Last Family Standing

by Jennifer AlLee

  My excited squeal can probably be heard by every bat within a one-mile radius. “That’s awesome. You caught all those?”

  “Malcolm and I did.”

  Oh, how I want to get my hands on those babies. But right now, with only one good hand, I’m fairly useless. “Does anybody here know how to clean fish?”

  They silently question each other, then Tracy pipes up. “They were really sandy, so I washed them with canteen water.”

  I nod seriously, vowing not to laugh at the poor girl. “That’s a great start. Now the scales need to be removed.” A thought occurs to me. Maybe this is a chance to help someone else. “Hey, if you and your dad want to be in charge of cleaning, I’ll talk you through it.”

  She doesn’t look too thrilled about the idea of working with dead fish. So I try a different tactic. “Or I can show someone else. It’s pretty detailed work. Not everybody can do it.”

  Tracy lifts her chin a bit. “I can do it.”

  “I know you can. That’s why I suggested it. But I totally understand if you don’t want to try. It can be daunting.”

  “You just tell us what to do.”

  As she and her father get ready to work on the fish, I notice Jess standing off to the side. Obviously, she watched the whole exchange. Now she smiles and nods, which I think means she’s impressed with my amateur attempt at reverse psychology.

  Tracy and Bob do a very nice job, especially considering it’s their first time cleaning fish, and probably the first time in years that they’ve truly worked together. I make sure to give them lots of praise and encouragement. After they’re done with the fish, we skewer them on sticks and hold them over the fire, roasting them like big, fishy marshmallows.

  Sitting around the fire, a chorus of satisfied moans goes up as the fish is consumed. For me, eating is a challenge. I have a big, waxy green leaf on my lap, almost like a place mat. Keeping the fish on the stick, I anchor the end with my brace, and pick off the meat with my other hand.

  “This is the best fish I’ve ever eaten.” I display terrible manners, talking with my mouth stuffed. “And I’ve eaten some amazing fish.”

  “I wish we had dessert,” Tracy says in a dreamy voice.

  Layla nods enthusiastically. “I could go for a gooey chocolate brownie topped with vanilla ice cream and hot fudge.”

  “Warm cherry pie, a la mode,” Bob says.

  Malcolm holds up a finger. “Chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven. With a glass of ice-cold milk.”

  We all groan, and I swear, I can smell those cookies.

  “What about you, Jess?” I ask. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

  She doesn’t even need to think about it. “Crème brûlée.”

  Perfect. “You’re in luck. I make a mean crème brûlée.”

  “Cool.” She smiles as she takes the cap off her canteen. “Maybe you can make it for me sometime.”

  My heart jumps in my chest at the thought of Jess in my house, sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, the two of us talking and laughing while I whip up dessert. Instead of losing my cool and scaring her off, I nod and stay calm. “I think that could be arranged.”

  ***

  I can’t sleep. Lying on the bamboo floor of our shelter is never what you would call comfortable, but we’re all usually so exhausted that sleep comes pretty quickly. Tonight, my wrist is throbbing, and I know my declaration that it would feel better by morning was nothing more than wishful thinking.

  Careful not to disturb anyone, I scoot from the shelter and make my way to the beach. I want to sit, but I’m afraid if I do, I won’t be able to get back up. So I stand there, listening to the waves crash against each other as they run to shore. And just like that, I’m transported back to another time, another ocean.

  It’s a spring evening on a deserted California beach, the air damp and chilled. Duncan and I, fingers intertwined, walk barefoot through the surf, our shoes hanging from the fingertips of our free hands. He’d rolled up his pant legs, but I let my skirt hang free until the hem was soaked, and when we strolled under the pier, the material clung to my calves. We’d only known each other for a month, but I was so happy, my heart so full of love for this amazing man, that when he took me in his arms, I was home. When his fingers threaded through my hair and he brought his lips down to mine, I melted into his kiss. And when that kiss grew, wiping all rational thought from my mind, I gave myself to him. Because this was real, everlasting love.

  Except it wasn’t. Because a week later, he was gone. No explanation, no tearful good-bye, no promise to return. He left me totally alone. Or so I thought.

  A ragged sob escapes my lips and is carried away on the salty breeze. For so many years, I’ve thought of my life as two different parts: Before Duncan, and After Duncan. There were times when I considered being so gullible, and falling for his pretty words spoken in his lilting accent, as the biggest mistake of my life. But how can I think that anymore? If not for that time in my life, there would be no Jessica. The Becketts wouldn’t have had the joy of raising her into the fine young woman she is, and I wouldn’t be getting to know her now.

  Yes, I made a mistake all those years ago, but look what God did with it. He turned it around and kept His hand on all of us until we ended up in this place. Of all the things He could have used, He decided a reality show was the perfect place for reconciliation.

  My sobs turn to laughter as I consider the divine comedy of it all.

  Something touches my shoulder, and I jump.

