Luna’s descent was terrifying and exhilarating. There wasn’t enough time to think of anything but, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, and then, splash! And down through the water. It was a perfect slice, feet first, no slap. She was super proud of her form, and hoped Beckett had seen it, had marveled at it. Maybe he would even jump in too, now that he saw how easy it was. She pulled to the surface following the fizzing, sparkling bubbles, and, “Phweshaw!” into air. The water temperature was cool. The best part was that she was right, it was refreshing.

She turned to look up at the Outpost, treading. Where was Beckett? Not at the edge or even back from the edge.

She swam to her paddleboard and draped her arms across, kicking her legs for a few minutes. “Hello Tree, Boosy, Steve. Did you see my jump? Marvelous, right?”

She waited, but Beckett didn’t come through the cavernous room. Where was he? Completely uninterested in her plunge—really? She had thought it was more spectacular than that. She had also believed him to be more interested.

She backstroked about twenty feet away from the Outpost to have another look, then swam to the opening, splashed across the floor, climbed the stairs, and pushed through the rooftop door.

She shook her head flinging water everywhere as she stepped into the sun. Her eyes adjusted. Beckett was in the middle of the rooftop doubled over in a chair.

“Beckett?”

His shoulders rose and fell in jerks. His head drooped. She rushed to his side and dropped to her knees, “Beckett?” She peered up into his face.

His eyes were screwed shut. “Can’t….breathe…can’t...” His face had turned even more pale.

“Oh, oh,” she glanced around looking for something—but what?

“Beckett, look me in the eyes, Beckett!”

He pulled his head up. His eyes were open but rolling back, showing white, panicked.

“Beckett, match my breathing, please, can you hear me, match my breaths.”

He nodded once, tried to match her breath for a couple, then groaned and doubled back down over his knees.

“Beckett you need to lie down.” She pulled him by his arms, rolling him down to the ground. Then, because he landed on his side, shoved him to his back.

He pulled his arm over his eyes to block the direct sun.

She crawled to his feet, lifted his legs to her lap and unbuckled his sandals, tossing them to the side. She pressed her thumbs hard into the bottom of his feet, right at the pad.

He groaned.

“It hurts?”

He nodded.

“Good, it’s supposed to.” She rubbed with constant pressure up to his toes. And did it again. And again.

Gradually Beckett’s breathing calmed and became regular again.

She kept rubbing.

After a long, long time she asked, “You okay?”

He nodded, but remained quiet.

She patted his shins all-done and crawled up, slumping down beside the length of him, arm to arm, staring at the sky. She halfheartedly slapped his arm. “Dude, you scared me.”

“Serves you right.”

Then he said, “I can’t believe I’m so freaking weak and scared.”

Luna said, “You volunteered.”

He said, “That seems like a whole other guy.”

“So maybe you aren’t cut out to live on an Outpost in the middle of the ocean helping strangers. Maybe you thought you were that guy, you volunteered to be that guy, and come to find out you aren’t that guy. But you did it, and now you get to go home. You get your mountain house and you can live knowing that you volunteered.”

During her speech his arm lifted off his eyes to watch her. Finally he asked, “Who are you? I mean I know your name is Anna Barlow, like the actress, but I don’t know anything else...”

“I’m an open book.” Luna stared up at a cloudless sky. “Ask me a question, anything.”

“Um, anything, huh? Okay, start simple, how old are you?”

Luna chuckled and drew out a long, “Wellllll.”

“What? How old? Are you some kind of mysterious sea creature that looks young but is really seventy-five?”

“No, it’s just—I don’t know.”

Beckett raised his head to get a better look at her. “You don’t know? What did you celebrate on your last birthday?”

“I don’t celebrate birthdays, I suppose I haven’t really thought about it, or perhaps I’ve forgotten. Ask me another.”

“Did you go to school?”

“Nope. Next question.”

He chuckled. “Okay, Miss Open Book, let me phrase that another way, you seem like you know things, but living like a Nomad, how did you learn to read?”

“Just because we’re Nomadic doesn’t mean we don’t know things. I’ve lived on just about every outer island. I’ve visited tons of Outposts. I learned to read when I was a kid, the way all kids do, someone gave me a stack of comic books and I figured it out.”

“That is not how all or even most kids do. I learned to read in a classroom with Old Lady Gillespie forcing me to stutter-read-stutter-read-suffer in front of my classmates. I wish I learned with comic books.”

“Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.” He rose to his elbow and looked down at her. “You really don’t know your age?”

She chewed her bottom lip, thinking.

“Do you remember anything about the year you were born?”

“Hmmmm...Oh wait, I know! Can you walk? Can you come down to Tree?”

She helped him steady as he stood, getting a small thrill from touching him. Then they crossed the rooftop to the stairwell and descended to the 118th floor. The carpet was fully saturated. Beckett knelt to check the water level. The ocean had swelled and was lapping aboard. A box near the opening listed about to spin afloat. Beckett said, “Oy.”

“Try not to focus on it. Focus on my crisis instead—I have no idea how old I am!”

Beckett attempted to get into the spirit, “It could even be your birthday today.”

She said, “I didn’t even think about that, but Tree will tell me.”

“I feel sort of worried. Are you going to cut Tree down and count his rings?”

Luna gasped, feigning shock, “Never, and I hope Tree didn’t hear you.” She stepped onto the paddleboard and pulled Boosy in close.

She felt around inside Tree’s outer pot. “It was here. I hope it still is. It’s been awhile—there!” She held up a small plastic tag. She rubbed the dirt off the tag attempting to make out the faded words, then handed it to Beckett, “A date, from the nursery. See?”

“Six years ago—” Beckett squinted his eyes, “You, Madame, are not six.”

“Of course not, I’m much too sophisticated. My mom gave me my own shade tree because I was twelve.”

“So that means you’re eighteen?”

She grinned widely. “See I told you I was an open book.”

Beckett shook his head disapprovingly. “And you know what you missed? The tag says that today is your birthday.” He turned it toward her with his thumb obscuring the words.

When Luna tried to look closer, he shook the tag up and down.

When she said, “It does not,” he flung the tag over his shoulder. “Would I lie to the birthday girl?”