Gillian's Island

by Natalie Vivien

  I can't help but think about losing her.

  I curl up in her arms, as close to her as I can get, our limbs twined together, our lengths pressed tightly against one another. I reach out in the darkness, and I pick up the compass necklace, lying against her collarbone. I hold it up, and in the dark gleam of the firelight dancing outside the tepee, I watch the compass's needle wiggle back and forth, finding true north.

  “Here,” Ivy whispers, sitting up a little and slipping the chain of the compass off of her neck. She gazes down at me solemnly as she turns on her elbow, and she gently, gently, places the chain around my neck.

  “No, this was your father's,” I tell her, my heart skipping several beats in a row as I gaze at Ivy, at her bright green eyes, at her beautiful, full mouth slanting sadly as she looks at me.

  “I want you to have it,” she tells me gently, and she presses a finger to my mouth when I begin to protest. Her finger is salty, like the sea, like tears, and I breathe out, my heart hammering against my insides as I search her eyes. “No buts,” she tells me softly. And then she lowers her beautiful face to mine, and she kisses me fiercely.

  When she backs away after a long, delicious moment, she holds my gaze as her thumb moves over the compass's glass face. “It's the only thing I have to give,” she says then, her voice hoarse as she shakes her head, “and so I'm giving it to you.” She presses her palm to the compass over my heart. “It'll help you find your way, where you need to be,” she tells me, searching my eyes.

  I already know where I need to be. I'm nestled in her arms, and she leans down, kisses me again.

  I'm exactly where I need to be, I think hopelessly, as much as my heart aches, as much as I know it's soon going to be over. Over—this. All of this.

  And, in the morning, it is.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hello?”

  An unfamiliar voice wakes me, and for a moment, I blink, confused. Everything moves slowly, softly, just like in a dream; idly, I wonder what time it is. I reach for my cell phone, the object that's always on my bedside table, to check the time...

  And then I gasp, remembering that I haven't seen my cell phone since...

  Since the shipwreck. Since we were shipwrecked on this deserted island. And, during that shipwreck, my phone and my purse sank into the deep abyss, never to be seen again.

  I gape at the bright blue sky just beyond the opening of the tepee—and I sigh.

  I was having a dream. A nice, long dream about Ivy and me, living together in domestic bliss in Florida. We were laughing and talking, our legs entwined on my old, lumpy couch, and we were about to order Chinese takeout from Taste Yum.

  Ivy wanted vegetable lo mein, and I wanted vegetable fried rice, and we were going to split an order of egg rolls. Kodak, my dog, was dozing contentedly at our feet, and there was soft jazz emanating from my boom box.

  It was all so perfect: the way Ivy was looking at me, her eyes wide and crinkled at the corners; the way her fingers gently stroked my bare calf as I wiggled my toes, laughing.

  We were both laughing. We were both so happy.

  But that's the cruelty of dreams: they don't last. You wake up. You can't live in a dream world forever.

  Just like we can't stay on this island forever.

  It's over, I realize, as I awaken fully, gasping, a rush of warm air filling my lungs. I sit upright, stare out toward the beach—and I see a helicopter.

  The helicopter has probably just landed; its blades are still spinning, driving up the sand. I watch the people coming out of the helicopter, rescuers clothed in khaki jumpsuits, holding tightly to their headsets as they jump down onto the sand. Charity and Rusty are standing around them, shouting unintelligibly, grinning. So ready and willing to escape from this island.

  I should be ready, too.

  In a few short hours, I'll be home. I'll order that veggie burger I've been fantasizing about, along with a huge basket of French fries and a pitcher of Pepsi. I'll give Kodak a giant hug. I'll fall back into the rhythm of modern life, of my normal life...

  I glance down, at the woman beside me. And, somehow, I still feel as if I'm locked in that dream. My eyes skim over Ivy's tousled golden head. She's sleeping beside me in the tepee we built together. She's still dreaming and unaware that civilization has arrived. That we're...saved.

  Her eyelids flutter gently, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks. She hasn't stirred, hasn't heard the commotion down on the beach yet.

