Uncharted: An On the Island Novella: (A Penguin Special from Dutton)

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “No thanks. I’ve got it.” Noticing that he didn’t look all that comfortable I said, “Maybe I should have asked you to bring some lawn chairs. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve just got about thirty years on you. My joints aren’t as forgiving as they used to be.”

  I filled a small pan with water and when it came to a boil I opened a small plastic pouch and poured in some dehydrated scalloped potatoes. When the fish were done cooking I removed them from the pan, pulled the tab on a can of green beans, and dumped them in, adding a bit of water. By the time the potatoes finished cooking, the beans would be heated through.

  “It sure is peaceful here,” he said. “I’m used to the resorts, and all the people bustling around. The noise.”

  “I’ve gotten used to it,” I said. “I like not hearing any sound other than the waves.”

  I stirred the potatoes, took them off the heat, and put the lid on them. The beans were simmering so I turned off the stove and made our plates, handing one to him. “Thanks,” he said.

  I sat down beside him and we ate. “Have you talked to your family lately?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I haven’t talked to them since I left home.”

  “That must have been some falling-out you had.”

  “No falling-out. They just don’t really care.” I sounded like a spoiled teenager when I said that, and he picked right up on it.

  “I’m sure they do care.”

  I set down my plate and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand; napkins had never quite made it onto my supply list. “In March of 1999 my company donated money to purchase refurbished computers for a public school in a lower-income district. We received requests for donations all the time, but no one wanted to grant this one. My business partners said it wasn’t high-profile enough. I lobbied hard for it, though, and they finally agreed, probably because they got tired of hearing me talk about it.”

  He set down his empty plate.

  “Do you want some more?” I asked. “There’s still some left.”

  “No thanks,” he said. “Go on.”

  “The principal and the teachers at the school were beyond appreciative and wanted the presentation of the check to be part of a school-wide assembly. I arranged to have a reporter and a photographer there when we presented the check. I figured the kids would get a kick out of seeing their picture in the paper and it would get my partners off my back because it would generate a little publicity.

  “Because my mom was the one who bought me my first computer I thought she and my stepdad might want to come. I was proud of what our company had done. I hoped maybe the donation would inspire another kid to get interested in computers the way I had been at that age. I left a message on my mom’s answering machine, giving her the details about when and where the assembly would be held, but I didn’t hear back from her. She and my stepdad traveled a lot, so I wasn’t sure she’d even get the message. I’d been working really long hours and it had been a while since I’d seen her.” I hesitated for a second, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him the rest, but for some reason I found it easy to talk to him. “I don’t care for my stepdad. He married my mom about three years after my dad died, and we’ve never really gotten along.

  “Anyway, I didn’t hear back from my mom, but on the day of the school assembly I spotted her and my stepdad in the bleachers. I felt really good, you know?”

  He nodded.

  “When the crowd thinned out and the students started heading back to their classrooms, I walked over to them. I finally felt like I had done something worthwhile and seeing them there made it even better. I should have known that something was up, though. My stepdad wasn’t smiling and my mom just looked worried. Turns out they were heading to the airport, to catch their flight to Hawaii. But there was a problem with the money I wired them every month. The problem was that it hadn’t come through.”

  “You wired them money every month?”

  I nodded. “My stepdad hadn’t worked in two years. He couldn’t find a job that was a good fit, he said. I’d already been paying their mortgage, but he pulled me aside and said it might be better if I just transferred a set amount into their joint account each month and they’d take over paying the mortgage and the other bills. ‘Better for you,’ I said to him. I didn’t want to do it, but I worried about my mom. She was a customer-service manager, and she worked hard. I found out from my sister that my mom had been picking up extra shifts. If money was still tight for them, even without a mortgage to pay, it made me wonder what my stepdad had been spending it on. I hated the thought of her putting in extra hours and still not being able to get by, so I said I’d do it, even though the monthly amount he suggested was ridiculous.

  “It was the first day of the month and I don’t know what happened, but the automatic transfer I’d set up didn’t go through. It had always worked before, so my mom and stepdad stood there in that empty gym and waited while I called the bank. Apparently there had been some sort of glitch and they fixed it over the phone.

  “Ah,” he said. “Now I understand why you always ask.”

  “My stepdad walked away but my mom stayed behind. She thanked me for the money and told me she was proud of what my company had done for the school, and proud of me. She hugged me and when she pulled away she had tears in her eyes. Then she said good-bye and hurried to catch up with my stepdad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “They hadn’t come to the assembly for me at all. It was only for themselves and the money. That’s all I really was to them—a source of income. People will keep taking as long as you keep giving. It was the same with my sister. At first everyone was grateful for the gifts. Then they started to expect them. Then they seemed to be angry I wasn’t giving them even more. Like they deserved it and resented me for even having to ask. A few days before I left California I canceled the automatic wire transfers. I paid off the mortgage so my mom would always have a roof over her head.”