  “Easy, it’s just me.” Jess stands next to me, layered in every piece of clothing she brought along in an attempt to ward off the cold. “What are you doing out here?”

  I could dodge the issue, make up some story, but I don’t want to hide anything from her anymore. “I was thinking about your father, and how glad I am you were born.”

  She laughs and crosses her arms. “Yeah, I’m pretty happy about that, too.” We both stare out at the ocean. “Did you ever think of . . . did you ever consider not having me?”

  “Yes, I did.” It pains me to say it, but it’s the truth. “It was an option. And when you find yourself in that position, you look at all the options.”

  “It would have made your life easier,” she says. “One appointment, an hour or so out of your day, and there you go. Problem solved.”

  I look at her, her face silhouetted in the moonlight, and my heart breaks. “You sound like you have experience with it. Have you . . . ?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, but still doesn’t look at me. “A friend of mine. I went with her, hoping if I was there and she could talk through her feelings, she’d change her mind. She didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a terrible decision to be faced with.”

  “Why didn’t you do it?” Now Jess turns to me, her eyes speaking volumes even in the darkness.

  “I just couldn’t. I always knew the life inside me was exactly that. A life. What right did I have to end it?” Thinking back on that time, even though it was filled with confusion and fear, it also brings warm feelings. “And then there’s the fact that my maternal instincts kicked in. I know it’s hard to believe, but I loved you from the moment I found out about you.”

  Her lips purse and her brows pull down. “Then why did you give me away?”

  “Because I wanted you to have a better life than what I could give you. I was a twenty-year-old in culinary school with no way of making a decent living. I wanted you to have a stable family with a mother and father who loved you.”

  “That part worked out.” One corner of her mouth lifts, just a little. “My parents are great. Very loving.”

  “I knew they would be. When I read their information sheet and saw their pictures, I knew. That’s the family you were meant for.”

  She shakes her head as she squeezes her arms tighter across her chest. “Then why do I feel this way? I love my parents. I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up any other way. No offense.”

  “None
taken.”

  “So why do I feel this resentment because you gave me away? If I was meant for them, then I should be grateful, but I’m not.” Her teeth begin to chatter and her body shakes. “Why am I so mad at you for abandoning me?”

  In a spontaneous reaction, I open my arms to her. This time, she walks into them, letting me hold her while she pushes her face against my shoulder and cries.

  A really good mother would have the answers to all her questions, but I don’t. All I have is my own confusion and my own feeble attempts to explain things that don’t make any sense. “I don’t know why all this works the way it does. But I can’t imagine anyone would be happy about their mother giving them away, no matter how great their life turned out.”

  Her body jerks, and I’m not sure if she’s laughing or crying harder. Then she pulls back and wipes the back of her sleeve across her nose.

  “You know what the worst part has been? All the unanswered questions.” Her arms are crossed again and she’s put more distance between us. “Not knowing anything about you, or why you did what you did. Even little things like capers.”

  “Capers?”

  “Yeah. My parents hate capers. We never had them around the house while I was growing up. But the first time I tried them, I loved them. So I’ve wondered if that was something I got from you.”

  I can’t hold back my smile. “Yes, I’m a caper fan. And a crème brûlée lover. It sounds like you may have inherited my love of food.”

  “Maybe.” Her eyes dart away and she stares at the ocean, as if she’s embarrassed by the show of emotion.

  “I’ll tell you what. From now on, if you have any questions, I want you to ask me. Anything, no matter how big or how small. Will you do that?”

  She nods. “Man, life is weird. Last month, I didn’t know a thing about my birth parents. Now I’ve met you both and I have an open invitation to contact either one of you whenever I want.”

  There’s nothing to do but agree. “Yep. Life sure can be weird. And there are times when life can be wonderful.”

  No doubt about it. This is one of those times.

  29

  Morning comes much too early, and with it the announcement that we have pail mail.

  “Come on, Monica.” Layla encourages me to follow as she leaves the shelter.

  “Don’t wanna,” I grumble. “You come back and tell me what it says.”

  “Ladies. A little help here.”

  Three sets of hands start pushing and pulling to move me out of my semi-comfortable spot.

  “Watch out for her wrist,” Jess says.

  “Okay, okay.” I swat at them with my good hand. “I’m up already.”

  Layla and Tracy hurry ahead, but Jess stays back as I shuffle along.

  “Aren’t you tired?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “A little. But I’m more excited to see what the challenge is today.”

  “Oh yeah. Me too.” My flat delivery isn’t fooling anyone, not even myself. Yesterday’s can-do attitude has been beaten into submission by a night of restless half-sleep and a near-constant throbbing in my wrist, cut only by the occasional slice of knife-like pain. If it weren’t for Jess, I’d turn in my resignation right now. But after our heart-to-heart last night, and her enthusiasm this morning, quitting is out of the question.

