Make Me Disappear Read online

  “Hey, did you know that Hemingway got marooned at Fort Jefferson for seventeen days on one of his trips with his group? They meant to only stay a week but bad weather trapped them.”

  “I did not know that,” Jake said. “You’re a veritable font of Hemingway information, aren’t you?”

  “They had enough liquor and coffee for the whole time.”

  “No doubt.”

  “But they had to fish for food after the first week.”

  “No power bars back then,” Jake said.

  “Nope.”

  “Let’s snorkel, shall we?” Jake asked. Mabel nodded enthusiastically, and Jake prepared the boat to head to the west side of the island, a prime snorkeling area. In moments they had donned their bathing suits and were in the warm, inviting water, where they gloried in the sight of turtles and parrotfish, dozens of smaller, brightly colored tropical fish, and even one large, slowly moving reef shark.

  When they had thoroughly examined the region, they swam back to the boat and climbed aboard, Mabel feeling lighthearted and unworried once more. Jake prepared the yellowtail for lunch, and she didn’t think she’d ever tasted anything better.

  “You say that every time you eat anything,” Jake laughed, poking her in the ribs.

  “I enjoy food; so sue me,” she said.

  “I enjoy you enjoying it. I just wonder if it’ll ever put any meat on your bones. Maybe you need to chew more carefully,” he suggested. She smiled, and they finished their meal off with some gourmet chocolate chip cookies Jake had picked up at the specialty grocery store. Mabel wiped her mouth and sighed contentedly.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now, we fish some more. We need more dinners, after all, unless you want to live off the power bars, which I definitely do not. What do you say?”

  “Can’t wait!”

  They tacked around the island again, sailing out to where fishing was permitted, and baited their hooks. Casting them into the water, they waited. Mabel noticed the Presto 30 sailing to the east and pointed it out to Jake.

  “Dan is probably headed home, but I wouldn’t do it if I were him. He ought to wait out the weather that’s coming, like we’re going to. The Gulf can get pretty dicey for a beginner, especially.”

  They caught several small grouper and a nice yellowtail and filleted them, putting them on ice. Jake listened to the radio for a while and confirmed that there was a storm brewing. He pointed out the thunderheads in the distant east, and shook his head.

  “Hope Dan does all right,” he said.

  The next two days were full of exploring the various reefs and fishing until their bait was almost gone. Mabel and Jake played Yahtzee and talked until deep into the night about anything and everything. Everything, that is, except Mabel’s past. Sometimes the breaks in the conversation would stretch out in the empty air, and Mabel would feel the truth upon her lips, just waiting there to be spoken aloud, but she always snatched it back before it could fall, irretrievable and life-altering, into Jake’s ear.

  If she told Jake the truth, nothing would be the same, of this she was certain. He would have to call the authorities, and at the very least, she’d have to go to trial, go back to Oklahoma, a place she considered forever accursed. And what then? Prison?

  Maybe she’d be found not guilty, an idea she found unlikely. After all, she had murdered Gail in cold blood; stabbing her in the throat as she smoked a cigarette on the back porch. No jury would find her innocent. But even if they did, so what? More foster homes, more uncertainty. She’d lose this magnificent freedom, this marvelous bit of paradise that she had found with Jake under the vast ocean-reflecting sky. No. She would remain Jane Ennis for as long as she possibly could, for as long as it was up to her.

  Jake, for his part, never pushed for the truth of her past, though he did wonder. It entered his mind that perhaps she wasn’t eighteen at all; perhaps she was younger, and she should be in school. This thought burrowed into his subconscious and niggled occasionally. That she was smart was no question; she was wicked smart, and strong, and fierce, and he thought she deserved the very best that life could offer.

  Maybe that was this: a life on the ocean as his first mate. She certainly seemed to enjoy it. But she was so very young. What of her next steps? What future did she have? She had no opportunity to ever have her own place, her own love, her own family. She had no insurance, no retirement plan. She met no one new and didn’t seem to want to. It was very apparent that she was running from something, but what? What could someone so young be running from? How long before it caught up to her? And how would he be implicated in the drama?

