Wreckage (26 page)

“You, Dave. You have me so anxious,” she said, letting out a massive sigh and rubbing her eyes, ignoring the makeup she’d just applied during her complicated morning routine. “I don’t know if you can even tell but you’re different now.”

She looked at him with big, round, needy eyes, making Dave feel guilty and angry in the same instant, without knowing which emotion preceded the other. It was the anger he couldn’t hold back.

“I
am
different, Beth,” he spat. “I just spent almost two years living away from home, in a state of near-starvation. I had to search every day for food to keep us alive, worry that a storm would come and blow our meager existence away. Any scratch or cut had the potential to kill us, not to mention the rats, snakes, fish, sharks, and countless other creatures. Living like that”—he pounded a finger on the polished table, making the utensils jingle—“in constant fear and desperation, tends to change a person.”

Beth looked at him skeptically from under hooded eyelids. “Then why does it seem like you want to go back? Why don’t you want to be with
me
?” She whined the accusation and something in her tone gave Dave flashbacks to the five years they’d lived together before the crash.

That was the Beth he knew so well, always thinking about herself. Perhaps he
had
changed, because three years ago he would’ve apologized, patted her hand, and tried to make everything better. But that day he pushed away from the table.

“Not everything is about you, Beth.”

“
That’s
what I’m talking about,” she said, tossing her hand in Dave’s direction as if she were throwing the accusation in his face. “I’m NOT worrying about myself,
David
, I’m concerned about you, I’m angry, and as much as I hate to admit it I’m freaking jealous!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you concerned for anyone but yourself, Beth.” Power surged through him as he spoke words he’d always thought about his wife but never had the courage to say. “And don’t you EVER call me David again.”

Beth’s face, usually set in steel, crumpled under the force of his voice. She concentrated on picking at the fringe on the edge of the mustard-yellow place mat, slowly smoothing each tassel into little symmetric triangles splayed out on the table.

“Do you know why I waited for you?” she whispered. “All this time, why I waited?”

“No.” He wasn’t even curious but she was going to tell him anyway, because Beth always did what she wanted.

“When the call came that your plane had gone down, I was devastated. First I lost the babies, and then you were suddenly gone. They found your plane two days later and it was empty, except for that flight attendant—”

“Theresa,” he interrupted. He was tired of people forgetting about Theresa.

“Fine, Theresa. So the divers, they also found that the lifeboat was gone and that’s when I knew. I knew you must be alive out there.” She shuffled her fingers over the thin mustard strands, jumbling them back into their previous chaos. “They searched for one week, combing the South Pacific. I flew to Fiji to be close, so I could be there when they found you. Then a major storm came through, and after having to call off the search for two days in a row they canceled it completely. Jerry and I were beside ourselves.”

Dave flinched at the mention of Lillian’s husband. He’d heard enough Jerry stories from Lily, he didn’t need to hear more from his own wife.

“I just knew. I knew that you were out there somewhere. So as dumb as it sounds . . . uh . . . I went to a psychic.” She stared up at him, seeming so immature in her eagerness.

Dave raised his eyebrows.

“He told me you were still alive. He told me we’d find you. He said we’d be a family again.”

“And you believed him?” Dave asked flatly.

Beth bit her lip and shrugged her petite shoulders. “He knew . . . he knew about the babies.”

They hadn’t talked about this yet. Dave still wasn’t ready. He grabbed his plate and, taking long strides, tossed it in the sink. Then he stood there a moment, clutching the cold quartz counter for support, the aftertaste of cheap American cheese in his mouth. He couldn’t face Beth; if he did he’d say something he couldn’t take back.

She stumbled on, desperate. “He said we’d have another chance to have a baby, you and me, together.” Her voice came from directly behind him and he knew if he turned around they’d be close enough to touch. He didn’t want to touch her.

“I don’t want to have a baby with you,” he hissed, intending his voice to be void of emotion, betrayed when it cracked at the end.

“It’s not what you think. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Yeah I know, you
forgot
,” he mocked.

“No, I didn’t forget,” she murmured.

“What? You’re going to admit you did something wrong for the first time in your life?” Dave said, feigning shock.

“I . . . I was stupid and stubborn. I thought I could do it myself, that I didn’t need the medicine. It was easier to think that than to come to terms with the fact I could never have a baby of my own, never look at a child and think,
Are those my eyes?
” She put her hand on his shoulder. “It was the biggest mistake I’ve made in my whole life and I’m so sorry.”

She sounded sorry but Dave could never tell with Beth if she was acting or sincere. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone, to never touch him again, but he needed so many things right now. And the gentleness in her touch, the warmth of her hand on his skin, it made him remember all the things he’d lost. He wanted something to fill up that chasm that gaped inside him. Instead of shaking her off, he let her stay, and the silence between them was as comforting as any reassuring words.

“I’m sorry I failed you. You deserve better, I know you do,” she whispered into his back. “Please, please,” she begged, “give me another chance. You’ve changed, I know that, but I’ve changed too. Can’t you see?”

She kissed his back, following the lines of his broad shoulder blades, her breath penetrating the thin white cotton of his undershirt. Her small hands slipped beneath the fabric, climbing up his chest, tracing over his work-hardened body, making his heart beat fast.

Her familiar touch felt good, and when she pressed her body up against his, instinct took over. No more thinking, no more talking.

She turned him around and pulled his face to hers. Her eager lips crashed into his, reminding him of a hunger he’d kept pushed down, locked away, for so long. He gave in, letting his lips respond eagerly to hers, pulling her in closer, holding on with a tight, forceful grip on her shoulders. As they crumpled to the cold tile floor, enmeshed in each other’s arms, Dave kept his eyes closed tight, imagining waves crashing in the background and hot sand burning his skin.