  But the rescue efforts are loud—with shouting, exclaiming of commands—and, for the record, Charity's pretty loud, too. She squeals and jumps up and down as one of the rescuers hands her a small bag of chips. I can't help but smile sadly as I draw my knees up to my chest, watching my best friend crunch into her first potato chip since the shipwreck. She rolls her head back, euphoric, and then she's wrapping her arms around Rusty's neck and laughing, holding the potato chip bag aloft.

  I'm glad she's happy. And I know it's selfish of me to wish that we had a little bit more time here. It's selfish of me to wish that our island adventure could go on longer—for weeks, months...indefinitely, even. Because Charity has a life to get back to; Brendan and Brian have dude-broing to get back to (and several girlfriends each); and Rusty and Ivy have to figure out what they're going to be doing now that the Swan Song is at the bottom of the sea.

  I glance again at Ivy, my insides tightening as I take in her beautiful face, so relaxed and gentle in sleep, her full lips parted softly, her breath coming in such a calm, even rhythm that it soothes me, just to watch her.

  She's going to wake up any second now, and all of this is going to end.

  Really, it's over already.

  There's only time for one last thing.

  I draw in a deep breath, my heart beating a mile a minute, and I lean down, closer to her.

  And then I brush my mouth across her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent. I know what her skin feels like against my lips, have tasted it so many times, but somehow, in this moment, everything is clearer, crystalline. I know that this moment, like so many others from the past week, will be live on in my memory forever...

  And then the moment is over, like all of the other ones before it. Ivy wakes, blinking her brilliant green eyes, training her sleepy gaze on me as her mouth turns up into a tired smile.

  “Hey, Gillian,” she whispers to me, and she wraps me in her arms, drawing me down on top of her, closer and closer, holding me tighter and tighter...

  Until she hears the helicopter.

  I feel it, the instant that she becomes aware of the sound, because she stiffens underneath me, and then confusion passes over her face as she sits bolt upright, as I sit with her, glancing over my shoulder at the shore. She gazes, staring down at the beach, at that first helicopter nestled in the sand, its blades still rotating, but slower now, powering down.

  And then, several feet away, a second helicopter lands, causing the sand to whirl through the air.

  “Oh, my God,” Ivy whispers, and then she's glancing at me, her eyes dark with concern, or with confusion. She stares at me for a long moment, and then she exhales, her mouth downturned.

  “It's over,” she breathes.

  The longing, the sadness in those two words... God, it guts me.

  She lifts her chin, and she stares toward the beach, and something passes over her face. Something changes about her. Ivy looks resolved, in that moment. It's over, she said.

  It's over.

  A few men and women jump out of the second helicopter and start talking with Rusty and Brendan, Brendan who's wolfing down what appears to be a candy bar.

  A numbness fills me as I glance to Ivy, as I sigh and rake my hand through my hair, the curls unruly after so many days without conditioner or a comb.

  We must look terrible to the rescuers, with our tattered clothes and dirty faces. But that doesn't seem to faze them, because one of the women rescuers breaks away from her little group, making a beeline toward our tepee. She's running
across the sand (no easy task), and even from this distance, I can see that she's smiling.

  Ivy glances at me before pulling her tattered tank top farther down her body and stepping outside, squaring her shoulders back with a sigh. I stand up, too, following Ivy into the sunshine.

  When the woman gets closer, I take in how gorgeous she is, with her shoulder-length blonde hair and her sparkling blue eyes. To my surprise, she sprints right toward Ivy, throwing herself into her arms.

  “Ivy!” she squeals, hanging off of Ivy's neck, kicking one foot up into the air. “Oh, God, I was so worried about you, baby,” the woman says, practically purring.

  And then she leans forward and kisses Ivy's mouth.

  Huh.

  I stare, unblinking, unmoving.

  Am I still dreaming—or, rather, having a nightmare? The world falls away beneath me, like quicksand, and I feel as if I've been punched in the gut by a giant fist.

  Ivy's eyes widen, and she shifts to peer at me. Her body is stiff, resistant to the woman before her, but she isn't pushing her off, either. Ivy takes one step back, then, and clears her throat uncomfortably.

