The Jade Notebook (37 page)

When we emerge from the jungle, we peer over the cliff into the crescent-shaped cove. The full moon illuminates the beach. No boat. Just piles of storm debris. I look at Wendell, my heart sinking. “He’s not here.”

Wendell puts his arm around me. “Maybe he’s out fishing and lost track of time. I mean, Layla’s right. He’s not the kind of guy who wears a watch. Hey, maybe his boat’s still on Playa Mermejita. That’s where he beached it this morning, right?”

“Worth a shot,” I say, biting my lip.

We head through the jungle, around the rocky cliff, toward Playa Mermejita. Bits of moonlight filter through
the tree leaves, just enough to show the way. When we reach the beach, I exhale with relief. There’s his pink boat, upside down on the sand.

We hurry to it, peer underneath. No one. Only the blanket strapped beneath the seat. We glance around, calling out all the various names he goes by. “Tortue! Tortuga! José! J.C.! Loco!”

No response.

I slump on the boat. “Where could he be?” I let my head fall into my hands. Emotions crash and tumble inside me—anger, disappointment, fear. Maybe he changed his mind, decided he wasn’t ready to see his family, to be my father. Maybe he decided he’ll never be ready. Things look so bleak, it’s all I can do not to sink into the sand and cry.

Wendell’s voice breaks through my misery. “Hey, look, Z!”

My head snaps up.

He’s pointing to something on the sand, on the other side of the boat. Slowly, we stand up, walk toward the movement. Small, dark shapes crawling down the beach. I see their flippers first, moving, determined, surprisingly large on their small bodies.

“Hatchlings!” Wendell cries. “Some of the eggs must’ve made it!”

A tentative path of baby turtles stretches from the nest to the surf. Near the nest, tiny noses poke out from the sand, and flippers flop, full of effort and hope. Once the hatchlings are out, they take a moment to get their bearings, then head toward the reflected light of the sea.

Despite my despair, I can’t help smiling at these tender creatures. By silent agreement, Wendell and I move obstacles out of their way—stones and bits of driftwood—making their journey a little easier. We watch them row themselves into the surf and disappear into the sea. Something about this, their survival against all odds, gives me hope.

As the last ones are flopping into the surf, a giant form emerges before us. Huge and oval. A turtle head pokes up, adult-size, its tiny eyes gleaming.

“A leatherback,” Wendell says, moving closer. “Full-grown.”

We wait a moment, expecting the turtle to crawl to shore, but she simply circles there, in the water.

“Strange,” I say. “Is she watching her babies?”

“I’ve never heard of that happening,” Wendell says, puzzled. He splashes carefully into the surf, his eyes glued to the enormous turtle.

“What?”

He walks closer to the turtle. “Z, it’s Gracia!”

“Really?” I ask, squinting. “You see her scars?”

“No. I just know her. It’s like Horacio recognizing voices. I can recognize turtles, especially the one who saved me.”

I follow him into the water. Gracia swims closer, close enough that Wendell can rest his hand on her back. “Feel her scars,” he whispers.

I run my hand along the ridges of thick, healed-over flesh, stroke her leathery back, thinking of the lives she’s
saved. Abruptly, she turns and swims out to deeper water. Then she circles back to us.

“She’s acting weird,” Wendell says, staring into her little eyes. “I get the feeling she wants us to follow her.”

I bite my lip, give him a dubious look. “Wendell, come on. I’m in a dress. My whole extended family is waiting for us to make a big announcement. I can’t just swim after a sea turtle. And you shouldn’t either. You nearly drowned last night. You need to rest and—”

“The boat!” Wendell cries, and before I can argue, he’s running to the pink boat, flipping it over, pushing it out onto the water.

“You’re serious, Wendell? We’re following Gracia?”

“Z, remember, she has a connection with Tortue. If something happened to him, maybe, there’s a chance …” His voice fades into the surf.

“Something? Like what?” And then I realize. Pepe is still on the loose. And Tortue is the main obstacle standing between Pepe and this land.

I swallow hard. “Okay, Wendell, let’s go.”

I help him push the boat into the water and then jump in and wring out the hem of my dress. Luckily, Wendell knows how to operate a motorboat from his outings with Santy. He revs up the engine, switches on the front light. Gracia watches us for a moment, then swims straight out to sea. We follow her around the cove to a rock outcropping not far from the coastline, one that looks like a jagged sculpture. The waves crash wildly against the stones, shooting sea spray, drenching our skin and clothes.

