The Millionaires (37 page)

A
t three in the morning, her car now blocking the fire hydrant in front of Maggie Caruso’s building, Joey promised herself
she wouldn’t fall asleep. At three-thirty, she rolled down her window, so the cold would keep her awake. By four, her head
sagged. By four-thirty, it flopped back into the headrest. Then, at exactly ten minutes to five, a sharp, shrill beep jolted
her awake.

Blinking herself back to the waking world, she chased the sound down to the lit-up screen of her global positioning system.
The bright blue triangle was once again moving across the digital map, straight down the West Side Highway. Pulling the screen
onto her lap, she watched as Gallo’s car weaved its way toward the tip of the city. It was like a primitive videogame she
had no control of. At first, she thought they were headed back to Brooklyn, but when they blew past the entrance to the bridge
and instead shot up the FDR Drive, she felt a flame blaze at the back of her neck. There were only a few things open this
late. Or this early.
Aw, don’t tell me they’re
…

The tiny triangle turned onto the 59th Street Bridge, and when Joey saw it make its way toward the Grand Central Parkway,
she cranked the ignition and took off. At the top of the digital map, the blue triangle veered straight toward it. The most
popular five
A.M.
destination in Queens: La Guardia Airport.

S
inking under the waves, I float like an astronaut and plummet into darkness. Bubbles rise all around me, bouncing against
the front of my mask. I crane my neck up at the only source of light, but the deeper I fall, the faster it fades. Sea green
becomes dark blue becomes a cloud of pitch black. Just breathe, I tell myself as I force a raspy puff of air through the mouthpiece.
I suck in again and it sounds like a respirator. No waves, no wind, no background noise. Just the gurgling echo of my own
breath. And Gillian saying my name.

Don’t even think about it—not now. But some things can’t be ignored. She probably heard it from Charlie. He said my name at
least a dozen times in the garage. Struggling to remain calm, I search around for reassurance, but everything—in every direction—it’s
all dark. I grab my nose to pop my ears and a wave of tiny fluorescent fish zip by my face. I duck to the left and they’re
gone. Back to black. It’s like swimming through ink. And then—a white lightsaber slices through the dark. Gillian’s flashlight.
She shines it at me, then back on herself. She was right next to me the entire time.

C’mon,
she motions, trying to get me to follow. I hesitate, but quickly realize she has the only light. Besides, after what she
said about Charlie—there’s no way I’m proving her right.

She kicks her legs, and her flippers whip through the water. The way she moves—the graceful stretch of her arms—it’s like
she’s flying. Behind her, I fight to keep up, thrashing my arms in a violent breaststroke. It’s harder than I thought. For
every few inches I swim forward, the underwater current seems to push me back. She looks over her shoulder to see if I’m following,
then quickly picks up speed. Whatever she wanted me to see, we’re getting close.

Swimming forward, she shines the light outward and it hits a beige wall. Then I notice the way her air bubbles slide down
her back. That’s not a wall. It’s the floor. We’re at the bottom.

Instinctively, I spin myself upright. My breathing quickens; I’m not sure why.

I look to my right, but the mask blocks my peripheral vision. I quickly turn my head to both sides. There’s nothing to see.
No one’s there. That is, until something slithers up against the left side of my neck.

Jerking wildly, I spin back and grab it by the throat. In front of me, Gillian whips around and shines the light my way. There
it is. My attacker: the inanimate inflation hose that’s supposed to float next to me while I swim. Assaulted by my own octopus.

You okay there?
Gillian motions with a sarcastic hand on her hip.

Floating helplessly, I just nod.

Once again, she dives toward the darkness. Once again, I follow.

She shines the light to survey the ocean floor, but all we’ve got are some swaying green plants, loose shells, and what looks
like a rusty, abandoned lobster trap. Turning herself rightside-up, Gillian snaps her flippers and a snowglobe of sand swirls
around her.

Not much further,
she motions by holding her pointer finger only a few inches from her thumb. She lets out a huge breath of air and the bubbles
rise between us. Tracing the slant of the ground downward, she swims out even deeper. As I breaststroke behind her, she just
keeps going. From where I’m watching—the way she holds the light against her chest—the outline of her body glows with a shimmering
halo. It’s like chasing a firefly through an underwater forest.

A convex black wall rises up from the sand and comes to a point right above our heads. To the left, it continues on further
than the flashlight lets us see. With her hand sliding across its chipped metal surface, Gillian swims to the right and quickly
turns the corner. Above a broken rudder and missing propeller, the words
Mon Dieu II—Les Cayes, Haiti
run perpendicular toward the ocean floor. Even when it’s turned on its side, there’s no mistaking a sunken ship.

The moment I see it, my breathing again starts to quicken. It’s like standing outside an abandoned house. Freaky and cool,
but there’s no reason to go in. Gillian, of course, sees it differently. Wasting no time, she swims around to the back deck,
leaving me in a blur of bubbles. By the time I catch up, she’s already investigating—shining the light up and down the barely
rotted deck. There’s a bit of greenish brown moss, but not much—it hasn’t been down here long.

Straight above us, a silver flash catches my eye. At first, I assume it’s the metal railing that surrounds the deck, but as
Gillian lifts the light, I quickly realize that’s just part of it. Bolted to the deck and perpendicular to the ground, a red-and-white
Coca-Cola machine sways open above our heads. Inside, all the cans are gone. No doubt about it—the rustbucket little ship
hit a rock and got picked clean. Haiti steals sodas from us; we steal ’em right back. Only in Miami.

