Wreckage (29 page)

“I can’t toss Jerry out and the ten, well, almost twelve years now, we’ve been married because of something that happened half a world away. I won’t give up on my family that easily.”

Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Lily. I never would’ve guessed you could turn your back on me. What if he doesn’t want you anymore when you tell him the truth? Will you come running back to me then?” He glowered at her, hands clasped together like he was praying.

“I’m not going to tell him,” she said, plain and simple. Her mind was made up, it had been for a long time. It was the only way she could allow herself to be with David on the island without feeling like she was betraying Jerry and her children. She’d told herself that when the time came, she’d choose home.

“Excuse me?” He let the chair drop with a crack, and Lillian imagined the sound was his heart breaking. “You’re not going to tell him? How’ll that work?”

“We’ll come up with a story, a good story, and we’ll tell that instead.”

“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?” Dave laughed. His voice was getting loud and Lillian worried soon a nurse would investigate.

“I was hoping you’d do it because you cared about me. Because you love me.”

He sat very still. Lillian didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing he hadn’t said “no” right away. He had to understand. It was hard for her too, but she couldn’t think only of herself. As much as she wanted to slide over to the other side of the bed and pull David in, to wrap her arms around his hard, lean waist and kiss the hollow of his neck, right next to his collarbone, she couldn’t. On the island it didn’t feel like cheating. But lying there in a hospital bed in the real world, which had suddenly snapped into place around her like a trap, it did.

“Fine. If you insist, I’ll do it,” he grumbled. “I’ll lie, but you have to promise me that if things aren’t all lollipops and rainbows back in Jerryland you’ll reconsider what we have . . . or had. I know we could be happy, I know it.” He sounded so sure, and for one second she could see their alternate future in his eyes. Walking hand in hand on the beach in California, the boys running through the waves, a blonde head with tiny pigtails bobbing up and down on Dave’s shoulders. Then he blinked and Lillian knew it was only a dream.

“I promise, David. This isn’t good-bye. We’ve been through too much together to walk out of this place in opposite directions. Plus, we need to get our story straight. If we’re as famous as those paramedics claimed, people are going to try to pull out all our secrets and put them out before the world. We have to stop them.”

Dave nodded without changing expression. He shoved away from Lillian’s bedside, his chair letting out a tattling screech. The next twenty minutes felt like a business meeting as Dave and Lillian figured out what stories and lies they were going to tell for the rest of their lives.

Almost nine months later and they were still telling them. As Lillian told her tale about Paul it came out smooth as spun silk. She had to pat herself on the back a little; it was working.

“How long was Paul with you?” Genevieve was so into it. It wasn’t hard to tell Genevieve Randall had been biding her time, waiting for Paul. Everyone loved Paul, even though Dave and Lillian were the only people who had ever known him. Usually it hurt to talk about having and then losing Paul, but today it felt good. Sometimes it didn’t feel like he’d even existed, so talking about him, especially after not talking about him so long, resurrected her feelings.

“Three short but wonderful months,” Lillian sighed.

“When did you know?” Her mouth turned up at the corner and Lillian was sure Genevieve was actually interested in her answer.

“I was on the beach, eating a green banana . . .”

CHAPTER 26

LILY-DAY 301

The Island

I loathe green bananas. They taste like grass and crush into uneven clumps as I chew. Usually I toss them into the fire for a few minutes till the skins char a little, making the insides soften just enough to make them bearable. But this morning the fire’s too low and I’m too hungry to wait.

Sometimes I forget how wonderful food used to be. Chocolate, steak, doughnuts, pizza, fresh green beans, hamburgers, ice cream—all things I may never taste again. I’ve learned that memories of taste disappear faster than the other senses. The words “yummy” and “delicious” seem so pedestrian and unequal to the way I miss eating things other than fish and rats and snails and fruit at various stages of ripeness.

I shove the last bite of banana in my mouth, still starving. Peanut butter, yes, that would’ve tasted amazing slathered all over that sorry excuse of a banana. I toss the empty peel into the smoldering ashes before crossing over to our woodpile and grabbing a few dry pieces of kindling from the bottom. I should get the fire nice and hot so when David gets back with some fish they’ll cook quickly. I hope he gets lucky and finds a fish with some meat on its bones. We need to go on a trip to Bizarro Beach because I’m tired of the small fish that taste like seaweed.

Once the fire’s blazing again I step back, sweat trickling down both sides of my face. That banana isn’t sitting well. I was going to do some weaving this morning but between the heat and the nausea, I look at the lapping blue waves longingly. A quick dip won’t hurt, right?

David hates it when I swim alone. Even though the story we’ve created about Kent’s death is a lie, we’ve practiced it so much it almost feels like he did drown mysteriously. I think David is also ridiculously worried that after having a taste of human blood the sharks would be more aggressive toward us. I told him he’s seen too many movies.

I take the time to kick off my shorts and toss my shirt into the shelter, to save myself a chill later. I’m wearing my bathing suit today and it’s starting to fit again. I lost so much weight in the weeks after Kent died I could see the outline of my hipbones through my skin. I’m much happier now.

I hold on to the waistband of my bathing suit as I hop into the waves. I don’t dive into the water today; instead I slowly submerge myself once the water’s up to my armpits, still thinking about David.

When we first realized we were in love, things were super-intense. Many late nights filled with passion like I’ve never known. It’s not like I was some innocent schoolgirl but whether it’s from the pent-up tension that burned between us or just that our chemistry is incredibly compatible, we make good use of our free time, if you know what I mean.

I float in the water; the salt makes me buoyant like I’m flying. That content feeling I’ve only recently become acquainted with fills me. For a full minute I forget how hungry I am and how my children are living and breathing without me a world away.

