We're about 140 nautical miles off the coast of Washington, headed west southwest, running at about 18 knots. We're currently being followed by a Black-footed Albatross.

"As for you, I'm not going to do anything to you. There are some things I'm willing to do for you, such as providing you with this room, and food in the galley, and just about anything money can buy that can fit on the boat. There's a pool, a Jacuzzi, a dance floor. We're well stocked with CDs, DVDs, books, games, puzzles, and whatnot. We've even got internet access and satellite phones. I can probably rustle up a guitar or even a banjo, but I'm afraid I had to get rid of the piano – it wouldn't stay in tune. I might even be able to come up with some clothes for you – what are you, size 6?

"You can stay as long as you want. Alternatively, when we reach Hawaii in a week, I'll fly you back to Seattle, if that's what you prefer."

"Or,..." I added, letting the word hang in the air a second, " ... you can jump off the stern and never be heard from again. I won't stop you, though I can't vouch for the others. But I will tell you this. We're heading to Fiji. No one who isn't on this boat knows you're here, and no one on this boat knows who you are."

Her eyes remained riveted to mine. "Saralinda," she said simply, after a short pause.

"Hello, Saralinda. I'm Gary." I put my hand out for her to shake. I wasn't sure she'd take it, but after a second, she reached a tentative hand out to grasp mine.

"Can I welcome you back to the land of the living?" I asked with a smile.

"Only if you've got a Tylenol and maybe some orange juice," she said with more life than I expected, and maybe a hint of a smile. She was a cutie.

I stood, still holding on to her hand, helped her off the bed, and led her out of the room onto the deck. She let go of my hand once we were outside, using it to shield her face from the sun, but she stayed beside me.

As we got to the galley door, she stopped me for a second.

"Gary, right?" she asked, probably unsure if she was remembering the name right. Her expression was very serious. "Look, I should probably be thankful to you for saving my life, but I'm not sure I am yet. I'm not sure I'm not yet, either, though."