Soon Wendell cuts the engine so the blades won’t get caught on the rocks. I keep my eye on Gracia, who’s gliding right beside the boat, so close I could reach over and touch her. Wendell and I scan the rocks illuminated by the boat’s light.

And then, ever so faintly, a hoarse voice calls out. It’s barely audible over the ocean’s roar.
“¡Ayúdenme!”
Help me!

Wendell adjusts the light, and we squint in the direction of the sound. No one. I strain to listen over the pounding of my heart, the ragged waves. There it is again.
“¡Ayúdenme!”
It’s a ghostly sound, unearthly, hollow and echoing.

Gracia swims around the outcropping as Wendell paddles behind her.

Another shout for help, eerie and distant-yet-close.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Where are you?”

“
¡Aquí!
Here! In the cave.”

My gaze sweeps over the rocks. They’re riddled with nooks where water rushes in and out. Any of them could lead to a cave. In desperation, I turn to Gracia. “Help us!” I plead.

Gracia glides through the rough current toward a gap in the rocks, an opening too small for her, too small for the boat. “Anchor the boat, Wendell! I’m going in.”

Before he can object, I jump overboard. The water’s cold and violent, battering me against rocks hidden underwater.

“Z!” Wendell calls out. “Let me go instead!”

“Not after last night!”

“No, Z!”

“I can do this!” I take a deep breath and swim after Gracia. The tidal current is strong, smacking me this way and
that. Gracia slows down. I reach out and hang on to her, pressing against her scarred back. She carries me to the edge of the cave, as far as she can fit.

“Wendell,” I call, “over here! Give me some light!”

He positions the boat lamp to light up the cave. I grab a rock, steadying myself, and peer inside.

There, up to his neck in water, is Tortue. He sputters, coughing in wide-eyed panic. “
Apúrate
, Zeeta—hurry, the tide’s rising!”

“Tell me what to do,” I shout.

“Untie me! My hands, behind my back.”

I move along, hanging on to the rocks as I go, struggling against the currents. When I reach Tortue, I feel the thick rope underwater. It binds his hands tightly to a cluster of sharp, rocky protrusions behind him.

Blindly, I tug at the complicated mess of knots.

“You okay, Z?” Wendell calls from outside.

“Tortue’s tied up!” I yell back.

“I’m coming in, Z!”

“No, Wendell! Stay in the boat. Keep the light shining here. You might need to go for help.” I don’t mention that there wouldn’t be time for that. The water is rising higher by the second, with each rush of tide. At this rate, within minutes, it’ll be over our heads. The knots are so tight and complex, I’m barely making any progress.

“We need the knife,” Tortue gasps, struggling to raise his head high enough to breathe. “Strapped under the seat on my boat.”

I gauge whether I have time to get back to the boat. “Wendell!” I call. “The knife, under the seat!” I start swimming toward the cave entrance. Another huge wave pushes me back inside. I look back and see Tortue’s head underwater now. As the wave rushes out, it exposes his mouth, and he desperately sucks air in.

As fast as I can, I swim to the entrance of the cave, propelled by the outrush of water. Wendell holds the fish-gutting knife out toward me. I just manage to grab it and swim back inside with the next rush of tide. The wave smashes me against the back wall. There are only a few inches of air at the ceiling of the cave now.

I can’t see Tortue at all now. He’s fully underwater. God, is he dead?

I take a deep breath and lower myself, my hands searching the churning foam for his hands. Every second feels like an eternity. Finally, I locate the network of ropes holding Tortue’s wrists. He doesn’t seem to be moving. In the chaos of white currents, I can’t tell if he’s still conscious. How long has it been? One minute? Two? Or more?

Adrenaline coursing through me, I tear off the sheath and slide the knife between his wrist and the rope, slicing through the wet fibers, hoping I’m not slicing into his flesh. I strain to cut through the thick strands.
Come on, come on!

How long can a person go without oxygen? It can’t be this long. But Lupita said Tortue could hold his breath for a long time when he went diving as a kid. I pray he still can.
Please, Tortue, hang in there!

Once, twice, three slices through the rope. And he’s free.

With all my might, I pull up my father.
Be alive!

He breaks through the surface, gasping for breath, coughing and sputtering.
Thank God
.

