On the Island (10 page)

Chapter 20

—

T.J.

Anna was awake and sitting by the fire when I got back from fishing the next morning.

“How’s your hand?”

She held out her palm, and I peeled back the Band-Aid.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” I said. The jagged wound seeped blood, and her hand had swollen a little overnight. “I’ll clean it again and put another Band-Aid on it, okay?”

“Okay.”

I swiped another alcohol pad across the bite. “You look tired,” I said, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

“I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

She shook her head. “I’ll nap later.”

I put a fresh Band-Aid on her hand. “There. You’re good as new.”

She must not have heard me though, because she stared off into space and didn’t say anything.

Later that morning, I finished framing the house and began putting up the walls. The breadfruit trees gave off a milky sap, and I patched the cracks with it.

Anna worked silently beside me, holding boards or handing me nails.

“You’re quiet,” I said.

“Yeah.”

I pounded a nail into the board, securing it into the frame, and said, “You’re worrying about the bite?”

She nodded. “That bat looked sick, T.J.”

I put down the hammer and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. “It didn’t look good,” I admitted.

“Do you think it had rabies?”

I positioned the next board and picked up the hammer. “No, I’m sure it didn’t.” I knew bats sometimes carried the disease, though.

Anna took a deep breath. “I’ll have to wait it out, I guess. If I don’t get sick within a month, I’m probably okay.”

“What are the symptoms?”

“I don’t know. Fever, maybe? Convulsions? The disease attacks the central nervous system.”

That scared the shit out of me. “What do I do if you get sick?” I tried to remember what was in the first-aid kit.

Anna shook her head. “You don’t do anything, T.J.”

“Why not?”

“Because without rabies shots the disease is fatal.”

I couldn’t breathe for a second, like the wind had been knocked out of me. “I didn’t know that.”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes. I dropped my hammer and put my hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.”

I had no idea if she would, but I needed both of us to believe it.

I counted forward five weeks and circled the date in Anna’s datebook. She wanted to wait longer than a month, just to be sure.

“So if nothing happens by then,” I said, “and you don’t have any symptoms, you’re okay, right?”

“I think so.”

I closed the datebook and put it back in Anna’s suitcase.

“Let’s just get back to our regular routine,” she said. “I don’t want to dwell on it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.”

She should have been an actress instead of a teacher. By day, she put on quite a show, smiling like nothing bothered her. She kept busy, spending hours playing with the dolphins or helping me with the house. But she wasn’t eating, and she was so restless in bed I knew she was having trouble sleeping.

I woke up when she crawled out of the life raft one night two weeks later. She always got up at least once to throw wood on the fire, but she usually came right back. She didn’t this time, so I went to check on her. I found her in the lean-to, staring at the flames.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep.” Anna poked at the fire with a stick.

“Do you feel okay?” I tried not to sound anxious. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine, really. Go back to bed.”

“I can’t fall back to sleep unless you’re beside me.”

She looked surprised. “You can’t?”

“No. I don’t like it when you’re out here alone. It makes me nervous. You don’t have to put wood on the fire every night. I told you it’s no big deal for me to make one in the morning.”

“It’s just a habit.” She stood up. “Come on. At least one of us should be able to sleep.”

I followed Anna into the life raft and after we lay down, she covered us with the blanket. She wore shorts and my T-shirt, and as she settled into a comfortable position, her bare leg brushed mine. She didn’t pull it away when she stopped moving, and neither did I.

We lay in the dark, legs touching, and neither of us slept for a long time.

She agreed to stop getting up in the middle of the night, and one morning a couple weeks later, after I built the fire, I said, “Anna, I wish you could time me. I bet I made this in less than five minutes.”

“Well, now you’re just showing off.”

She laughed when she said it though, and as we got closer to the date I circled in the datebook, she seemed to relax a little.

When five weeks had passed, I held her open palm in my hand and traced the scar left behind with my thumb. “I think you’re going to be just fine,” I said. And this time, I really meant it.

She smiled at me. “I think so, too.”

She polished off three fish for lunch that day.

“Are you still hungry? I can catch more.”

“No thanks. I was starving, but I’m full now.”

We swam for a long time and we worked on the house until dinnertime. Again, she ate more than she’d eaten in weeks. At bedtime, she could hardly hold her eyes open, and she fell asleep seconds after I lay down next to her. I fell asleep, too, but I woke up when Anna curled up next to me and rested her head on my shoulder.

I put my arm around her and pulled her closer.

If she had gotten sick, the only thing I could have done was watch her suffer. Bury her next to Mick when she died. I didn’t know if I could make it without her. The sound of her voice, her smile,
her
—those were the things that made living on the island bearable. I held her a little tighter and thought if she woke up I might tell her that. She didn’t though. She sighed in her sleep, and eventually I drifted off.

She had moved back to her side of the bed by the time I woke up the next morning. I was building a fire when she climbed out of the life raft.

She smiled at me, stretching her arms over her head. “I had a great night’s sleep. The best I’ve had in a long time.”

“I slept pretty good, too, Anna.”

