We’re at Norman Reef, the place where the butterfly wrasse were last spotted. After Hugh and I climbed aboard, Aaron pulled anchor and we deviated from our schedule, sailing thirty minutes to Norman, which also happened to bring us thirty minutes closer to the incoming storm. As we start to descend, rain begins to pelt the surface of the water. The waves pick up so heavily that it’s hard to grab the mooring line. With each swell, we are raised up and out of the ocean, our hands grabbing a rope that is pulled tight between the ocean floor and the boat. The ocean is murky, sand and dirt swirling around us. But everything subsides as soon as we’re ten feet under. I’m so relieved to finally descend that for a moment I forget about what happened earlier only to immediately remember again, turning hot despite the water.

Thankfully, Norman Reef is deeper than the other reefs we’ve been diving, which proves to be a challenge for Andrew’s buoyancy but helps separate us from whatever is happening on the surface. I try to tune out my thoughts as best I can, falling into a meditative state, kicking gently over coral and keeping an eye out for a flick of purple or yellow that could be a butterfly wrasse.

But having Hugh at my elbow makes concentrating impossible. All I can think about is how he made me feel. I have to resist the urge to grab onto his elbow. Hugh pulls out his camera as we hover over some staghorn coral.

He is still trying to find the butterfly wrasse, even after what happened earlier. The thought makes my heart hurt. It would be easier if Hugh was a horrible person, if he really was just out to stop me from finding what I was searching for. But the nicer he is, the worse I feel, the more I remember that I am the one keeping secrets and telling lies.

I turn away from Hugh taking photos. I can’t take it anymore.

When we surface, the storm has blown through. It was an uneventful dive, one that felt more like a way to escape the storm, and possible seasickness, than to actually see marine life.

Hugh tries to catch my eye as we wait for our turn to ascend the ladder onto the boat, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I know he is hurt and angry – that his eyes would be a dark grey-blue, and it would do me in.

We hardly look at each other the rest of the evening. Everyone gathers on the side of the boat to watch the sun slowly dip into the water. It would usually stir my soul to watch something so beautiful, but I feel hollow and confused.