I turn to share the joke with Gillian, but to my surprise, the only thing there is the flashlight—sitting on the ocean floor,
pointed up at the Coke machine. Confused, I glance around the ship. No one’s there. Above my head, the door of the machine
continues to swing with the tide.

“Illian… ?” I whisper through the mouthpiece, though I know she can’t hear me. Spinning around, I crane my neck in every direction.
A cold wave of water shoves me in the chest. I don’t understand. Gillian’s gone.

Reaching down, I grab the flashlight and shine it out across the horizontal plane. In front of me, a trail of bubbles leads
straight to the boat’s two-story cabin. The door’s missing from the doorframe and the glass has been pulled from the porthole
windows, but even from here I can see how dark it is. I shake my head to myself. No way I’m going in there.

A minute later, the trail of bubbles is long gone. And still no Gillian. I shine the light at the doorframe of the cabin.
No movement. No puffs of air. Slowly, I swim closer, mentally replaying every teenage slasher flick I ever laid eyes on. At
the door, I hammer the flashlight against the metal hull. It clangs with a low vibration. There’s no way she’d miss it. Not
unless she was stuck… or needed help.

I kick my flippers and glide through the door. The light flicks around, but it’s still hard to get my bearings. It’s a small
galley—big enough for three or four people—and the sink, the stove, even the countertops are all on their side. In the corner,
a ladder that usually runs up to the second floor now runs horizontally. Same with the stairs that go down to the cargo hold.
The ceiling’s on my right; the floor’s on my left. When I look up, two empty wood cabinets sway open like the Coke machine.
In between them is an open porthole window. Weightlessness hits hard and the room starts to spin.

I do my best to follow the bubbles, but the confined space is getting the best of me. The walls ripple like they’re made of
mercury. It’s like looking through melted glass. My stomach cartwheels and the taste of vomit bites me in the back of the
throat. Oh, God—if I puke in the airhose… Frantically, I spin to my left, searching for the door. Instead, I’m face-to-face
with the linoleum floor. It doesn’t make sense. I wheel around, but nothing’s familiar. The whole world kaleidoscopes as light-headedness
sets in. I grab my chest, panting like a rabid dog. I swear, the room’s getting smaller. And darker. Everything—in every direction—it
all goes gray.

A sharp jab hits me in the back and two arms lock around my chest. We flip sideways and I’m not sure which way’s up. The impact
knocks the flashlight from my hands and it tumbles in slow motion toward the bottom. As it falls, the whole room flickers
like a disco. Fighting free, I spin back and face Gillian. I can barely see her through all the bubbles. Her arms thrash wildly,
gripping and grabbing at the front lower part of my vest. It’s the only thing holding my air in place. Why’s she trying to
unhook it? Panicking, I hold her by the wrists. She digs in her nails. Refusing to give up, she comes at me again, clawing
in a mad rage. But this time, I get a look at her eyes.

“
Please… trust me,
” she begs with a glance.

Desperately, her hand charges out. A plastic hook flips open, and my weight belt falls away. In a blur, Gillian grabs me by
the lapels and shoves me backwards. Following her gaze, I look straight up—and just as I see the open porthole window—she
finally lets me go. Without the weight belt, I rise like a human cork. She gives me a final tug to make sure I don’t bang
the tank on the way out, but after that, I’ve got a clear shot to the surface.

Swimming madly to catch up, Gillian points to her mouth, reminding me to breathe. I let out a huge puff of air and stare up
through the water. Black becomes dark blue becomes sea green. She grabs my hand to make sure I don’t rise too fast. Don’t
blow it now, Oliver. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

We crack the surface and the cool night air whips against my face. Next to me, Gillian’s already inflating her vest.

“You okay? Can you breathe?” she asks frantically as she swims to my side. Holding me up, she hits the button on my inflation
tube and the vest starts to hiss. It hugs my ribs and squeezes my stomach. Right there, I dry-heave, but the vomit never comes.

“Is that better? Are you okay?” she asks again.

Bobbing in the water, I barely hear the question. Slowly, the color in my vision locks into focus. “Wh-Why’d you leave me?”
I ask her.

“Leave you?”

“On the ship—I turned around and you were gone.”

“I thought you saw me—I waved as I left…”

“Then why didn’t you take me with you?”

“For the exact reason I had to pull you out—going down is one thing—navigating
inside
a wreck… the disorientation… that’s not something you try on your first dive.”

“And that’s the
real
reason?”

“What other reason would th—?” Her eyes go wide like I jammed a scalpel in her ribs. “Y-you think I… I’d never abandon you…
I wouldn’t leave
anyone
like that.” Her voice cracks as she says the words. It’s like she can’t comprehend it. Letting go of me, she slowly floats
away.

“Gillian…”

“I’d never hurt you…”

“I’m not saying you would, it’s just… when you said my real name—”

“In the house—your brother said it.”

“I figured… but when I turned around—when you were gone—I just got scared.”

“But to think I’d… God! This is… this is where I come before I paint… growing up—even now—this is home. If I thought you didn’t
trust me, I… I never would’ve invited you.”

Stretching across the water, I grab the shoulder of her vest. “If I didn’t trust you, Gillian, I never would’ve come.”

She shoots me a lasting glance, digesting each word.

“I’m serious,” I quickly add. “I wouldn’t be here if I—”

Her hand flies out like a dart, grabs me by the back of my neck, and reels me in for a soft, smooth kiss. The salty taste
on her tongue stings in the best way possible. Underneath, her fingers flick the zipper on my chest.

As we bob in the ocean, the wind’s cold, it’s completely dark, and it’s going to be a bitch of a swim to get back to the boat.
But right now, with the neon lights behind us, I’m just enjoying my kiss.