A few nights later, we were lying in bed debating our favorite top-ten classic rock albums of all time.

“The Rolling Stones’
Sticky Fingers
is my number one. I’m knocking
Led Zeppelin IV
back to the fifth spot,” she said.

“Are you high?” As I started listing the reasons why I disagreed—everyone knew Pink Floyd’s
The Wall
should be number one—I farted. The breadfruit had that effect on me sometimes.

She shrieked and immediately tried to escape through the door of the life raft, but I grabbed her around her waist, yanked her backward, and pulled the blanket tight over her head.

It was a little game I liked to play with her.

“Oh no, Anna, oh my God, you better get out from under there,” I teased, laughing. “It must smell horrible.” She struggled to free herself, and I held the blanket down even tighter.

When I finally let her out, she made gagging noises and said, “I’m gonna kick your ass, Callahan.”

“Really? You and what army?” She probably weighed about a hundred pounds. We both knew she wasn’t kicking anyone’s ass.

“Don’t get too cocky. One of these days, I’ll figure out a way to take you down.”

I laughed and said, “Oooh, I’m scared, Anna.”

What I didn’t admit, though, was that she could have brought me to my knees with one touch of her hand, if she put it in the right place.

I wondered if she knew that.

“I’m going to take a bath,” Anna said when I got back from the beach. She gathered the soap and shampoo and her clothes.

“Okay.”

After she left, I noticed we were running low on firewood. I took my backpack and shoved all the sticks I could find inside it. The sun dipped lower in the sky and the mosquitoes buzzed around me. I walked away from the thick canopy of leaves, not paying attention.

I stepped out of the trees and looked up in time to see Anna walking into the ocean, naked.

I froze.

I knew I should go, just get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t. I ducked behind a tree and watched her.

She dipped below the water to get her hair wet, then turned around and walked back out. She looked incredible, and her tan lines framed the parts of her body I liked the most. I slid my hand inside my shorts.

She stood on the beach and washed her hair, then waded in to rinse the shampoo. She walked back out, rubbed the soap between her hands, and washed her body. After sitting down on the sand, she shaved her legs and then went into the water one more time to rinse.

What she did next blew my mind.

When she came out, she looked around and then sat down facing the shore. She had brought the baby oil, and she poured some in the palm of her hand and put her hand between her legs.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

She lay back with one leg straight and one leg bent at the knee. I watched her touch herself, my own hand moving a little faster.

Though I did it almost every day, when I was alone in the woods, it never occurred to me that she might be doing it, too. I kept watching, and after a few minutes she straightened out her bent leg and arched her back. I knew she was coming and so was I.

She stood up, brushed the sand off, and stepped into her underwear. She pulled on the rest of her clothes and gathered her things. When she turned to leave she stopped suddenly and looked in my direction. Hidden behind the tree, I didn’t move, waiting for her to walk away. Then I fled, sprinting through the trees, away from the beach.

“Oh, hey,” I said when I walked up. She was standing next to the lean-to brushing her teeth.

She took the toothbrush out of her mouth and looked at me, tilting her head to the side. “Where were you?”

“Getting wood.” I unzipped my backpack and dumped the sticks onto the woodpile.

“Oh.” She finished brushing her teeth and yawned. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll be in soon.”

Later, as she slept beside me, I replayed the images of her naked body and her touching herself in my head like a movie I could watch as many times as I wanted. I wished I could kiss her, touch her, do whatever I wanted to her, but I couldn’t. The movie played in my head, over and over, and I didn’t get any sleep that night.

Chapter 21

—

Anna

T.J. climbed onto the roof of the house and spread a layer of breadfruit sap over the palm fronds. “I don’t know if this will keep us dry. I guess we’ll find out when it rains.”

The house was nearing completion. I sat cross-legged on the ground, watching as he jumped off the roof, grabbed the hammer, and drove in the last few nails.

He had pulled his hair back in a ponytail, and he wore my cowboy hat and aviator sunglasses. His face was so tan he looked like he’d been born on the island. He had a great smile, with straight white teeth, prominent cheekbones, and a solid square jaw. I needed to shave him again.

“You look good, T.J. Very healthy.” He was lean, but he had well-defined muscles, probably from building our house by hand, and he didn’t show any outward signs of malnutrition, at least not yet.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m not sure how, but you’ve grown here.”

“Do I look older?”

“You do.”

“Am I good-looking, Anna?” He knelt down in front of me and grinned. “Come on, you can tell me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, T.J.,” I said, smiling at him. “You’re very good-looking. If we ever get off this island you’ll be quite popular with the ladies.”

He pumped his fist in the air. “Yes.” Then he put down the hammer and took a drink of water. “I can’t remember what I looked like before the crash, can you?”

“Sort of. But I probably haven’t changed as much.”

T.J. sat down in front of me. “God, I’m sore. Will you please rub my back?”

“Sure.” I massaged his shoulders, which were considerably broader than they were two years ago. His chest was wider, too, and his arms were solid. I lifted his ponytail, kneading the back of his neck.