I’m most surprised at the lack of guilt I feel about my relationship with David. It’s come so easily and is clearly more than physical. This isn’t some passionate affair that’ll burn out after a quick flash; it’s more like marriage, our love growing deeper and more meaningful over time.

Sometimes I think it’s something even greater than marriage. I never spent every moment of every day with Jerry, not for ten months in a row at least. Back in St. Louis I remember a few mornings when Jerry walked out the door to work after a long holiday at home and I’d let out a little sigh of relief. I think most husbands and wives would admit to needing some time away from their spouse but I’ve never craved that with David. In fact, I miss him the second he walks out of my sight.

He’s been gone an hour now and it’s killing me. Ever since Kent, whenever I’m alone, I feel like someone’s watching me. Deep down I know it’s irrational but after what he did to me, I’m glad codependency is my main psychological scar.

Ugh, I’d better get back to the beach and dry off before David comes home and freaks out. Flipping onto my stomach, I take my time swimming to shore. Crawling onto the beach, water slides off of me in streams, and I long for one of our giant beach towels from home. I kept them in the hall closet, bottom shelf. They were softer than some blankets and always smelled a little of chlorine no matter how many times I washed them. Instead I squeeze the water out of my hair between two fingers and . . .

Oh! My stomach flips angrily like someone kicked me in the gut. Still wet, I fall to my knees and something in my belly rolls uncomfortably, like a boa constrictor slithering through my intestines. This is more than a bad banana. This is—I don’t know what this is.

“Lily!” I hear David before I see him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He rushes to my side, sliding through the sand on his knees, making it spray over me like a shower.

“I don’t know. I feel strange. Something’s wrong.” My hands are over my stomach, holding tight, trying to make that rolling feeling go away.

David pulls me up by my arm. “Let’s get you into the shade.”

“I’ve been so hungry lately; I’ve been eating like crazy. Maybe I wasn’t careful enough?” We’re diligent with food safety, knowing there are more ways to die out here than from sharks and snakes. I could’ve pulled the fish off the fire too soon one meal and swallowed more than fish for lunch.

“You think it’s a parasite?” David’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, making three lines where they met. I reach up to smooth them away as he lies me down inside the shelter.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, love. It could be gas, as embarrassing as that may be.”

David rubs his hands together, shedding a coating of sand. “Let me check you out. Pretend I know what I’m doing.”

He smiles gravely like a doctor, taking his hands and working them along the bottom of my rib cage. When he runs them down my sides I can’t help but giggle. He knows that’s my most vulnerable spot in tickle fights. He lingers there a little longer than necessary, an incorrigible flirt. Then he moves in toward my belly button and the humor on his face vanishes. He leans in closer as though he can see through my skin with X-ray vision. Then it happens, that unexpected bounce inside of me, and his hands jump back, his mouth hanging open.

“Oh crap, I felt that.” His hands go up to his face and he flicks his thumbnail over his incisors, making a clicking sound that has now become synonymous with him thinking. “I don’t know what to do. Would a parasite move like that? How do we get rid of it?”

“Don’t they come out on their own? I thought I heard somewhere that you can starve one out, but I don’t think that’s an option for us. We should check you too since we eat the same food. Have you been feeling any different? Fatigue? Nausea? Increased hunger? A swelling in your abdomen?” I questioned, finding it funny that these symptoms fit so many medical afflictions: anemia, diabetes, pregnancy . . . pregnancy.

“No,” David answered thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ve felt different lately. Honestly, I’ve felt amazing but I thought that had more to do with you than anything medical.” He must’ve noticed my face because he stopped mid-laugh. “What? Is it back? Are you in pain?”

“It’s definitely not painful,” I answered, stalling as I thought through everything. No wonder all this was so familiar, the nausea, the weight gain, the fluttery movements in my abdomen. How could I be so stupid? Sitting up I grab his hand and place it on my belly, just below my belly button. “David,” I say slowly, knowing that everything will change if what I suspect is true, “I think I’m pregnant.”

He pulls his hand away, roughly, more roughly than I’m used to with him. The look on his face is beyond shock, it’s bordering on fury.

“That’s not funny,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t make a joke. A parasite is serious and I can’t do anything to help you.”

“I’m not kidding. I’ve done this before. I would’ve realized it sooner but I haven’t had regular cycles since getting here, I think it was all the weight loss. But when we got together I put on a few pounds. That must’ve triggered it again.” I reclaim his hand but lace my fingers between his instead of putting them back on my belly.

“But you said we were safe, your IUD and all that?” The words rush out.

“It does work. It did work, for five whole years. I had a new one put in a month before I left, a different kind than before, but they’re supposed to be completely effective.” I shouldn’t have to defend myself, as though I would’ve lied about my birth-control decisions. “The doctor said there could be some side effects, I didn’t know making a baby would be one of them.”

David is freaking out. David, who kept his cool in the face of a murderous psychopath, is now losing it because of a tiny person growing inside me. But I’m getting flustered along with him now that the reality of my self-diagnosis is settling in. A baby? Here? What’re we going to do?

“What have I done?” David questions himself. He yanks his hand away and covers his mouth like he’s going to vomit. “I’m sorry, so sorry, Lily.”

“Don’t apologize,” I order, feeling increasingly irritable. “We did this together.
We
couldn’t have known.”

“But it’s so dangerous. You could . . . you could . . .” He can’t finish his sentence.

“Women have been having babies for thousands and thousands of years. More children were born on this planet
not
in a hospital than in one. Besides”—I’m trying so hard to speak calmly—