  “Are you all right?” the woman asks, breaking the kiss off and backing up enough to hold Ivy at arm's length, looking her up and down. “Are you hurt? What happened?” she asks. Her blonde hair sweeps over her shoulders as she considers Ivy's length, dwelling much longer than necessary on Ivy's chest. Her mouth turns up at the corners in a suggestive smile. “You look like you're all right,” she observes coyly.

  “Well, we capsized,” Ivy says simply, her eyes averted. She crosses her arms in front of her, shifts away. “You're part of the rescue team, Abby?” Ivy asks quietly.

  “Yeah, I made a special request when I found out your boat was missing,” she says, her smile softening as she draws Ivy close again. It's a little awkward, her hugging Ivy when Ivy's arms are crossed in front of her, and yet this woman—Abby, apparently—still manages to achieve it. “God, I was so worried that something awful had happened to you. That storm was one of the worst I've seen. But I'm so glad you're okay! I mean, it's been too long, hasn't it?” She regards Ivy with hooded eyes as she lowers her voice, murmurs, “We should really catch up—”

  “Yeah,” says Ivy, disentangling herself from Abby's embrace. She takes a step backward, glancing at me with a furrowed brow.

  She wants to say something to me. I can see her jaw working, can see the pain flashing in her eyes. But she sighs, and she doesn't say anything at all. She takes a step backward, glancing across the beach, toward her brother. “Um, hang on a second,” she says. And then Ivy lifts up her hand, hailing Rusty, and she takes off in a jog in his direction.

  Leaving Abby and me alone.

  “Hi... I'm Abby,” Abby says, extending her hand to me with a wide, perfect smile, her teeth toothpaste-commercial white. I take her hand and try to smile at her, too, but I know it comes out looking weird, lopsided.

  “Gillian,” I offer, my voice small. I can feel my cheeks beginning to flush. Who is Abby? It's kind of obvious that she and Ivy have had a thing. Perhaps they even have an ongoing thing.

  How many other women are there like Abby, women that Ivy has, I don't know, sexy understandings with?

  I stand there, anguish rushing through my veins, and I try to be brave, nonchalant, indifferent. But it's hard. So hard.

  “You were on Ivy's boat?” asks Abby, her head tilted to the side as she gazes at me inquisitively. I wonder if she's a paramedic, and. if she is, wouldn't she know who was on the boat, considering we left our information behind?

  “Yeah, I was,” I force out, clearing my throat.

  And then Abby's eyes slide over me, up and down, her mouth quirked sideways. “Huh,” she says. She doesn't ask me if I need help, if I'm injured. She just—I'm assuming—assesses that Ivy probably had a thing with me, too.

  My cheeks burn.

  And then things begin to happen very quickly.

  Too quickly.

  Within moments, the rescue is put into motion, and everything starts to change.

  “Well, come with me,” says Abby, lifting her chin and ushering me forward, toward the beach. I grab my camera bag, and then I'm being herded, along with Charity and Brendan, toward the first helicopter, its blades accelerating as the pilot turns on the engine.

  I can see, further down the beach, Brian, Ivy and Rusty climbing into the other helicopter. Abby hands me off to a rescuer, and then she's trotting across the sand again, angling toward Ivy's helicopter. So she's going to be riding back to Florida with her, I realize, my stomach sinking inside of me as the rescue team shouts instructions at us helpfully, over the sound of the whirling blades.

  “Ready?” someone asks me, handing me a bottle of water with a bright smile.

  No.

  No, I'm not ready.

  No, I don't want this to end...

  But I'm buckled into one of the seats. Everything feels so surreal. I glance at the campsite from inside of the helicopter, and I see it for what it really was: a grouping of stick tepees. There's our small fire, that one of the rescuers is currently stomping out. There's the mound of fruit that we'd put aside for breakfast this morning.

  It all looks so shabby, viewed from the cockpit of a helicopter that's come to rescue us, to take us away from the deserted island that we called home for so many days.

