Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series)

by Catherine Bybee

  As he saw it, his Jeep was parked off the main road. The lagoon and cave were secluded with few visitors. Reynard wasn’t the one who showed him this little slice of paradise and Trent had no idea if his friend knew of its existence. Trent pictured the area from the air. The soft top of his Jeep wouldn’t reflect in the sun, and the black color might not stand out enough to be seen. The beach outside the cave would look untouched. They hadn’t even left a colorful towel to flag any would-be rescuers.

  What the fuck was he thinking when he brought her here?

  Sex. That’s what he’d been thinking about. Horizontal alone time with his blonde angel.

  He glanced down at her sleeping form. Well, we’re horizontal and alone. He’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire.

  Monica moaned in her sleep again, this time jolting awake. “Oh, God!”

  “Shhh,” he tried to soothe her fears.

  Her body tensed as she woke. Trent couldn’t see her face and was grateful not to have his own fears seen in her eyes.

  “Not a dream,” she uttered.

  “Shhh, it should be light soon.” The darkness was one more obstacle to overcome.

  She was quiet for a few minutes, then her shoulders started to shake and a whimper escaped her lips.

  Something inside him twisted and threatened to undo any resolve left.

  “What is it?” What wasn’t it was probably a better question.

  “I-I have to pee,” she choked out.

  “Oh.” To have her so torn up over something so simple made him realize her vulnerability. Up until now, he hadn’t really seen that side of her.

  He sat up, and helped Monica to a sitting position before turning on his cell phone to use the ambient light of the display screen to fill the cavern. When he shed the light on her, she turned away. “Hey.” He placed a finger under her chin and met her gaze. “It’s all right.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “This from a nurse who helps others every day?”

  “I don’t like being the patient.”

  He chuckled, trying to lighten the dark expression on her face. “Well role-play with me, won’t you? How should we do this?”

  She looked around the cave. “We have to assume we’ll be here for a little while longer.” She pointed to a dark corner. “I can hold on to the wall.”

  Trent scouted the area she considered, and dug into the sand with his shoe. He’d never been more happy to be a man than at that point. He returned to Monica’s side and handed her his cell. “You light the way.”

  He lifted her as carefully as he could.

  She still whimpered.

  “Are you OK?”

  She nodded, but even her nod lied.

  Every step was carefully placed until he’d crossed the room and helped her stand on one leg. She kept the damaged one suspended.

  “What can I do now?”

  “I’ve got it.” She braced a hand on the wall and handed him his phone.

  Uncertain if he should stay and hold her up, or if she could actually accomplish the task without him, he hesitated in releasing her.

  “You can let go. Unlike guys, peeing is a solo thing for girls.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure, Barefoot.”

  He released her slowly and waited for her to collapse.

  She didn’t.

  He turned his back on her and she cleared her throat. “Uhm, can you ah, not look but point that light this way?”

  A few paces away he lifted the phone in her direction and stood by.

  “Talk to me. Tell me a joke… anything. I can’t do this with you listening.”

  He smiled in the darkness and said the first thing that came to him. “Did you ever wonder how the professor on Gilligan’s Island kept the radio working? It’s not like they were hoarding batteries on the Minnow.”

  Laughter met him from her direction. “Someone told me there was an episode that explained the working radio, but I never saw it,” Monica said.

  “And what about the ‘costumes’ they always managed to come up with?”

  “Or the never-ending makeup Ginger always wore… hey, Ginger. Is that who you named your dog after?”

  “Yeah. I guess I answered the age-old question, Ginger or Mary Ann.”

  “Do you think Mary Ann hooked up with Gilligan or the Professor?”

  “Popular opinion is Gilligan.”

  “That leaves the Professor and Ginger.”

  Trent shook his head. “I think the Professor was gay.”

  Monica laughed in the dark. “Oh, I don’t know. He always seemed to have his eyes on the ladies. Besides, maybe Ginger and the Skipper hooked up.”

  “Eweh.”

  Monica giggled and the sound warmed him. “OK. I’m done.”

  Trent handed her the phone again and lifted her in his arms. “Good thing I don’t weigh two hundred pounds, eh?”

  “I bench press more than you weigh.”

  “Oh, now you’re just bragging.”

  He lowered her to the blanket and didn’t let go when she squeezed his shoulders. The ambient light of the phone gave him the proof he needed about her pain level. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was biting her lip. “Where are those Motrin?”

  “Backpack,” she said between her tight lips.

  He removed the phone from her grip and fished through her things until he found a ziplock bag with medicine inside.

  “Which ones?”

  “The orange ones.”

  He plucked them out of the bag and handed them to her with a bottle of water. She took them without complaint and handed him the water after barely a sip. “Thanks.”

  The phone indicated they still had an hour before any sun would filter through their skylight. After making himself comfortable beside her, he shut the phone down, determined to save the battery for as long as he could.

  “I think Mr. and Mrs. Howell were the fortunate ones.” He continued with their conversation. “The happily married couple stranded on an island together.”

