Free Vitro by Jessica Khoury

he’d have to find a way to haul it to a mechanic. And then he’d have to find a way to pay the mechanic.
But try as he might to keep his mind occupied with these problems, his thoughts kept coming back to Sophie Crue. The initial surprise when he’d first realized who she was. Her constant nervous movement in the plane, toying with the instruments and with his mom’s beads. And then that Nicholas, his hands on Sophie’s, drawing her away, his eyes devouring her like a circling shark.
“Damn,” Jim whispered, letting his head fall against the seat. He stared at the beads swinging from the ceiling. They glowed white, as if lit from within, and he could almost hear his mother’s voice singing the poem: Taya’ mina’lak sin hinemhum, taya’ tatauau sin anining . . . She was the only American he’d ever known who could sit with the Chamorro women as they wove hats to sell to the tourists, and who could sing and compose verses out of thin air. She’d taken to Guam more quickly and deeply than Jim or his father ever had, but that hadn’t stopped her from running away to the U.S. with the first stranger who gave her a second look.
Jim shut his eyes, let out a deep sigh, and then slipped out of the plane for the second time. He waded ashore, his boots over his shoulder, and walked through the shallows until he reached the point where the channel was narrowest. He twisted his torso back and forth, loosening his sore muscles as best he could, then plunged into the water.
The tide was low, but not so low that the current flowing between the islands was gone. It pulled at him, drawing him ever east, and he struggled with all his strength against it. The water had been rising instead of falling; the tide was coming in, not out, as he’d assumed. After over a decade of living on an island, he had the tide schedule fairly well memorized. It must have been later in the morning than he had thought. It took the last of his strength to make it to the opposite shore, and when he reached it, he collapsed in the sand and gasped for air, his body screaming with pain from the crash, hauling the logs and the plane, sleeping crunched up in the cockpit. Should have gone home and left well enough alone.
Well. It was too late now. He couldn’t swim back, not until he’d rested and the tide had receded. Either he could sit here and wait or he could follow through on his harebrained plan of finding Sophie and making sure she was okay.
He rolled onto his back and groaned, then slowly rose to his feet. Water trickled down his face and his back and dripped from his hair. He had a nearly overwhelming thirst; what little water he’d brought with him he’d drunk the day before. To top that off, he was starving enough to catch a fish and eat it raw.
Maybe they’d have something to eat at the Corpus center. If he said he was with Sophie, maybe her mom could pull some strings, get him cleared, and just give him some food and a Coke and then they could all go their separate ways, no harm done.
He laughed aloud. If only. He doubted it would be as simple as that.
Jim pulled on his wet boots and began the trek across Skin Island.
    When he reached the southern shore, dawn was already unfolding in the east, an origami masterpiece of scarlet and orange. The trees seemed kissed with fire, the edges of the leaves glowing with golden light. The beauty of the tropical sunrise was lost on Jim, who had seen it a thousand times already. His attention was divided between keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings and thinking of reasons why he should turn around and go home while he still had the chance.
    He stood on a narrow beach at the foot of a high bluff, below the big hotel building that seemed to be the center of activity on Skin Island. He’d seen it on his approach, watched a few doctors and guards come and go. Then the bluff rose to hide it from sight, until he could only make out the roof from where he now stood. He climbed up the bluff, finding ample