Wreckage (28 page)

We get a later start on our hike than planned, but neither of us minds. We follow the shore around to a long stretch of beach on the other side of the island. We call it Bizarro Beach because of its plethora of fruit, its lazy unwary fish, and the horrible infestation of sand fleas that keeps us from moving our camp here.

Fishing on this side is easier. Lily came up with a new method where she weaves some palm fronds together between two bamboo stalks and we sit or stand in the water till fish swim over our net. Then we lift the contraption quickly, trapping the fish inside.

After catching upward of twenty palm-size fish, I gut them, cut off their heads, and then wrap them in seaweed to smoke over the fire. As the smoke does its work, we pick fruit till our baskets are full and then sit out of the sun and enjoy some of the overripe mangos that would fall apart during the rough trip home. Sand fleas nip at my ankles as we sit on a log. I let the orange juice drip down my face and hands. The stringy flesh sticks between my teeth and I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something so good.

“This is so delicious,” Lily mumbles, her mouth full, drops of orange juice staining the top of her worn bathing suit. We’re well beyond caring about stains anymore. After slurping all that’s left of her mango off a large oval pit, she tosses it into the ocean. Standing, she rubs her hands on her bare thighs before taking off in a sprint toward the water. “Race you!”

“No fair, I’m not done!” I shout, shoving the last quarter of the mango in my mouth before sprinting after her. She’s clearly not trying very hard to beat me because I catch up in no time and scoop her up in my arms. High-stepping through the waves, we crash down together, the salt water rushing up my nose and into my mouth mixing with the sweet mango juice in a strange cocktail. Ocean water used to make me gag but it’s become so familiar now it’s almost comforting.

Lily surfaces next to me and before she can say a word I fling my arms around her and lean down to kiss her. After inhaling the saltwater, her mouth is sweet and I pull her into me, my fingers crawling under the hem of her bathing suit top, finding the flesh of her lower back. When she moans and runs her hands down my chest and around my waist, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to find such happiness.

CHAPTER 25

LILLIAN

Present

“Paul.” Lillian said the name reverently. “He was beautiful.”

Over Genevieve’s shoulder, Jerry sat, arms crossed firmly across his chest, golden cuff links glittering off the artificial light pumped into the room. Why did she throw that fit when Jerry said he didn’t want to come down and listen to the interview? If it was hard to evade suspicion about the crash and Margaret and even Kent, they were a blip on the radar when she thought about how much she had to hide about Paul. Now she had to do it while Jerry was watching.

“You didn’t know about Paul when you first landed on the island, did you?” The reporter continued to dig.

“No, it took a few weeks before I suspected anything, maybe longer. I think Dave and Kent had suspicions before I did.”

“What were your first thoughts?” Genevieve Randall led, flipping a chunk of hair away from her face, giving the camera a better view of her “curious” face.

“Disbelief and fear mostly. It wasn’t till I saw some sort of physical evidence that I even considered the possibility.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about him after you were rescued? It took, what, a week for you to release that information to the press?”

“The press.” Lillian cringed at the sound. Why did
the press
feel so entitled to know every single detail of her life? Now it’s suddenly suspicious that she didn’t talk about Paul to reporters until after she was out of her semi-comatose state? The doctors knew, Jerry knew, even Beth knew about Paul, but just because the press didn’t know, it was a big deal.

“From what I’ve been told, it was decided he should be kept a secret until we could contact all family involved,” Lillian responded with the prepared line, rubbing the buffed finish of her thumbnail with her pointer finger. “When it comes down to it, it wasn’t my choice. I wasn’t in a good place medically to be making any major decisions.”

That was the truth. She still had no waking memory of the rescue. She lost nearly five days. The last thing she remembered was lying in their shelter; she wanted Dave to stop waking her up by dripping water on her lips and face. All she wanted to do was sleep and the sun hurt her eyes.

The next time she woke up, it was so quiet and dark at first she thought she’d been buried alive. Then she saw Dave, sitting in a maroon chair with worn wooden arms. He was wearing a pistachio-colored hospital gown that hung off him like a tent, his eyes red rimmed like he’d been crying. Lillian’s own eyes burned and when her hand went up to rub them she felt an odd tug at her skin. Holding it up in the dark she could easily make out the tubes taped to the back of her hand.

“David,” she tried to say, but her voice was raspy and strange to her ears. Her throat felt like it was filled with sand. Dave turned his head at her growly sounds.

“Lily, oh my God! Lily, you’re awake.” He seemed to wipe at his face but she couldn’t be sure in the dark. Taking in the hazy details of the room, it all started to sink in.

“Water,” she mouthed, and Dave leaped to his feet, pulling an IV stand behind him. Walking over to a small counter sticking out of the wall, he lifted a plastic pitcher and poured so much water into a tiny plastic cup, it spilled all over.

Carrying the cup across the room, his hand shook, the cup dripping a trail of water on the shiny gray tile floor. He slid one hand behind Lillian’s head and leaned her forward to drink. The water slipped down her throat. It had a strange metallic taste but Lillian didn’t care. It was water—clean, fresh water.

Gulping down the last drop, she tested her voice again, clearing her throat repetitively. Dave sat down after pulling his chair as close to the bed as physically possible. He kept glancing up at something across the room that Lillian couldn’t see.

“Where are we?” she whispered, finally certain of her ability to speak.

“Guam. We’ve been here three days.”

“What? I mean, how?” While she could talk, it still hurt, but they didn’t need many words to communicate. She was sure he’d understand. Dave wrapped his fingers around Lillian’s limp hand, exhaling.