  “Does she know you’re here?” he asked.

  “Yes. But she’s the only one who knows. It would have made me feel like shit to worry her. I met her after work shortly before I came here and told her about my plans. I said that I was leaving my journal behind and if anyone wanted to, they’d be able to trace me to the Maldives. After that, I knew they probably wouldn’t be able to find me. I told her that the money I used to wire every month would now go into an account with only her name and mine on it, and it would be there if she ever wanted to leave her husband. It requires two signatures for a withdrawal, hers and a man named Brian Donahue, who’s one of my professors from college. He was the only person I could trust. I called the bank from my hotel room on our last supply run. So far there haven’t been any withdrawals, so she’s still choosing him, which is fine. Love over money, right?”

  “That’s the way it should be,” he said.

  “But if she ever wants to leave, she can.” My sister—who had never stopped asking for money—got one final lump sum, and I did not feel the least bit guilty about cutting her off. It was large enough that if she blew through it all she’d have no one to blame but herself. She’d married about as well as my mom had, and I would have loved to see the look on her husband’s face when he realized there wouldn’t be any more money.

  “What you’ve done is very admirable,” he said. “But don’t you feel like you’re the one missing out? You’re the one who had to walk away from everything.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. This feels like enough, though. At least for now.”

  Chapter 9

  Owen

  I found the cave in January. Strangely, in the eight months I’d been on the island I’d never noticed it. I happened to be looking down when I walked by, and the pile of sticks and rotting leaves that had blown up against the opening caught my eye.

  I cleared them away and cautiously stuck my hand in, trying to feel around. I walked back to the beach and returned with a flashlight, then crawl
ed forward enough to poke my head all the way in. It smelled musty and I realized just how small the space was. I had to wedge the flashlight under my arm and wriggle through on my stomach. The area wasn’t much larger than my two-person tent. There wasn’t anything interesting inside, just more leaves. Something scurried slowly across the floor, but when I pointed my flashlight at it, it darted away. I shone the light onto the roof of the cave, hoping I wouldn’t see hundreds of bats hanging upside down. Fortunately, there wasn’t anything above me other than a few of those giant brown spiders that I still hadn’t gotten used to. I was lucky there weren’t any bats, because if the cave was where they hung out, I probably would have crawled right into a big pile of their shit.

  I backed out of the cave and stood up, taking deep breaths to clear the musty smell from my nose. No reason to go back in there, I thought.

  No reason at all.

  • • •

  For the next four months I focused on finishing the house. I’d never call myself a great carpenter, but as the house took shape I felt like I’d done a pretty good job, considering my lack of training. The house had two rooms, with a door between them. The hardwood floor felt too rough to walk on with bare feet, so I spent hours sanding it by hand, wearing out sheet after sheet of sandpaper. I had to thatch the roof because I wanted to save my lumber supply for the walls and floor, but I’d had enough to build a framework of wooden beams, which I then covered with intersecting layers of palm fronds. I moved all my belongings inside the house, and I tried sleeping in it for a few nights, but I preferred my tent on the beach and the sound of the crashing waves. The sounds were much different at night when I slept in the house. There was a constant drone from the bugs and a scurrying sound from the rats. Lots and lots of rats. It wasn’t horrible, but I still liked the ocean sounds better.

  It was the dry season and the weather had been mild, so I didn’t know how well the house would stand up to a storm. Because it didn’t rain as much, I depended on the water that was flown in more than I had in previous months. And every thirty days or so when I heard the seaplane’s engines, I smiled because it meant I’d have company for dinner.

  When I wasn’t working on the house I was in the water, swimming laps. I had no doubt that I was in the best shape of my life. I could swim for a long time without getting winded, and I felt stronger than I ever had. I knew I’d gained weight, and that it was pure muscle.

  When I wasn’t swimming laps I was snorkeling. I’d finally grown comfortable in the open water. There was so much to see that sometimes, when I ventured into the deeper depths of the ocean, out where the light blue water turned dark, I forgot about just how low on the food chain I really was. It was on one of those days that I experienced a truly incredible encounter, although when I first caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye I froze in terror, certain that I would be swallowed whole by this massive creature.

  I realized suddenly that it was a whale shark, frighteningly large but not interested in eating anything other than plankton. It must have been forty or fifty feet in length, and I swam next to it, one hand on its side. It glided through the water, its mouth open until it turned and swam away. I watched it go, certain that I’d just seen something that not many people ever would.

  • • •

  In May, just before the rainy season began again, I decided I wanted to visit the mainland. I really needed a haircut; I didn’t mind wearing my hair long, but it had gotten to the point where it was constantly in my eyes and made the back of my neck sweat. Plus I’d been craving a cheeseburger and a beer, and I felt like taking a real shower and sleeping in a bed for a change.

  And for the first time in a year I started to think that maybe it was time to figure out what I wanted to do next.

