Unbroken Connection Read online

  Leesie327 says: And you’re going to follow her down here and live under her bed?

  Gr8phil says: I’m applying…might even make the team.

  Leesie327 says: For real? You think you can get in?

  Gr8phil says: You’re not the only one who can get good grades. You don’t own the place, you know.

  Leesie327 says: You here? That would be so cool. We could do Sunday dinner together every week.

  Gr8phil says: You’d want to have Sunday dinner with me?

  Leesie327 says: And Krystal. She’s almost family, right?

  Gr8phil says: I thought you’d be mad. BYU is your thing.

  Leesie327 says: But it’s kind of a gigantic thing to hog all to myself. I think we can share.

  Gr8phil says: Cool. Listen, could you help Krystal with her housing? She can’t figure out the online system.

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10

  DIVE BUDDY: Karen

  DATE: 10/28

  DIVE #: 1,251

  LOCATION: Mergui Archipelago, Myanmar

  DIVE SITE: Black Rock

  WEATHER CONDITION: Sunny

  WATER CONDITION: current

  DEPTH: 105’

  VISIBILITY: 80+

  WATER TEMP.: 78

  BOTTOM TIME: 50 minutes

  COMMENTS:

  Shark Cave yesterday. Black Rock today. This place is freaking amazing. Other world. It’s like we’re on a tropical planet, exploring a pristine island continent that’s ours alone. Quiet, peaceful, untouched. Virgin.

  Topside it’s blue coves, bleached limestone cliffs, vivid rainforest, white sand beaches with no footprints. Monkeys calling to each other. One island is even supposed to have tigers.

  Under the water, I’m in a forest of brilliant orange fan corals—five to six feet across—and multi-colored soft corals. A bounty of fish.

  Yesterday, we swam into the big cavern entrance—only about 20 feet deep. We swam down as it got deeper, narrower, and narrower. Along with the current there was a definite surge. My perfect couple was patient, hung there waiting to be moved forward, kicking only when the tension in the water relaxed. The surge threw Karen. She kicked and kicked against it. Wore herself out.

  We spotted a couple giant nurse sharks as soon as we entered the tunnel. Towards the end of the dive, Claude took his divers into a tunnel chamber through a small hole. We swam on. And wham, right smack ahead of us coming the other direction we came face to face with a big grey reef shark swimming down the middle of the tunnel. That even made me take a double breath. Adrenaline surge for sure. We kept low and to the side, and it swam past us—glaring with its strange opaque eyes. Captain Jean told us to be careful of the grays. They are not playful pups like the nurse sharks.

  But Shark Cave was nothing compared to Black Rock today. Four dives. Each one full of the big guys. Two bull sharks—kept away from them. All kinds of reef sharks. Zebra morays. A pair of cuttle fish—white, gold, black and brown—tinges of orange in the sunnier shallow water, alien creatures, flailing twisty fins. Swimming all over each other. Mating, I guess. Rays. A couple of eagles right off. A massive manta on the third dive. And then on our last dive of the day, we saw an entire squadron of black and white rays—mottled like a leopard—that I’ve never seen before.

  Got to work on my fish ID. Karen’s amazing. She studied up.

  “Keeps me sane.” She’s sitting across from me filling out the papers for the Nitrox course I convinced her to take. “I have a boring, boring desk job in a boring, boring office.”

  “I thought you’d be a teacher. Or a nurse.”

  “A nurse?”

  “You look after everyone.”

  “Must be the mother in me. I’ve got two daughters—eighteen and twenty. You should meet them.”

  “Do they dive?”

  “No, this is my gig.”

  “They aren’t interested?”

  “After my husband died—cancer—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nods, accepting my condolences with ease, practice. “I needed something to keep me breathing. I had the girls but—”

  “Saltwater heals.”

  “Exactly. You say that like you’ve been there. What’s your story?”

  I take the papers, glance over them, sign the bottom. “Did you hear about the Dive Festiva? In Belize? Hurricane Isadore?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s me. Story of my life. Dead parents. Dead friends. Freaked out from flashbacks. Diving my brains out to try to wash it all away.”