I want to collapse, cry from pure, sweet relief. But there’s no time. Another rush of tide pounds us. As it races out, I push off from the wall, pulling Tortue with me, going with its momentum. We’re nearly out when another wave heads toward us.

“Grab on!” Wendell shouts, stretching out a paddle. Tortue and I lunge forward and clutch it just as the next waves hits. Wendell grips the oar as the water drags our bodies backward. We hang on, barely. The next lull comes, and Wendell heaves us into the boat.

Tortue is shivering violently. Wendell wraps him in a blanket, then starts pulling up the anchor. “We have to get you to shore, Tortue.”

“No, wait!” Tortue gasps. “It might not be safe.”

Wendell lets the anchor fall back down. There’s enough light to see the fear in his eyes. “Why?”

Tortue’s voice is raw. “My brother. This morning, after I left you, I took a nap under my boat. When I woke up, Pepe was standing there.”

My heart starts thudding anew.

“He said he wanted to apologize, clear up some things. Told me his friends had tried to get him involved in some shady deals, but he wanted out. Said he realized that his family was all that mattered.” Tortue pauses, choked with emotion.

I stare in shock. “And you believed him?”

He nods. “I know, it was stupid of me. But he’s my brother. I had to give him a chance. He said he wanted to right his wrongs. Asked if we could go for a ride, for old time’s sake.” Tortue wraps the blanket around himself more tightly. “As we rode out here, every place we passed held memories. We even laughed, remembering good times. Pepe asked me to stop the boat here. This was a cave we came to as kids when the tide was out, when it was safe. He suggested we swim inside.”

I clutch my head. “And you did?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes,” he says, lowering his gaze. “At the heart of it, I just couldn’t believe my own brother would harm me.”

I take this in. I admit, Pepe had me fooled for a while. He’s incredibly manipulative, charming, well-practiced at lying. It’s terrible but not surprising that he’d wield these skills on his brother.

“So then what?” Wendell urges.

“Pepe jumped in. I did the same. We swam around, splashing each other like kids. Then I blacked out. Next thing I remember, he’s tying my hands. My head ached. He must’ve hit me with a rock.” Tortue’s voice breaks. “I kept saying, ‘
Hermano
—brother, how can you do this to me?’ ”

I reach out, touch his shoulder, trying to find the right words. “I’m so sorry, Tortue.”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “The water wasn’t high yet, but we both knew the tide would come in soon. Pepe finished tying me up without a word. His eyes—they were so cold. After he climbed back in the boat, he said, ‘You should never have come back. That land is mine.’

“I asked him if he was guilty of the poaching so many years ago. He laughed and said of course.” Tortue pauses. “He said that to reach your dreams, you have to make sacrifices. Or sacrifice others.

“And then, before I could say another word, he left.” Tortue wipes away tears with his wrist. “He left me to drown.”

“I don’t understand,” Wendell says after a moment. “Why didn’t he just kill you?”

“He’s a coward.” Tortue spits out the words. “He has his friends do his dirty work. Or the ocean tides.” He takes a long breath. “I knew I had to live, Zeeta. I knew you were waiting for me—with my whole family. I had to survive. So I called to Gracia.”

He looks down at her, swimming in circles by the boat. “And
qué milagro
—what a miracle—she came! She came to the cave opening and I could just see her head, but she couldn’t fit inside. ‘Go,’ I told her. ‘Go to Wendell and Zeeta.’ It was my only chance. Hours passed, and I’d almost given up hope when I heard the boat’s motor.”

He looks at me, his eyes welling up.
“Gracias, mija, gracias.”

I lean forward, open my arms to him. This time, he meets me halfway. And my father and I share our first hug—cold and wet, but somehow, perfect.

After a moment, Wendell asks, “Ready to go?”

“One moment,” Tortue murmurs, peering over the edge at Gracia, who’s drifting beside us, just within arm’s reach. We each stroke her leathery shell, worn and scarred, and
whisper
“Gracias.”
She meets our gazes with her ancient eyes, then swims away into the darkness.

“Let’s paddle back,” Tortue says. “I don’t know if Pepe’s out there somewhere. He might notice my boat’s gone. Might be waiting for us at Playa Mermejita. We have to approach carefully.”

Wendell flicks off the light and hands me an oar. Slowly, we paddle around the rock outcropping toward the beach. “See anything?” Wendell asks.