If we should meet [Gryles]

In a corner of the world

10 DAYS LEFT, AUGUST 11th, in a corner of the world

The ocean susurrated through the window, but its reach had decreased since last night, and now Harry needed to strain to hear it. Briefly he had considered perching on the balcony until sunrise, but someone had restocked the minibar and Nick had flashed this ankle bracelet he'd bought at the market, and Harry hadn't been able to keep from laughing. They had spent at least an hour nursing the strain Nick had contracted to his leg, when it had shot up to display his find.

"Don't let me guess what you're thinking about," Nick said.

Harry didn't look over, but he heard the sleep in his voice, streaked with a smile.

"Tomorrow is August twelfth," Harry said. "Lionel is supposed to be back with his family by then."

One of the towels strewn on the floor came over Harry's face. He spat. Threads and dust and hair, from the touch of it, swarmed his undefended tongue.

"What is this? Your idea of a wake-up call?"

"You looked so gloomy," Nick said, now rising to his forearms. "Wanted to break that streak."

"We've never had much time to talk about it. The plane has to take off today."

"Sure," he said. "Not that we talked about what happened when you and Olsson came back late for dinner, either."

"You didn't seem much up for talking."

"Neither did you."

Harry pulled himself up against the headrest of cushions. Arms crossed, his gaze strayed to the curtains just veiling the sea, before it found its way to Nick. It always seemed to.

What he had asked was if Nick had been the only one to put together their shopping list. Nick was supposed to follow along with Collette and the entourage on a hike during most of the next day, so when they hadn't dined, or taken care of the day's "shopping", they had prepared for the hike.

Nick had answered that, no, the journal had wandered between Alexa, George and himself. The ice sculpture was nowhere in sight at the Mandala. Harry had begun suspecting that Aimee and Ian had received their share of the journal as well. In the flurry of bags and sneakers and champagne glasses, he never had a chance to ask.

"When are they coming back?" Harry asked.

"I'd hope this evening. There's a chance of finding another possible sword-swallower, over the mountains. Also, there's a bar, on the east coast, which I've honestly just heard rumours about. I've invested my time in other activities." His knuckles jutted into Harry's shoulder. "Collette was very adamant about it."

"With the indoor fountain of just, booze and booze? And the trophy mount of gecko heads?"

"You've been. Of course."

"And that's what they're doing."

"Among other things."

Nick rested his head on the hill of duvet in Harry's lap, hair still sullen with salt when Harry touched it. Coughs sounded somewhere down the hall.

Nick grunted. "I don't think the drugs are helping."

"Pharmaceuticals," Harry said. "Should we try drugs?"

"She is. But it's been a week, and in this heat – something should have happened. We'll do something for her tonight, to cheer her up."

"What are some of her bulletins on the shopping list?"

"Not too many, actually."

"And George?"

The coughs reappeared, hostile projectiles building with each foot travelled. Nick leaned into his touch, looked past the balcony at the waves.