  “Poor, boy.” From Karen, I don’t mind the pity. “You need a nice girl in your life.” She digs in her bag for her wallet.

  I frown, and my brows draw together.

  “Trouble there?” She rests her eyes on my face. Her cheeks get pinker. “I can’t imagine that.”

  I shake my head. If only it was still that easy. “Do you think nineteen is too young to get married?”

  She laughs. “I haven’t even shown you their pictures yet.” She reads serious in my eyes, sits back, and folds her arms. “My twenty-year-old daughter is living with her boyfriend. Can’t blame her. I did the same thing. But—as a mother—I wish they’d get married. He’s a nice enough guy, but my maternal instinct is to throttle him and tell him not to touch my daughter again. He could dump her. She could get pregnant. Who knows?”

  “Moms.” I chew on my lower lip.

  She smiles. “Yeah.”

  “Fathers are worse.”

  “Her father? The girl you want to marry.”

  “Yeah. Scares the hell out of me. He comes off friendly—calm. Actually, kind. Calls me, ‘son’, and all that. But, under the surface, the guy’s a steel trap. Touch my daughter and you die.”

  “A bit old-fashioned?”

  “Major religious.”

  “Well, there are other girls.”

  I manage a smile. “Not after this one.”

  Karen taps a rhythm on the table with her wallet. “So—she’s pushing marriage?”

  “I am.”

  “She’s—” Karen’s eyebrows go up.

  “Major religious, too. Wants me to join up.”

  “Now, that’s unreasonable. You should meet my youngest.” She flips open the wallet and flashes a picture of a pretty blonde girl, good body, showing it off. “Maybe it’s time she learned to scuba dive.”

  I laugh—so does she, and we go get dinner.

  LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 10/29 11:18 PM

  Kimbo69 says: Where’ve you been? You haven’t been online much.

  Leesie327 says: Michael’s out of reach, and I’m so tired. I’ve been catching up on everything—especially sleep. I called you three times, though. You never picked up.

  Kimbo69 says: My cell’s back in my dorm room.

  Leesie327 says: Oh, yuck. You still haven’t been back? How are you dealing?

  Kimbo69 says: You’ll love my new man.

  Leesie327 says: Shower guy?

  Kimbo69 says: Next to him Mark’s a little boy with his itsy, bitsy, dinky, winky… oops, forgot myself…no anatomy jokes with Leesie.

  Leesie327 says: So now you’re putting out for Shower Guy?

  Kimbo69 says: Actually, this guy is good…he puts out for me.

  Leesie327 says: Don’t you get sick of doing it with guys you don’t care about?

  Kimbo69 says: Sick of sex? Are you kidding? Be careful, your virginity is showing…sex is life—it’s how normal people live.

  Leesie327 says: But you’re just using each other. Don’t you think about love?

  Kimbo69 says: I did that with Mark…not making that mistake again.

  Leesie327 says: That’s so sad.

  Kimbo69 says: No it’s not…what’s sad is a frigid know-it-all who won’t look after the guy she says she loves.

  Leesie327 says: Whoa. Where’d that come from?

  Kimbo69 says: You’re such a fool to believe he hasn’t slept with anybody since he fell for you.

  Leesie3
27 says: That’s none of your business.

  Kimbo69 says: And my life is none of yours.

  Leesie327 says: You really mean that?

  Kimbo69 says: Why shouldn’t I?

  Leesie327 says: I care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. I don’t want something nasty to happen to you.

  Kimbo69 says: Nasty? Don’t be stupid…I’m bouncing back…you should read all the great poems I’ve milked out of this. Well, maybe you shouldn’t…definitely erotica.

  Leesie327 says: Good therapy?

  Kimbo69 says: I thought you weren’t into psych any more…don’t try to analyze me.

  Leesie327 says: Ouch.

  Kimbo69 says: Toughen up, chick…you won’t be able to stay in that lollipop paradise of yours forever.

  Leesie327 says: You seeing into my future?

  Kimbo69 says: Not hard to do. The whole Michael thing is an easy call…you’re going to have to get down to my level or give him up.

  Leesie327 says: That’s not what I see. He wants to marry me. If he loves me enough, he’ll take becoming a Mormon seriously. And then the Lord will do the rest.