“You were so sick. Just when I thought I’d lost you, I heard something. I ran out to the beach, leaving you for the first time in days. It was a helicopter. Turns out some Italian billionaire owns our island and is trying to sell it. The helicopter was filled with a realtor and potential client. It was about to cross out of sight to the other side of our island and I ran to the beach and jumped around like a crazy person. They didn’t see me at first, so I went down to the fishing log and set it on fire. It was so dried out and old, it only took one branch from the fire to make it go up in flames.”

Lillian’s eyes went wide. They’d stayed up many nights talking on that log, not to mention all the memories of Paul that went along with the hunk of dead wood. To know it wasn’t just gone but that David had destroyed it, made her hand with the IV throb.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have burned it but I was desperate. What was I supposed to do? Let you die?” Tears pooled in his eyes, and the green lights on her monitoring machines reflected off their glittering surface.

“Shhh.” She wanted to comfort him but it was too hard to move. Dave used his free hand to dry his face again.

“After they saw me, they left. I thought I’d ruined our chances, that I’d failed you. I crawled inside and lay down next to you, putting my hand over your heart to make sure it was still beating. I fell asleep counting your heartbeats. Around noon the helicopter woke me. They used a ladder to drop down two rescue workers. They didn’t even ask who we were; they threw a blanket around me and started to work on you. It was only a matter of seconds till you were in a plastic stretcher, strapped down and hoisted into the helicopter. They pulled me up behind you.”

He rubbed the bleached hair on her arms, his familiar calluses scratching her skin. Rescued. She’d finally accepted this day would never come. Now it had and she was scared to death.

“Do they know?” It was getting easier to talk. Swallowing, she tried again. “Do they know who we are?”

Dave gave a humorless smile. It was only then she noticed his beard was gone. His face was clean-shaven and his skin white where the facial hair had been. It was strange to see him without it, like going back in time to the day they stepped onto the plane in Fiji.

“I told them on the helicopter. They were so surprised. I wish you could’ve seen their faces.” His smile was the same, even without the beard, but it made a crinkle in his cheek she’d never noticed before. “I guess we’re kind of famous or something. When the plane went down there was some serious press in the States and now everyone wants to talk to us.” Dave pushed a long strand of hair behind Lillian’s ear. It felt so natural but also so out of place in this new setting.

“Our families, uh, have you talked to anyone?” Her boys, she’d see them again. Then she remembered Jerry and how much she had to tell him. She wasn’t ready for the pain on his face when she explained about Margaret dying and what happened with Kent. She’d have to tell him all about what she did with Dave and most of all—Paul.

“Beth and Jerry are here. They showed up within a day of our rescue. Jerry hasn’t left your side. In fact, this is the first time I’ve found you alone. I think the nurses forced him to take a break, something about his mental health.” He glanced at the wall again and Lillian realized it was a clock. David was worried about Jerry coming back.

“How’s Beth?” Lillian asked, avoiding the topic of Jerry and all the baggage that came with it.

“Oh, she seems very much the same. She’s sleeping in the extra bed in my room right now.” An unmistakable longing tinted the black-blue of his irises. “I haven’t told them anything about us, or Paul. I thought that’s what you’d want.”

The weight on her chest suddenly dissolved. “Thank you.”

Seeing her tears, Dave released her hand and sat back in his chair. He waited quietly as the heart monitor beeped relentlessly in the background and she rubbed her face with a sheet.

“We aren’t going to tell them, are we?” he asked, a distinct chill to his voice.

“You think we should?” she asked, incredulously. “You want to tell Beth about us or about Kent?”

“I’ll never tell anyone about Kent,” he said, the chill thawing a little. “I made you a promise and I’ll never break it. But think about it, Lily, they’re going to find out. When they dig up Margaret, they
will
find Paul, and then what will you say?” Dave picked at the flimsy wood veneer armrest. Lillian’s head thumped against the curved metal frame of the bed.

“I’ll tell them about Paul,” she whispered, staring at a spot on the wall, biting her dry bottom lip.

“But not about us, is that what you’re trying to say?” His fingernails clicked against the armrest and the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched under the thin layer of smooth, hairless skin.

“It might be easier for everyone. It seems like Beth and Jerry waited for us. How are we supposed to tell them about what we did?”

“Because I thought we were in love.” He apparently forgot his attempt at coolness and dragged his chair so close to the side of the bed his knees pressed against the frame. “I thought before everything that happened with Paul we were happy together.” When he pulled her hand to his closely shaven cheek, it felt like satin and Lillian had a fleeting desire to kiss it. He continued, sounding desperate. “You couldn’t have been faking that whole time. You loved me. I’m sure.” His cheeks flushed red through his tan skin. It was hard for Lillian to see him upset.

“I did, David. I do.” Dave smiled and kissed the palm of her hand. The tightness in her throat threatened to suffocate her but she knew what she had to say. “I’ll always care about you, but you and I both know we can’t be together anymore.” He paused mid-kiss, peering at her over the horizon of her palm, his grip slipping away.

“I get it. You’re going home to play house. You think that’ll fill the hole that’s inside you since you lost Paul.” He shook his head. “Mark my words, you won’t find the answers to your prayers under that roof. You’ll spend all your time pretending, and then you’ll remember the only real thing you ever had was on that island, with me.”

She shrunk away. “You don’t understand. You don’t have children. It’s different. I can’t abandon them as soon as they have me back. I have to
try
, for their sake if nothing else.” Reality was seeping in and turning her beautiful Technicolor dreams into a bleached-out black-and-white photo.

“That’s not fair.” He crossed his arms and tipped his chair back, two rear legs creaking with annoyance. “I might not know what it’s like to have children but I know what it’s like to lose a child, and you’re not going to lose your kids. You’ve risen from the dead. They’ll be ecstatic for that reason alone.”