Wreckage (32 page)

“You really can’t remember me like this? This is me happy, David.” She spun herself out and under his arm before he yanked her in with a flick of his wrist.

“It looks good on you.” He was tempted to flirt but stopped himself, still aware of the eyes watching them, not to mention the cameras. “What brought this on?”

“I think I’m just excited about tomorrow.” The dance floor was filling up and Lillian put her face against Dave’s to whisper in his ear.

“So you aren’t having second thoughts?” he said, trying to keep his lips from moving as he spoke.

“Beth will never know, right?”

“Not if you don’t want her to.”

“I’ll never tell Jerry and you never tell Beth.” Her breath tickled his neck and brought back memories he’d worked very hard to erase.

“Deal.” He checked on Jill, still sitting at the banquet table, watching them dance and scowling. “How are you going to get away from your guard dog over there?”

“Don’t worry about Jill. I told her I have an interview tomorrow and I’ve ordered a taxi.”

“I wish I could pick you up but I know I can’t.” The song was starting to trail off and the couples surrounding them slowed to a stop. He kept his arms stubbornly around her and murmured, “I
will
meet you there at ten sharp?”

“I look forward to it,” she breathed into his ear, then stepped away, thanking him with a deep curtsy that made him laugh.

They didn’t dance again. Both spent the night trading off different partners; at one point Dave may have danced with a senator and possibly someone he’d seen in a movie once. He didn’t notice. He could dance with the Queen of Sheba for all he cared because tomorrow could be one of the most important days in his life.

Only a few days compared. The day they crashed, the day of Kent’s death, the day of their rescue, and, most of all, the day Paul was born. There used to be other days, like his wedding day and the day his father passed and his graduation day, but now it was hard to see those through the haze left behind by that small private jet that crashed into the ocean.

Genevieve Randall’s eager face chased away any bit of fog that still hung around Dave. She’d scooted forward in her seat, not only ready but excited for the current series of questions.

“So you’re telling me Lillian was pregnant before the crash but didn’t know it, and didn’t discover it for
months
after you landed on the island? Then she spent the rest of her pregnancy on the island before giving birth to a completely healthy baby boy who lived only three months?”

“Yes, the poor woman, she did.” Dave had to pretend he was talking about someone else, not his Lily and his little boy, Paul.

“Who delivered the baby when the time came? Was it Kent, or ‘Scout,’ as you called him?”

Dave’s voice stuck in his throat and he coughed trying to dislodge it. This was the one thing he’d told Lillian he wouldn’t lie about. “No, it was me. I delivered Paul.”

CHAPTER 28

DAVID-DAY 465

The Island

I’m in love. I never thought I could love something or someone in this all-consuming, get-tears-in-my-eyes-just-thinking-about-it kind of way. I’ve been in love before, with Beth and Lily, but this love is different. He does nothing but lie in my arms, and squirm and nurse and defecate, but I’m convinced he’s the most spectacular and brilliant human being that’s ever existed on the planet.

It helps that he looks a lot like Lily. Right now his eyes are baby blue but Lily says they’ll change in the next few weeks and settle into their own personalized color, which I’m convinced will be emerald green. His hair is thick and black with wispy curls at the end, which she says he gets from me. But his tiny pink cupid’s-bow lips belong to his mother.

Lily’s taking a much-needed nap. I never knew what hard work labor was, and after watching her give birth I think she should get to nap for weeks. The end of Lily’s pregnancy was torture, physically for her and emotionally for me. She shrunk away to almost nothing and I saw bones poking out on her that I didn’t know existed in the human body. It was hard to watch. I felt absolutely incompetent. I couldn’t catch enough fish or pick enough fruit or pluck enough snails to keep weight on her.

The whole time she claimed to feel fine, but then she’d sit by the fire at night and fall asleep upright. I don’t think it was only lack of calories that exhausted her; all those sweet little kicks and nudges reminded her of the two times she’d been pregnant before. She put on a brave face, but as much as she loves our baby, she’ll always miss the other two sons she’ll never see again.

Then this morning her water broke. About an hour later contractions started, fast and hard. She handled them well at first, breathing and lying on her side, but soon she became restless and tired of lying down.

She walked the beach, stopping to lean against a tree or me as each contraction hit. It was such a strange experience. In between contractions she could talk like normal, converse as though it were just another day, but when the pains started again, she was overcome. She’d close her eyes and she was gone away from me. Sometimes she’d let me rub her back or give her sips of water but mostly she followed some kind of instinct Mother Nature herself must’ve implanted in her.

I don’t know how long that went on. It was nearly lunchtime, the sun high in the sky, when she felt the urge to push. I pulled out the supplies we’d been collecting since Lily realized she was pregnant four months ago: string to cut the cord, a clean mat to give birth on. Margaret’s coat, washed in the freshwater pool, would be the baby’s receiving blanket. Of course my knife, washed and sharpened, to cut the tied-off umbilical cord. I placed it near the fire to sterilize.

“By the fishing log,” she gasped in the seconds before her next contraction. I left her leaning by our calendar tree to prep the birthing area. The woven mat filled the space in front of the log precisely, close enough to the water that afterward the cleanup would be very simple. I lay out my supplies on the log and then retrieved my Lily.

We stopped four times, Lily moaning through the pains, before we reached the mat. She still clung to me and would semi-squat through what seemed like never-ending agony. When I could tell she was bearing down hard, I helped her to the ground and readied myself to meet my child.

It took three pushes, that was all. Lily was spectacular. She didn’t scream like women in movies, she held her breath till her face turned red and her eyes bugged out and she pushed. With the first push, I saw the top of his head, the second, his head was out, and by the third, I knew I had a son. A son. A beautiful baby boy.