“That feels good.”

I gave him an extra-long massage and near the end he said, “You’re still beautiful, Anna. In case you were wondering.”

My face got hot, but I smiled. “I wasn’t, T.J. But thanks.”

Two nights later, we slept in our new house for the first time. We had decided on one large room, instead of two, which gave us plenty of space. I could dress inside the house, instead of wiggling into my clothes in the life raft. My suitcase and the toolbox sat in the corner, and the guitar case next to it held our first-aid kit, knife, and rope.

T.J. had removed the life-raft canopy—we had a real roof now—and made windows out of the mesh roll-down doors, which let in light and air. He used the nylon sides for shades that we closed at night. He nailed the tarp to the front of the house, stretched it out, and attached it to tall sticks he drove into the ground, then dug a fire pit underneath.

“I’m proud of you, T.J. Bones would be, too.”

“Thanks, Anna.”

We’d come a long way since our days of sleeping on the ground. Just a couple castaways playing house.

A seaplane landed in the lagoon while T.J. and I swam. The pilot opened the door, stuck his head out, and said, “We finally found you. We’ve been looking forever.”

I was fifty-two years old.

I woke up, drenched in sweat and stifling a scream, seconds before it flew out of my mouth.

T.J.’s side of the bed was empty. He’d been spending a lot of time in the woods lately, gathering firewood in the morning and again in the afternoon.

I dressed, brushed my teeth, and walked to the coconut tree. While I gathered them, one fell off a branch and almost hit me on the head. Startled, I jumped and yelled, “Dammit.”

When I returned to the house, I checked the water collector. It was February, the middle of the dry season, and there wasn’t much. I dropped it and burst into tears when the water spilled on the ground.

T.J. walked up with his backpack full of firewood. “Hey,” he said, putting down his backpack. “What’s wrong?”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Nothing, I’m just tired and mad at myself. I spilled the water.” Then I started crying again.

“It’s okay. It’ll probably rain again later.”

“It might not. It barely rained yesterday.” I flopped down on the ground, feeling stupid.

He sat beside me. “Um, is this like PMS or something?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. “No. I’m just having a bad morning.”

“Go back to bed,” he said. “I’ll come get you when I’m done fishing, okay?”

“Okay.”

I woke up when T.J. rubbed my arm. “The fish are ready,” he said, stretching out next to me.

“Why didn’t you wake me so I could clean them?”

“I thought you’d feel better if you slept a little longer.”

“Thanks. I do.”

“I’m sorry I asked if you had PMS. I don’t really know anything about that.”

“No, it was a fair question.” I hesitated. “I don’t get my period anymore. I haven’t for a long time.” I still had tampons in my suitcase.

T.J. looked confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m underweight. Stress. Malnutrition. Take your pick.”

“Oh,” he said.

We lay on our sides, facing each other. “I had a bad dream this morning. A seaplane landed in the lagoon while we were swimming.”

“That sounds like a good dream.”

“I was fifty-two when they found us.”

“Then we were missing a really long time. Is that why you were so upset?”

“I want to have a baby.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Two or three, actually. That was another thing John didn’t want. If they don’t find us until I’m fifty-two, it’ll be too late. Forty-two might be cutting it close. I can always adopt, but I really wanted to give birth to at least one.” I picked at a thread on the blanket. “It’s stupid, thinking about a baby when there are so many other things to worry about here. And I know having kids isn’t on your radar yet, but I really want them someday.”

“I have thought about kids. I’m sterile.”

His words were so unexpected I didn’t know what to say at first. “Because of the cancer?”

“Yep. I had a shitload of chemo.”

“Oh, God, T.J., I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Nothing like going on about having kids in front of someone whose fertility had been exchanged for survival.

“It’s okay. The doctor talked to me before chemo started. He explained that if I ever wanted to have kids someday, I had to bank sperm immediately because once I started the treatment it would be too late. I decided I wanted the option to have them.”

“Wow. That’s not a decision most boys have to make when they’re fifteen.”

“No, we’re pretty much thinking about
not
getting anyone pregnant. This next part might cheer you up. So my mom told me she was gonna drive me to my appointment at the sperm bank, and she handed me one of my dad’s
Playboy
s—I had something way dirtier stashed in my closet, by the way—and she asked me, all serious, if I knew what to do.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” He started laughing. “I was fifteen, Anna. I was an expert at it, and I did not want to talk about jacking off
with my mom
.”

“Oh my God, I’m dying here,” I said, laughing so hard tears ran down my face.

“Yeah, the next time I had to bank sperm my dad drove me.”

I wiped my eyes as one last giggle escaped. “Do you want to know what your very best quality is?”

“Is it that I’m so good-looking?” he deadpanned.

I started laughing again. “I see the compliment I paid you went straight to your head. No, that’s not it. I want you to know that it’s almost impossible not to be happy when you’re around.”

“Really? Thanks.” He patted my arm. “Don’t worry, Anna. They’ll find us someday and you’ll have that baby.”

“I hope so.”

Tick tock, you know.