The Southern Cross lies three kilometres out and 130 metres down. Toward the continental shelf. That storm blew them way off course. Carried them like driftwood.” “The Southern Cross?” “That was the name of the boat,” I answered. He frowned at that and made a face. “What is it, Aubrey?” His eyes filled with tears as the sun kissed his face and the ocean breeze rustled around us. “The Southern Cross is what brought me here. The constellation. I followed it, here, to this island. To you.” I blinked at this… what was it? A coincidence? A revelation? Fate? “Wow.”