  Kimbo69 says: Hah! Dream on…the guy is what he is… people can’t up and change just to fit some fantasy you had in high school.

  Leesie327 says: We’ll see.

  Kimbo69 says: Are you taking bets?

  Leesie327 says: I would never bet on something so important.

  Kimbo69 says: Nope…you would never bet on something so shaky.

  Leesie327 says: Your opinion.

  Kimbo69 says: You asked for it.

  Leesie327 says: No. I don’t think I did.

  Kimbo69 says: Reality sucks but you need to face it.

  Leesie327 says: Life doesn’t have to be like that.

  Kimbo69 says: Talk to me again when you’re ready to join MY club…down here on earth… where we know what’s important and get it.

  Leesie327 says: I could never live like you do.

  Kimbo69 says: Are you calling me a slut? A whore?

  Leesie327 says: No. You called yourself that.

  Kimbo69 says: But that’s what you think…that’s what you’ve always thought.

  Leesie327 says: Well, that’s how you act.

  Kimbo69 says: And you are a frigid prude…I’d rather be a whore. Don’t call me anymore…you wouldn’t want to sully those icy white fingers.

  Leesie327 says: Kim sign back on. Did you block me? I’m sorry. I think of you first as a friend. Kim?

  Chapter 13

  OFF TRACK

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10

  DIVE BUDDY: Karen

  DATE: 10/30

  DIVE #: 1,257

  LOCATION: Burma Banks

  DIVE SITE: Silvertip Bank

  WEATHER CONDITION: overcast

  WATER CONDITION: 4’ swells, current

  DEPTH: 152’

  VISIBILITY: 60’

  WATER TEMP.: 74 F

  BOTTOM TIME: 32 min.

  COMMENTS:

  Freak. Burma banks today. Long ways out from the other islands. These mountains don’t quite break the surface. Wild, open water diving conditions. Strongest current yet. This place is legendary.

  We make a quick descent in a tight pack. The Zodiac follows us close. I issued emergency whistles and bright orange safety sausages to everyone. The first dive goes off okay. Kind of barren. Not teeming like the other sites. This used to be the place for close shark encounters. We see one lonely nurse shark. And lots of white blasting scars on the reef. Dynamite fishing. Way to go, Myanmar. No freaking protection here.

  We’re all subdued on the surface. Shocked. The second dive is a bit better. Nice wall. The sea floor is a thousand feet down. Not the viz you get in Cayman, but the coral here is better—at least where it’s not blown up.

  Karen has her camera along, gets behind taking a photo of a blasted spot. Evidence. Good for her. She’d be a good crusader.

  I notice she sank a bit deep while taking the photo. Easy to do. I’m at 95 feet. She must be around 110. I clank a metal clip on my tank to get her attention, move my hand in an upward motion to signal her to watch her depth. It’s time we all coast up to around 70 feet anyway.

  Karen pumps the button on the hose hanging from her B.C. to fill it with more air and give her more buoyancy—kicks to swim up to my level. A rapid stream of bubbles comes out of her scuba vest. Freak. The bladder inside must have burst. She starts sinking.

  I’m down to her in a shot, but we’re already at 130.

  She freezes, clings to me. I pump up my vest to max its lift and kick hard while I pull the weights out of one of her B.C. pockets and dump them. Karen snaps out of it and starts kicking, too. She’s on the verge of panic—breathing heavy—sucking through way too much air. At this depth, she’ll be sharing my tank soon. I’ve got plenty, but we’ll need to do extra deco time to make up for going this deep. I think we can make it to the emergency air dangling at the end of a hose off the back of the Zodiac.

  We stop sinking at 150 feet. Start back up. She wants to rush. Dangerous. I keep it slow. I motion with my hands to calm her down. Check her eyes. Kind of wild. I tap her facemask and then mine. She shoves her computer in my face and focuses on my eyes. The computer is going nuts with alarms and flashing numbers. I nod. Slow. Reassuring. I know how to deal with this. Trained long hours to deal with this.