  One day, he told himself, everything was certain to change, for that was the way life was. Fluid. For now, however, he was going to live in the moment with her, enjoying the pleasures of the Gulf and the Florida Keys as thoroughly as possible. And if the past ever came knocking, he would bar and lock the door if necessary to keep her safe.

  Twelve

  On the third day of their vacation, Jake set the sails and pointed the vessel back to the west. The weather had cleared once more and all looked well for their passage across the Gulf. Some contrary wind was blowing, but with Jake’s skills, it was hardly any trouble at all to make it work for them instead of against them. He showed Mabel the finer points of sailing a zig zag pattern, close hauled beside the wind so that they still moved forward.

  Halfway to the Marquesas Islands, a ship appeared off their port bow, a form on its deck waving frantically. Jack and Mabel both realized with some dismay that they recognized it.

  The Presto 30 was beaten and bruised, its mast completely broken, the sails hanging uselessly. The entire ship was listing hard to starboard, and at the helm they could see the form of Dan, bailing buckets of water out from below deck and waving at the same time. Jake honked the horn and sailed towards the disabled craft.

  “Guess you found the bad weather,” Jake exclaimed, pulling up carefully and slowly along the port side of the Presto.

  “I guess so,” Dan said, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “I hit some really scary stuff, man, and I thought maybe I’d capsize. Broke my mast and I fouled my prop with something. I can’t get it to start. And my phone got wet so I couldn’t call for help. I should have listened to you.”

  “I’m sorry to see your boat in such rough shape,” Jake said. “But it’s nothing a little money can’t fix. Here, let’s see if we can’t get you some help from the coast guard, eh?”

  Jake pulled out his phone and stood, finger poised over the button to call.

  “Okay. Thanks, man. Jake, wasn’t it? And Jane?”

  Jake nodded.

  Dan tipped his cap to Mabel, but Mabel stared, a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Something was not right, though she couldn’t for the life of her put her finger on it.

  Jake had the phone to his ear, listening to it ring, while Dan reached out his hand to the lifeline and pulled hard. In an instant he had stepped onto the deck of Stella Luna, and just as quickly, pulled a gun out of the back of his pants.

  Raising the weapon, he squeezed off a quick succession of shots before Mabel could think to move: two straight into their radio, and one into Jake. He crumpled to the deck, his phone skittering into the water. Mabel screamed and lunged towards him but Dan intercepted her, grabbing her tightly in his arms and pointing the gun at her midsection as she struggled.

  “Shh, shh, shh,” he hissed into her ear. “Quiet, or you’ll get a bullet in your belly and a very nasty, prolonged death.”

  She quieted herself then, and became very still, mind racing. She could feel the familiar weight of her knife against her leg, and she slipped her hand in her pocket to get it. Before she could do anything else, however, Dan spun her around to face him.

  “I need something off that stupid boat before I take yours, okay? And you’re going to go over there and get it for me, or your friend there is going to get another bullet, and this one straight into his brain, got it?”


  She nodded, eyes wide and breathing hard.

  “It’s a duffel bag, okay? You’ll know it when you see it. Now get over there and get it. I’ll wait. No funny business.”

  Nimbly crossing to the other boat, Mabel went into the flooded cockpit and located the duffel. While in the depths of the Presto, she took out her pocket knife and opened it, slipping it back into her pocket swiftly. Lifting the sodden duffel in her arms, she carried it to Stella Luna. Dan snatched it from her and threw it below deck, pointing the gun at all times at her head. From the deck, Jake moaned and tried to get up.

  “Stay where you are if you know what’s good for you, you hear?” Dan shouted at him. He became still again, and Dan turned back to Mabel.

  “You’re mighty pretty,” he muttered. “And I haven’t gotten any in a very long time; not since the wife left me, you know? So I’ll be taking a happy little memory with me before I toss you two overboard.”

