We looked around from our various splayed positions on the raft floor, which now seemed to be parked in place. The stranger made brief eye contact, then turned away and gazed over the sea. Little Alice hugged Nina around her neck, and Nina soothed her by whispering, “It’s OK . . . we’re safe.” It was so quiet we could hear her every word.

Moments later, the boat began to gently rock, and the ocean formed small, harmless swells. A light breeze blew, and the normal sea sounds returned. But there was nothing normal about that moment, my love. Nothing normal at all.

* * *

“Are the sharks still following us?” Nina asked as the sun tucked under the horizon.

Yannis peeked over the side. “I don’t see them.”

We spotted the sharks on our second day in the ocean. Geri says they are drawn to the fish that are attracted to the raft’s bottom.

“They were there an hour ago,” Nevin said. “I think I saw a fin—”

“I don’t understand this!” Mrs. Laghari blurted out. “Where are the airplanes? Jason said they would be searching for us. Why have we not seen a single plane?”

A few of us looked down and shook our heads. Mrs. Laghari has been carping on this every day. Where are the planes? When we first pulled Lambert into the boat, he insisted his crew would have sent distress signals. Rescue would be imminent. So we waited for the planes. We scoured the skies. Back then, we still felt like Lambert’s passengers. That has changed. With each passing sunset, our hope grows depleted, and we no longer feel like passengers of anything. We are souls adrift.

I wonder if this is what dying is like, Annabelle. At first, you are so tightly connected to the world you cannot imagine letting go. In time, you surrender to a drifting phase. What comes next, I cannot say.

Some would say that you meet the Lord.

* * *

Trust me, I have thought about that many times, given the stranger in our lifeboat. I call him a stranger, Annabelle, because if he were truly something divine, he must be as far from me as you can get. We are taught as children that we come from God, that we were created in His image, but the things we do as we grow, the way we behave, what is godlike about that? And the terrible things that befall us? How does a supreme being permit them?

No. The right word is stranger, which is what God has been to me. As to who this man truly is, well, the boat remains divided. I asked Jean Philippe about it earlier, when we sat together at the rear of the raft.

“Do you think we’re about to die, Jean Philippe?”

“No, Benji. I think the Lord has come to save us.”

“But look at him. He’s just . . . average.”