Lily sat up, propped up on her elbows, and laughed when the boy cried. The tiny blood vessels that had broken on her face while pushing made it look like she was blushing. With her instruction, I passed him off to her waiting arms, the umbilical cord stretching far enough for him to rest on her chest comfortably.

“So,” she asked, “Paul James?” Once she lay down, I took a quick second to place the dingy coat over the pair before tying off the slippery umbilical cord in two places and cutting. It was tough, like cartilage, and slick in my hands.

“I think it’s great.” Paul was her grandfather’s name and James was my father’s.

“Paul James Hall. Paul Hall? Is that a wise name selection?” she laughed, and the loose skin on her belly jiggled.

“How did we not see that problem before?”

“We could name him James Paul? James Paul Hall? That’s not much better is it?” Her face flinched as an after-contraction hit. She made that humming sound she’d used during labor.

“Are you all right?” As over-the-moon happy as I was that we made it through labor, I knew we were not out of the woods yet. I’m guessing these first weeks after childbirth will be the most dangerous, fighting off infection and keeping an eye out for hemorrhaging. The birth was awe-inspiring but it was also so frightening.

“I’m fine, this is normal,” she panted out as the discomfort faded. “I’ve never felt these contractions before. Remember? The miracle of modern medicine included epidurals.” Her cheeks had a rosy glow, even under the broken blood vessels, so I knew she wasn’t bleeding to death—yet.

“I like Paul better than James.” I kept talking, trying not to obsess over the horrible maybes I’d been throwing around in my head for the past few weeks. “We don’t have to worry about mean kids teasing him or family opinions. Let’s name him what we want—Paul.” When I said his name, the baby began to stir, as though he recognized it as his own already.

His wrinkled little eyelids squinted against the midday sun. Lifting his head a few inches off Lily’s chest, he seemed to stare at her. “Well, hi there, buddy,” she crooned. “Yes, I’m that lady you’ve been listening to all this time.”

In all my years of wanting a baby, and in the months I’d desired this one’s birth, I had no idea, none, how instantly I’d adore Paul. “Is it just me or is he the cutest baby that’s ever existed?” His head bobbed up and down, like holding up his head was the hardest thing anyone had ever done.

“No, I agree. Cutest infant on the planet, for sure.” Lily laughed and kissed the top of Paul’s mushy, wet hair before closing her eyes, pain flickering over her face. “I think we’re almost done here.”

Only a few minutes later she was resting comfortably in the shelter while I cleaned up. I wasn’t prepared for the massive amounts of bodily fluids, but after all my experience with fish guts and body disposal, I managed not to be grossed out. I buried the placenta deep in the sand by our fishing log after getting her comfortable. She seemed relieved when Paul nursed immediately after they settled in and then fell into a deep, tranquil sleep. Lily soon followed.

After all the cleaning and tidying was completed, I extracted his scrawny naked body from her arms and lay him on my bare chest where he’s been resting for three hours now. His warmth and my warmth have mingled together under Margaret’s coat and I can’t stop kissing him.

Lily stirs and an odd feeling comes over me; this morning we were two and this afternoon we’re three. I don’t think I understood the reality of what was making all those wiggles and nudges the past few months. It was a whole person. I was once a tiny baby in my father’s arms and he counted my fingers and toes and guessed at what I’d look like when I grew up. I wish my father were here. I wonder if he’s watching from . . . somewhere? I pull Paul in tighter to my chest.

“How are my boys?” Lily’s groggy voice interrupts my thoughts. She flinches, turning on her side.

“Good. This snuggling a newborn thing is amazing. I think they should offer it as a treatment for depression.” I wrap his little fingers around one of mine. “Just looking at these tiny fingernails makes me smile.”

“You’re such a first-time parent.” Lily chuckles but I can read the adoration in her eyes when she watches Paul. She sees how special he is too.

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry? I have some mango and coconut all ready for you.” I assess her as though I could determine internal bleeding or bacterial infection with a quick sweep of my eyes.

“I’m starving. Thank you for thinking of it, hon.” She smiles up at me, her hands out to grab Paul. “Anyway, I need to hold this little boy some more. I could eat him up, he’s so sweet.” She nuzzles the sleeping infant into her chest, kissing little pecks along his face and neck.

Running, I scoop up the fruit medley I prepared earlier and offer it to Lily. She takes it, whispering a little “thank you.” I have to kiss her, I can’t wait any longer.

Lying beside her, I sneak in tight and first kiss Paul, who has a sweet smell to his feather-soft hair. Then, I lower my face to hers until our lips are barely centimeters apart.

“I love you, Lily.” Her breath is warm against my lips. I want to breathe her in and let her fill me.

“I love you so much, David. So much,” she gasps, and I hope she means it. I can’t hold off anymore, self-control is so overrated. Closing the gap, our lips merge, but when her tongue sweeps across my lower lip and the sharp ridge of my teeth, I have to pull away.

“Where are you going, sailor?”

“You just had a baby, ma’am. I think there are rules about these things.” My cheeks are warm. I can’t believe I still blush around her.

“Not about kissing, silly.”

“Well, I’d rather be safe than sorry. I saw what that kid did to you and, lemme tell you, it was a little violent. You and that little boy have one job for the next few weeks and that’s to relax.”

She tips her head from side to side. “There’s no way I can stay cooped up in here for more than a day or two, plus, you know I don’t like you fishing alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” I try to chase away her concern, pretending I haven’t said the same words to her before. “Anyway, I want to work on the SOS sign and the fire shelter.”

“The SOS sign?” Paul starts to wiggle on her shoulder and she shifts him to the other side. “I thought we decided the sign was a waste of time?”

I put my hand on Paul’s back. My fingers would almost meet if I tried to wrap them around his torso. How can a human being be so minuscule?