  “No,” Mabel said in a small voice. “No, please.”

  “Please, huh? Such pretty manners.”

  Dan moved closer, slowly backing her into the cockpit. In moments she was pinned to her berth, his breath hot on her cheek. The button on her shorts gave him trouble, and he wrested it off with a violent tug, but when he released her for a moment to unzip his cargo shorts, she lunged up, pocketknife flashing, and carved a wide slash across his face. Blood poured from the wound and he cried aloud, stumbling backwards, rage and surprise overtaking his features.

  The gun fired once, then twice, and Mabel felt her thigh burn fiercely, but the air once again blazed red before her eyes and she ran forward, stabbing with the knife until it was slick with blood. Dan stumbled backwards and up the steps, shooting blindly. Bullets flew past her ears and lodged in the woodwork behind her, but still she pressed forward until the man was stumbling up the stairs and across the deck, where she aimed one last slash at his throat as he toppled over the lifeline and into the water.

  Running to the cockpit, she fired up the engine and put the boat in gear, shooting away from the disabled Presto and the doomed man who was even at that moment screaming epithets into the space between them.

  Panting, she stepped over the lines to reach Jake. The air cleared of its red haze and she could see plainly that he was in desperate shape.

  There was a hole in his shoulder and it was bleeding freely. She stripped off her tank top and pressed it to the wound, running back to the first aid kit to find ace bandages, which she wound around his shoulder tightly, holding the top, which was rapidly turning from white to bright red, in place.

  She examined her own injured leg and winced. The bullet had grazed her thigh, the blood soaking her shorts and running down her leg, but she could see that the laceration was superficial and was even now drying up.

  “Jake? Jake, can you hear me?” she spoke to him, patting his cheek gently with one bloodied hand, and he stirred.

  “Jane? What happened?”

  “He shot you. Dan. He tried to kill us, but we got away. We got away, Jake. Don’t worry. We’ll be all right; just have to get back to Key West.”

  “Jane,” he said. “Jane.” And he was out again. Mabel fought tears, but as she nearly gave in to her grief, the engine coughed, sputtered, choked and died. Getting up, she crossed to the cockpit and tried to turn it on again. No luck.

  “Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!” she kicked the wall, crying out in pain as she did so.

  She reached for the radio, but even as she did so she knew it would not work. Bullets had completely obliterated its panel, as well as the navigation, and as she spoke into the receiver, nothing but dead air met her voice. She wept then, in frustration and fear, sweeping the horizon with her gaze in hopes of seeing another ship, but there was nothing but endless blue ocean.

  Looking up at the billowing sails, she felt hope revive briefly, but as she surveyed the destroyed navigation panel, a sense of doom overtook her. Without navigation, she would have no way to get back safely to Key West.

  Dear God, she prayed in desperation. If you’re there, send help.

  Thirteen

  Mabel was tired, and getting steadily more so. Her leg ached, and she tightened the bandage around it. She made Jake drink some water but he was growing noticeably weaker. The sun set, and with it went any of Jane’s ability to sail east with any certainty.

  “Jane,” Jake said faintly. “Jane, don’t forget to wing the jib. We’ll lose power if you over trim…”

  “Don’t worry, Jake,” she answered in what she hoped was a soothing tone. “I’ve got it taken care of.”

  “Jane,” he said again.

  “Yes?”

  No answer. She lay down next to him, placing a towel under his head to cushion it against the fiberglass.

  “Please be okay, Jake. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

  His shoulder was sticky with drying blood, but the wound seemed to have stopped actively bleeding. She stared up at the stars blazing in their respective places in the ebony sky, comforting her heart with their constancy. Another hour passed and she dozed off several times, waking with a jolt and increasing despair. The clock read 2:37am and she ate a power bar to keep up her strength, though it did nothing to make her feel powerful. She felt thoroughly drained, deeply weak, and increasingly frightened.

  Several boats had passed close enough to see her, but though she screamed until she was hoarse and waved her arms frantically, none of them had noticed her plight.