  But that shabby little campsite was so much more than the sum of its parts. And so was this island. My time here transformed me...

  And now it's over. Time's run out.

  My heart aches; my gut twists inside of me as I mourn the fact that I never got to say goodbye to the island. The helicopter lifts off, the doors shutting, and the island falls away beneath us, all of my memories falling away, too.

  I never got to take one last swim. I never got to eat one last peach. I never got to say goodbye to the waterfall and the pool of water where I learned how to swim.

  I twist in my seat, glancing down at the beach, at the helicopter that holds Ivy. It hasn't taken off, not yet, and Ivy's not in the helicopter yet, either. We're rising, rising above the island, but I can still make out Ivy's bright blonde hair, burnished in the sunshine. I can just make out her tan face, tilted up toward our helicopter as she watches it leave.

  I stare at the ocean and its blue, rolling waves as we move across the water toward the mainland. We fly quickly, the choppy waves blurring as we race over them, back, back, all the way back to Florida. I blink away unshed tears as I rehearse the words I have to say to Ivy when we land.

  But my brain can't help bringing up the image of Ivy in Abby's arms, of Abby kissing Ivy so comfortably. I can't help remembering how Abby told Ivy that they'd have to reconnect, her eyebrows lifting, her smile deepening...

  Maybe Ivy and I should have spent a little less time making love and a little more time discussing where we saw ourselves in five months, or what we, exactly, were doing together, just so that we could get on the same page. But even as I have that thought, watching the waves move across the sea, I realize that it's stupid, ridiculous.

  If I could take back anything that happened on the island, it wouldn't be the time we spent together, the connection that we answered with every embrace. No, if I could take back anything, it would only be how long it took me to pursue the woman I'd fallen for. I would take back my cowardice.

  I would take back the time that I wasted.

  I would change that. And only that.

  No matter what happens next, I have to remember that Ivy and I had an amazing time together on that island.

  I place my hand over my heart, press down on it to try to quell the pain radiating from it, into the rest of my body.

  I feel that pain as I gasp, watching the sea. I close my eyes, trying to breathe deeply.

  Why does my heart hurt so much, I wonder, curling my fingers into a fist.

  It's only when I think of Ivy's face, Ivy's smile and the way that she would look at me, her bright green eyes soft and gent
le, that I realize...

  My heart is breaking.

  So I resolve to be brave: When we land, I'm going to tell Ivy I love her.

  And then...then, we'll move on from there.

  I get tense as we approach the Florida coastline. The medics have looked me over, declared me fine, but they still want me to check into the hospital, see a doctor, considering that I almost drowned seven days ago. It's only been seven days, they tell me, but it feels like a lifetime.

  I reach up, fingering the compass that dangles around my neck, hung there last night by Ivy. I close my eyes and remember the sensation of her mouth against mine, remember how she gazed at me in the dark and shadows of the fire. The way her eyes looked, full of affection, as she looked down at me, rising over me along with the stars overhead. She covered me with her body, with her mouth, with her kisses and her caresses, until there was nothing between us but love.

  I have to believe in Ivy. I have to.

  I take slow, shallow breaths...

  Ivy and I are going to talk about everything the minute we've landed. We're going to talk, really talk, until everything is okay.

  Everything has to be okay.

  But my plans fizzle when the helicopter touches down on the landing pad at the hospital in Jupiter, Florida. Granted, Ivy's helicopter took off after ours, but there isn't even room up here for a second helicopter to land...

  “Where's the second helicopter supposed to fit?” I ask one of the jumpsuited rescuers as he ushers us onto the roof, the blades whirring loudly above us.

  He cocks his head—he didn't hear the question—so I repeat it, shouting into his ear.

  “They took it to the Jupiter biplane landing strip!” he shouts back.

  I stare at him, dumbfounded, hardly breathing. “Wait—are they coming to the hospital?” I yell at him, and he shrugs at me. He doesn't know.

  I grip the compass around my neck as we're guided down into the hospital, the roof doors shutting with a slam behind our backs.

  If Ivy isn't brought to this hospital... I swallow, incapable of finishing the thought.