  “All the money in the world and no way to spend it.”

  “All the clout and no one to care.”

  “Puts life in perspective. And here I thought it was just a sitcom. Thirty minutes of mindless entertainment. Guess I was wrong.”

  Trent ran his fingers down her arm, giving her a little massage.

  “That’s nice,” she told him.

  “Take your mind off your leg?”

  “It helps.” Translation: not really but don’t stop. There that smile was again on his lips.

  “Do you think they’re looking for us yet?” Monica asked.

  “I do.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jack tried to talk her out of coming but there was no way she was staying in Texas when her sister was missing on an island in the middle of the Caribbean.

  “There aren’t any hotels to stay in,” Jack had argued.

  “I don’t care. I’ll sleep on the plane. I’m not staying here.”

  Katie and Dean flew to Houston with their young daughter, Savannah, and were staying with Danny at Gaylord’s ranch. Jessie’s father-in-law, Gaylord, was notified of Monica’s disappearance but he was in Tokyo on business. His plan was to meet Jack in Jamaica to aid in the search.

  Then there were Trent Fairchild’s brothers. Between Katie and Jessie, they’d already learned where the Fairchild men lived and Katie had obtained a business phone number. Jack spoke with the local authorities and ascertained a phone number for Jason Fairchild, Trent’s oldest brother.

  The phone call Jack delivered to Jason was just as difficult as the one they’d received earlier that morning.

  Jason and Glen Fairchild were en route to Jamaica and would be arriving within the same hour Jack and Jessie were due.

  The pilot informed Jack and Jessie that they were on their approach, and to fasten their seat belts. Jack sat beside her, holding her hand firmly in his. “We’ll find her,” Jack kept saying. />
  “I know.” She wouldn’t lose hope. She couldn’t even consider the alternative. Yet when the island appeared in the window, and the rough edges of the land displayed evidence of the tsunami that had destroyed much of it, a tiny bit of that hope chipped away. She swallowed the shock and simply stared out the window as the plane landed.

  Before the pilot rolled the plane to a stop, and before the door was opened, Jack turned to her and captured her head between his hands. “Promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “If there is any threat to you, to our child, that you’ll stay here with Roy.”

  “What kind of threat?”

  Jack pushed a lock of her hair from her eyes. “There are sanitation issues and illness is spreading because of… because of the dead.”

  Jessie wanted to argue. Instead, she said, “She’s my sister, Jack.”

  “And we’ll find her. But she wouldn’t want you to risk yourself for her. Our baby needs you healthy.”

  Suddenly it felt like an inopportune time to be pregnant. “We’re not leaving here without her.”

  “We won’t.”

  Jessie nodded her agreement and the two of them exited the safety of the plane.

  Jason Fairchild met them inside the pilot’s room by the control tower. Jessie watched as Jack shook Jason’s hand and introduced her.

  “This is Monica’s sister, my wife, Jessie.”

  Jason stood about an inch taller than Jack, his dark hair was nearly black and his gaze could only be described as guarded. He nodded in her direction and skipped a handshake. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

  Understatement of the year. “Have you talked with anyone here yet?” she asked Jason.

  “We just arrived. Glen is checking the status of the helicopters so we can search from the air.”

  “Glen’s your brother?” Jack asked.

  “That’s right. One of the security guards said that Reynard will meet us here to bring us up to date.”

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. “So we wait?”

  Jessie didn’t like the sound of that. “What about the physician who called us last night?”

  Jack turned to his cell phone and used the number the doctor had given him the night before. “Dr. Eddy, it’s Jack Morrison… we just arrived.” He paused and both Jason and Jessie were staring at Jack as he spoke.

  “OK. We’ll find a ride. No, we’ll come to you. Thank you. I don’t have to tell you to call. Right. Bye.”

  Jack hung up and offered Jessie a wan smile. “He still doesn’t know anything. He’s at the clinic where Monica was supposed to report to yesterday.”

  “He’s not looking for her?” How can the people she knows here not be out searching?

  “The authorities have been notified.”

  That wasn’t good enough. She was about to voice her protest when a man approached them.

  Jason shook the man’s hand with a familiar greeting. “Reynard. Please tell me you have something.”

  Reynard glanced around the room, his eyes devoid of hope. “Let’s sit. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Jack pulled out a chair she had no desire to sit in and took one beside her.

  Jason introduced Reynard as a friend of Trent’s and someone who was helping organize the relief organization and transportation on the island.

  “My wife and I, our home was destroyed after the first quake. Trent asked us to bring our family to his home. He said he was going to leave the island in a few days. Kiki and I arrived yesterday, before noon. Your sister,” he said nodding to Jessie. “She was with Trent in his house. They said she would return to work last night. Trent informed me he would come home after.”

  Jessie sat forward. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. We’ve not seen or heard from them. They left with a lunch and a few things.”

  Jason narrowed his eyes. “They went on a picnic?”