  She sat beside Jake and rubbed her eyes, sighing heavily. Crossing to the cockpit, she tried the engine again but it made no noise at all, not even turning over once.

  Sudden movement off the port bow caused her to startle, and as she turned, she cried out in abject terror.

  A figure was approaching her, illuminated by the moon and striding over the waves as naturally as if walking through an open field. She stared, hand over her mouth, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

  The person was male and heavy-set, dressed in khakis, a button down shirt, and a pith helmet. His good-natured face was bearded in white and neatly trimmed. As he walked confidently over the waves, he sent up a spray of water with his boots. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, and as he approached, one name alone sprang to Mabel’s mind.

  “Hemingway?”

  He drew closer, looking stern.

  “Mabel,” he said, stepping into the boat on an accommodating swell of water. “What do you think you are doing out here?”

  “I’m stuck, Papa,” she said, the nickname falling easily from her lips. “Jake’s hurt, and the navigation is wrecked. I need to get home, and fast.”

  “Is that so?” he said, frowning.

  “Yes; Jake is hurt and I need to get back to Key West,” she repeated. “Only I can’t tell which way is east now that the sun’s gone down. I have no way to tell.”

  “I see,” he said. “Can you get up? You are injured as well.”

  “I can, Papa. It’s just a flesh wound.”

  “You are very brave, Mabel. But you are tired. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

  Hemingway sat down beside Mabel and unslung the gun, laying it carefully on the deck. He stretched, and rubbed his hands together.

  “Have you got anything to eat?”

  “Power bars,” she said, gesturing towards the kitchen. “And fish, if you want to cook it.”

  “I do indeed,” he said, getting up to rummage through the cooler. Pulling the snapper from its depths, he retrieved a pan from the cupboard and put it over the heat of a burner on the stovetop. He added the fish and some seasonings, and tossed them all in oil. In twenty minutes he was done, and the smell wafting through the air made Mabel’s mouth water, reviving her dull senses. He passed her a plate.

  “Take it,” he ordered. “You need strength.”

  Gratefully, she consumed the fish, and more than just filling her belly, it awoke her mind and sharpened it. She took a long drink of cold water and felt she might make it after all.


  “Papa,” she said. Hemingway looked at her, bushy eyebrows raised. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For writing your books. And for coming to me.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I do wish you had not killed yourself, though.”

  “We wish a great many things, don’t we?”

  “We do.”

  “But now we need to work, and work quickly. Your friend will need a great deal of help once he gets to civilization,” Hemingway said. He moved nimbly for a big man, and soon he had the sails trimmed and their course adjusted.

  Suddenly the wind filled the mainsail, and they were moving with purpose. Mabel’s heart leapt with excitement to feel the jolt of the hull as it bounced through the water, and the spray on her face felt like life itself.

  “We’re going to make it!” she said excitedly. Hemingway merely nodded and moved to the wheel to adjust the direction.

  They sailed on eastward, talking about his works, discussing the themes of death and grief and strength, and Mabel did not grow tired again. As the first twinkling lights of Key West appeared on the horizon, she turned to ask him a question about God and the afterlife, thinking that, if anyone would have answers, it would be him.

  He was gone. She was as alone as before, with only the sound of the waves and the rustle of the sails to meet her call.

  Checking on Jake, she found him feverish and breathing shallowly.

  “Are we home yet?” he whispered.

  “Almost,” she said. “I can see the lights.”

  “You did it, Mabel,” he said, the trace of a smile flickering over his pale face. “You did it.”

  “Yes,” she said, as he closed his eyes and drifted off again. “We did.”

  Fourteen

  When Mabel pounded on Gina’s door at 4:30 am to ask her to come quickly and call an ambulance, Gina responded instantly and decisively. She and Mabel drove Jake’s car to the hospital and waited less-than-patiently in the small ER family room as Jake was whisked away. A passing nurse noticed Mabel’s blood-soaked shorts and did a double take, exclaiming that she needed care as well.