  • • •

  After I checked in to my hotel room I got my hair cut and then stopped at the hardware store to stock up on nails and screws in case I needed to make any repairs to the house. I wandered the streets of Malé for a while, just people watching. I could tell the locals from the tourists and the tourists from the expats with ease by then, just by what they were wearing. The locals were partial to T-shirts with business logos while the tourists wore bright surf wear or clothing with the logo of their resort. The expats seemed to always be dressed in worn and faded clothing, and the ones I’d struck up a conversation with had usually traveled extensively throughout Asia.

  I made my way back to the hotel so I could drop off my stuff before heading down to the bar on the main level. I sat inside instead of at my usual table on the deck because it was raining. The weather suited my mood, indifferent and slightly depressed. I told myself to snap out of it.

  “Hello, Owen.” The waitress, a local woman who looked about my mom’s age, set a menu and a bottle of beer down in front of me.

  I smiled at her. “Hi, Donna.”

  “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said. “I almost didn’t recognize you with that short hair. Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “Oh, you know. Just hanging out on the island.” I never said which island, and Donna never asked.

  “Burger and fries?” she asked.

  “You got it,” I said. “Thanks.”

  She scooped up the menu and said, “Coming right up.”

  • • •

  After I finished eating I pushed my plate away. When Donna took it I relocated to an empty stool at the bar, hoping a few more drinks would put me in a better frame of mind. The place was packed that night, and I’d been lucky to snag a seat. One of the seaplane pilots I’d met a few months back walked by.

  “Up for a game of pool?” he asked.

  “Maybe in a little while,” I said. I didn’t feel like playing; I didn’t feel like doing much of anything at all. Maybe now that the house was done I needed a new goal, something to work toward, to occupy my time and my mind. I wasn’t sure if the island could provide that any more. Equally frustrating was the fact that I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for. But whatever I decided, I needed to figure it out soon.

  I took a drink of my beer and looked around. A girl sitting at the end of the bar caught my eye. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was laughing and gesturing wildly with her hands, whipping her head back and forth as if she was telling a story to the people sitting on either side of her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come across anyone who seemed so genuinely happy.

  When was the last time I’d been happy like that?

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye and noticed the way she paid special attention to the blond guy to her right. How she rested her hand on his shoulder and shoved him. She must have been joking, though, because she smiled at him and he smiled back. I looked down at my drink. For a minute I felt lonely and it was the kind of loneliness that had nothing to do with spending my days and nights on an island by myself.

  Two beers later, I had a nice buzz going and felt a little better. But it was getting late and I thought it might be better to stop while I was ahead. Get a good night’s sleep and shake off the remainder of this funk I was in. Hope that the sun would be shining when I woke up. I was about to close out my tab when the girl from the end of the bar slid onto the newly vacated seat next to me.

  “Hi,” she said. “Is anyone sitting here? Bit crowded where I’m at. Can’t seem to flag down the bartender.”

  She had an English accent, which took me by surprise, and she looked close to my age, maybe a little younger. It was hard to tell with girls sometimes. Her cheeks were slightly sunburned, her eyes were green, and her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “No,” I said. “Go ahead.” Her glass was almost empty. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. I should probably stop after this one, though,” she said, laughing. “I’m half-pissed already.”

  I signaled the bartender to bring us another round. “I’m Owen.”

  “Calia.” She reached out and shook my hand.

  “Nice to meet you,
” I said. “Where are you from?”

  “Surrey,” she said. “A small town called Farnham. Been here on holiday for two weeks visiting a friend who works at one of the resorts. Fabulous time. What about you?”

  “California.”

  “Just arriving or heading home?”

  I shook my head. “Neither. I’m staying on one of the islands. I came back to the mainland to get some supplies.”

  She looked at me strangely. “Why do you need supplies? The resort should have everything you need.”

  “I’m not actually staying at a resort. My island is a bit less . . . inhabited.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Is it completely uninhabited? I’ve heard you can visit those islands. They’ll pack a picnic lunch for you and everything.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s been a bit longer than a day trip for me.”

  “How long?”

  “About a year.”

  “You’ve been living on one of those islands for a year? By yourself? Voluntarily?”

  Great. When she said it like that it made me sound like some kind of fruit loop. “Yeah,” I said. “I felt like taking a break, getting away from it all.” I shrugged.

  “Wow,” she said.

  I didn’t know if she would understand that there was something about the remote location that spoke to me. That I had my reasons for the solitude. And I was suddenly aware of the fact that I did not want this girl to think I was weird. “I wanted to challenge myself. See if I could do it.”

  She looked at me and smiled. “Well, I think it’s incredible.”

  “Really?” I asked. My mood was improving by the second.

  “Yes.” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is that why you visit the bar while you’re here? To pick up a girl along with your supplies?”

  She seemed so genuinely curious, and so serious, that I shook my head and laughed. “No,” I said. “I’m not usually lucky enough to find a girl here.” Especially one that’s so pretty. “So thanks for giving me something other than these men to look at,” I said.