  “Perhaps. My wife and I, we thought maybe we interrupted them…” His voice trailed off as he exchanged glances with the men.

  Jack sighed and took Jessie’s hand. “I told you she was flustered around him.”

  “OK, fine. I get it, they hooked up. Where would he take her to… hook up?” she asked Reynard.

  “That’s just it, Mrs. Morrison, there is nowhere. The hotels are not accepting guests. Trent may have taken her to a lovers’ spot, but that could be anywhere.”

  “It can’t be anywhere. It would have to be private. It would have to be close enough for her to return to the clinic by her shift.” Jessie started wringing her hands together.

  “Where has the search initiated from?” Jack asked.

  Reynard looked between the men. “We’ve traveled the road to the clinic several times and then to the hospital.”

  “And?” That can’t be all they’ve done.

  “Everyone is searching for others on the island, Mrs. Morrison—”

  Jason slapped a hand on the table. “Are you saying that there is no search party?”

  Reynard’s eyes grew wide. “Trent’s friends are searching.”

  Jessie turned to her husband, her eyes pleading.

  “You’ll fall and break your neck.” Damn foolish man and his idea to climb the wall. The cave wall without footholds or roots to hold on to or anything.

  “I have to try.”

  “So what, we can both be unable to walk? What will that accomplish, Barefoot?” Without the ability to strike an indignant pose, Monica settled for a superior tone. Deep down she was scared to death that he’d attempt to reach the top of the cave only to fall and break his damn neck. “You need a good dose of my fear of heights and you’d understand the risk.”

  Trent was searching the walls of the cave, managed to get his toe into a crack or two only to have no other place to climb. All Monica could do was watch him pace the cavern like a caged lion and search for a way up.

  The sun had come up to remind them the cave didn’t hold a lost passageway that either of them could crawl through. It held a pool of water two feet deep and five feet wide that both of them had needed to drink. It tasted like dirt, probably because it was nothing more than runoff from whatever foliage sat above them. It drained somewhere beneath the sand, evident when there had been a downfall of rain shortly after the sun rose and the pool splashed about but didn’t overfill.

  “I can’t just sit here,” he said as he tried yet another wall.

  “Oh, rub it in.”

  He sent her a glare worthy of a father to a teenage daughter trying to leave the house with a miniskirt and a biker boyfriend.

  Instead of saying anything, he took a running jump to try to grasp an outcropping of rocks that was several feet above his reach. On the third jump, he managed to grab hold and hang above the ground. Monica didn’t see any possible place for him to make his next move. Trent noticed something and reached for it only to lose his grip and fall to the ground with a thud.

  Monica winced but he bounced back up to try again.

  “I get it,” she yelled at him. “You want to be the hero. But dead heroes aren’t a lot of fun.” Her insides crawled with every jump.

  Why couldn’t he see it was useless? Even if he managed to make it up ten, fifteen feet, there was nothing to grab ahold of at that point. Nothing.

  If he fell…

  Monica pushed herself up against the wall, using her back to inch into a standing position. The movement spread hot pain up her leg and made her head swim. For a brief moment, she thought she’d be sick to her stomach. She hoped to hell that was because of the pain and not because the water they were forced to drink was bad.

  Trent hadn’t noticed her stand and was still trying to climb a vertical wall without a rope.

  She hopped on her good leg, using the wall for support. Monica needed to prove his foolishness to him. Damn testosterone brain. With one hand on the wall and the other gripping her scrub pants to hold her injured leg, she closed her eyes and tried to hop again.r />
  “Crap!” she yelled when the movement made that white pain turn molten.

  “What the hell?” Trent was off the wall and at her side with his hands around her in a second. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Tears, from pain or fear she didn’t know which, swam in her eyes. “Getting used to being alone, asshole. You’re going to get yourself killed and I’ll be in here all alone,” she choked out right as the first tear fell. She hated crying. So damn useless. Solved nothing and only offered a headache as a reward.

  Still, once the tears started there wasn’t any way to stop them. A sob escaped her throat and she punched the hard plane of Trent’s chest. “Asshole,” she said again just in case he didn’t understand just how upset she was.

  With able arms, he lifted her off her feet and placed her back on the blanket.

  She swiped at the tears in her eyes as if they were unwanted ants at a picnic and refused to meet his gaze. “Ass,” she mumbled again under her breath.

  Trent plunked down beside her and released a frustrated breath. “I need to do something, Monica.”

  “You can do something. You can talk to me; take turns yelling so someone searching for us can hear us. You can tell me we’re going to get out of here.” They were coming on twenty-four hours and their food wasn’t going to last. Thank God she’d carried a few protein bars and the Borderless Doctors version of MREs in her pack. But she’d only carried enough food to last a week while in Jamaica. She’d not eaten all of it thanks to the provisions provided by Trent while in his home, but no matter how one spun that bottle, her food was nearly gone. That left the lunch Trent packed the day before, the bananas scavenged off the tree, and that was it. Between the two of them, they had two days of food left.