  My computer signals me to stop at 80 feet for our first decompression stop. Karen is over buoyant now without half her weights and the empty tank. I can tell she’s getting freaked. Maybe she’s narc’d. I don’t think she understands why we’re stopping here. Remember your training, Karen. Our blood is chocked full of nitrogen. If we hang here nice and calm for a few minutes, it can come out of solution in tiny bubbles that won’t hurt us. If we skip this extra deco time, the nitrogen bubbles will be too big. She’ll get the bends. You know this, Karen. Come on. Remember your training.

  I hold up my computer and show her the timer—point to the seconds ticking down.

  She shows me her air supply gauge.

  Almost gone. Okay. I reach to hand her my octopus, the spare reg rigged to my tank. I’ve got plenty of O2 for her.

  Instead of taking the mouthpiece like she should be trained to do, she lets go of me and shoots to the surface.

  Freak. This can’t be happening.

  I swim after her. No way can I stay down here safely decompressing. If she panicked and held her breath, she could be unconscious and hemorrhaging on the surface from an embolism—exploded air sacs—in her lungs. Or bent pretty bad. Crap. This could kill her.

  But on the surface, she’s laughing. “Gosh, we made it. That was close. Damn this old vest. Do you have an extra rental?”

  “Breathe from this.” I stick my octopus in her mouth. I’m diving with Nitrox—extra oxygen in the mix. She hasn’t qualified for it yet. She needs all the O2 she can get to minimize whatever damage all that nitrogen is doing inside her body. “I’ll get you on oxygen back on the boat.”

  “What do you mean? I’m fine. I exhaled all the way.”

  “Just a precaution. You might get bent.”

  She laughs it off.

  We’re behind the Zodiac following the main group so they don’t see us on the surface. I fumble to find the emergency whistle clipped to my B.C., blow it and then blow into my long, orange safety sausage. Freak. I should have done this underwater. It just takes a puff of air at depth. Good they see us.

  Karen’s fingers and the side of her face tingle by the time we get to the Queenie N. Bad sign. She’s got decompression sickness. The nitrogen bubbles are already blocking capillaries, starving her tissues. We’ll have to get her to a chamber for treatment. I hope the pain doesn’t get too bad. The faster we get there the less permanent nerve damage she’ll have.

  I get Karen on O2 while Captain Jean calls everyone in. And we motor out of there at top speed. She stays really calm—scared, but not in a knot screaming from the pain. The oxygen must be he
lping.

  Freak, her right thigh goes numb twenty minutes later.

  The tip of my nose itches, but it’s nothing.

  The closest decompression chamber is in Phuket Town. Freak. Who knows how many hours that’s going take?

  We get to the dock at Rangon in two and a half hours. Jean really booked it—kept the old girl at top speed the whole way. We wait another thirty for the helicopter.

  As we shift Karen onto a gurney, she grimaces and says, “All this fuss. I’m sorry.”

  I pat her hand. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She watches the Thai EMT strapping her onto a gurney. “Please.”

  Claude tosses me a shirt, and I follow the EMTs off the Queen N., duck as I run to the helicopter and climb in.

  I squat down by Karen as the tech places the helicopter’s O2 mask on her face. I take her hand and stroke it. She squeezes mine.

  “Just breathe.” I glance at the tech, and he nods. “Nice and slow. Deep breaths. Good. Now blow it out, slowly, slowly. Now breathe in deep again. Hold it if you can. Let the oxygen go to your brain. Good. Again.”

  Karen closes her eyes against the sun streaming through the helicopter window. I think her head hurts. I shift to block it. “You’re going to be okay.” I pat her hand.

  She’s not going to end up screaming at me with Isadore in my dreams every night like my mom did. I knew what to do this time.

  Karen moans.

  I lean over and whisper, “You’re going to be okay.”

  LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

  POEM #56,WHERE ARE YOU TONIGHT?

  Roomy conference. Subject? Tawni.

  Lily starts. “She drank all my soy milk.”

  Dayla and Cadence look at me.

  Roxi grins, can’t resist—

  “Maybe she has a death wish.”

  Lily’s fat bottom lip gets fatter.

  “Not funny.”

  My laptop is open in front of me.

  Tawni does eat everyone’s food.

  And that’s definitely not funny.

  When I run out; I’m out—same with