“That’s a good place to stop; let’s take a little break,” Genevieve Randall ordered over Dave’s head to the cameramen. The room let out a collective sigh. They’d barely started talking about Paul, but Genevieve didn’t seem happy with the direction the interview was going. “Let’s see”—she glanced at her watch—“everyone take twenty and we’ll come back to this.” Dave assumed by “this” she meant the next group of questions on the list but that still didn’t give him much of an idea of what lay ahead.

When Genevieve Randall stood up, her skirt rustled as it shimmied down her thighs. She paused in front of Dave, her pale eyes flashing.

“Dave, you should take a little break and stretch those long legs of yours; it’s going to be a busy afternoon,” she cooed. “There’s some food over there.” She pointed to the formal dining room, where the table had been filled with trays of sandwiches, Danishes, and three industrial-size coffee dispensers. “Something sweet to give you a little energy, keep you . . . sharp,” she hinted, and Dave felt as if he had been warned.

He ignored her as best he could, staring at the floor until her clacking heels were muffled by the Brazilian wool carpet in Dave’s home office, where the crew had set up headquarters early that morning. Still a bit shaky, he rubbed his hands one more time on the leg of his slacks, hoping there wouldn’t be a hole there by the end of the day.

“Dave, you okay?” Beth’s voice reached out across the room. Still seated, Beth leaned forward, concern written on her smooth face.

“Yeah,” he said gravely. Dave cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Shoving off the couch, he stumbled across the floor, legs wobbly as though he’d been drinking vodka rather than water. He tossed himself into one of the dining room chairs flanking Beth, and though he’d been sitting all morning, sitting there felt relaxing.

“You don’t look fine,” Beth said, surveying his face. “Do you want to stop? I hate it when you do this to yourself.”

“Nah, I’m great. Nothing new, just same old stuff.” Dave patted his wife’s smooth hand resting on the armchair beside him.

“But she’s asking things no one’s asked before and you seemed pretty thrown by it. Like asking about Theresa,” she probed, “I’ve never seen you get so tongue-tied in an interview.”

“No,” he rushed on, refusing to hesitate, “I’m getting tired and a little frustrated with the stupid questions. They’re totally pointless and none of them are on the list. I don’t see what she’s getting at.”

“Me either,” Beth whispered. He needed to change the subject.

“How are
you two
feeling? Now, that’s a much more important question than any of the ones I’ve been asked today.” He smiled gently at his wife. “Any kicks from my little soccer player in there?” Dave’s hand moved to Beth’s swollen abdomen, barely protruding above the waist of her skinny jeans.

“He was jumping around when I had some orange juice earlier. He must be sleeping now,” she said, arching her back so her belly pooched fully into his palm. It was pliant and firm at the same time, like a ball expanding inside her. It was a feeling he’d never find ordinary.

“I always seem to miss it,” Dave said, truly disappointed.

“You’ll have plenty of time, I just started to feel him a couple of weeks ago. All the things online say it could take everyone else up to a month.”

“A
month
?” Dave frowned playfully. “I don’t think I can wait that long. I’m gonna have to have a chat with that boy tonight and let him know his daddy is expecting at least one good swift kick before the week’s over. That’s an order or no ice cream after dinner.” Dave feigned a stern fatherly voice. He leaned in closer, putting his ear on the swelling stomach, as if the baby would have some sort of response. Beth’s belly jiggled when she laughed.

“Oh no, not already. I’m not going to put up with any disagreements! Now you two need to hug and make up, come on, hug it out,” Beth insisted.

Dave loved this new, lighter side of Beth. He still wasn’t sure what happened to change her so drastically while he was away and he didn’t care what it was. Beth had dropped her clubbing friends and finally seemed to understand the world didn’t revolve around her. It took a few months but by the time she came to him with a positive pregnancy test, he’d finally learned how to trust her again. Now, he couldn’t imagine Beth doing anything to harm their unborn child.

Dave took both his hands and wrapped them around Beth’s belly, his son growing inside. He hadn’t met him yet and he loved him. Then Dave felt a tiny tap on his palm, a nudge like someone asking to pass in a crowded room.

“Beth? Was that a kick?”

“Yeah it was, but I can’t believe you could feel that,” she gasped. Without even thinking what he must look like Dave leaned in toward Beth’s stomach, his face right over where he felt the flutter.

“Hey there, baby, I’m your daddy. I love you and I promise: I’ll never let anything happen to you.” Sitting up slowly, he looked at his wife, her eyes misty. He slipped his arm under the curtain of curly blonde hair and pulled her in tight. She wiggled her head up under his chin. Dave sighed, content because for the first extended period of time that day he hadn’t been thinking about Lily.

CHAPTER 24

DAVID-DAY 201

The Island

I wake with a start to see the empty spot beside me. Lily’s gone. As I toss off the thin blanket, fear ripples through me. It takes a full minute to steady myself. She’s here, right in front of me by the fire, poking some cooking fish. She hasn’t noticed me watching her, so I enjoy the view.

Her hair’s tied back, but those little curly pieces around her face and at the nape of her neck have wrestled free. My fingertips itch to guide them behind her ear. Eventually they’ll escape again, giving me another reason to touch her. Her torso tucks in perfectly at the waist and I want to put my hands around it, touch her freckled skin, the swell of her hips, the curve of her spine. God I love her.

The past weeks have been surreal but heavenly. Ever since that cold afternoon in the shelter, where Lily and I finally realized what our friendship had evolved into, we’ve been inseparable.

It still stuns me a little when she reaches over and holds my hand or brushes a butterfly wing kiss past my ear to whisper, “I love you.” It didn’t seem possible that this place, this island that seemed so close to a prison when we first landed, could now be the one place I wouldn’t mind staying the rest of my life.