  At the mail pail, Bob has already removed, untied, and unrolled the scroll that holds the clue to today’s festivities.

  “Well, this is interesting. It’s a limerick.” He clears his throat and reads. “Three weeks you’ve spent together, in every kind of weather. Prepare today, to go the way, that may seem quite familiar.”

  I’m in no mood for riddles. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s not good,” Jess mutters.

  “It’s a challenge mash up,” Tracy says. “They take pieces from previous challenges and put them into a new, bigger challenge.”

  Jess was right. This isn’t good at all.

  “And since we’re down to the last three teams, this isn’t a prize challenge.” Layla speaks with such authority, even if she’s dead wrong we’d all believe her. “This one’s a biggie.”

  Chewing on my lip, I mull over what this all means. The result of today’s challenge will send two teams to the elimination challenge. Whoever loses there goes home, leaving two teams. And at that point, the challenges are over. That’s when everybody who watches the show votes for who should win.

  “So this is it,” I say. “One way or another, the game’s over in a few days.”

  That proclamation has the same effect as pulling a plug from a socket. All the energy seems to have leached out of the group.

  Finally, Malcolm claps his hands together. “Well, let’s get ready.”

  Getting ready usually doesn’t take more than a few minutes. But using one hand to put on a dry pair of socks is awkward. More than once I end up rolling on my back like a disoriented turtle. Then I roll back up and start over. After I conquer the donning of the socks, shoes are next. One look at the double-knotted laces, and I want to cry.

  Jess plops down in front of me and picks up a shoe. “If we want to get there today, you’d better let me help.”

  From the lilt in her voice, I know she’s teasing me, and that just makes me want to cry even more. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this.”

  “Easy. I’ll untie your shoes, then—”

  “Not this.” I wiggle my finger at my feet. “The challenge. You know it’s going to have a ton of physical stuff in it.”

  She nods as she picks open the knot in one of my shoelaces. “It probably will. So?”

  “So? So I have a wee bit of a handicap.” Looking down at my braced wrist I wonder how I ever thought I could keep playing this game.

  “We’ll figure it out.” She puts the shoe down where I can slip my foot into it, then works on the other one. “I’ll do the physical parts, and you can do the puzzles.”

  “What if there are no puzzles?”

  Frowning, she sets down the second shoe. “I don’t know. Let’s just do one thing at a time, okay?”

  “Okay.” I push my feet into my athletic shoes and lean forward, then stop. “Would you tie my laces, please?”

  “Sure.” As she ties knots and makes loops, a smile blossoms on her lips. “I couldn’t tie my own shoes until I was seven.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Something about it never clicked. Then one day, my dad realized that when they sat in front of me and showed me how to tie it, I saw the process backwards. So he sat behind me and reached his arms around me. By that night, they couldn’t get me to stop tying my shoes.” She finishes with a flourish and squeezes my foot. “And look at me now.”

  I give her a thumbs-up. “You’ve come a long way.”

  Malcolm and Layla walk up, each carrying two canteens.

  “We got you some water.”

  “Thanks.” Jess puts both straps around her neck. “Let’s head out.”

  Layla and Jess lead the way, with Malcolm and me trailing. He leans sideways slightly and talks under his breath.

  “Did I really see her helping you with your shoes?”

  “You did.” I cradle my arm as we walk, but every step jars it and increases the ache. “Things are going way better, but I’m worried about the challenge.”

  “All you can do is your best. She knows that.”

  Watching Jess up ahead carrying our canteens like belts of machine gun ammo, I wonder what she’s really expecting from me today. I don’t want to let her down, but the chances of us making it through to the final two is almost zero.

  I smile at Malcolm. “Thanks. Whatever happens, I’m pulling for you and Layla to make it to the end.”

  My entire arm throbs by the time we reach the playing field, and my heart drops when I see it. It’s pretty sad that I identify each mini-challenge with an injury.

  Rick greets us as we go to our colored mats. Then he explains the course while two staffers walk through it to de
monstrate. After they’re done, and my mind is whirling, he instructs us to take a minute to strategize.

  I pivot sharply toward Jess. “What do we do?”

  “Okay . . . I’ll be blindfolded this time and you can guide me to our poles.”

  Thankfully, there are only two poles and two bags to retrieve. “Then I’ll put together the puzzle.”

  “Right. And I’ll break the pots with the slingshot.”

  “Great.” It’s a sensible plan, one that might actually get us through to the end. If it weren’t for one thing. “What about the obstacle course?”

  Even Jess can’t put a positive spin on that. “It’s the hardest part, for sure. I’m just glad the Tarzan ropes are gone.”

  “We wouldn’t have a chance with those ropes. But there’s still the mud to crawl through.”

  “And the wall to climb over.” Jess puts her hands on her hips as she surveys the course with a critical eye. “I think we can do this. The wall is definitely the biggest problem, but I’ll help you with that.” She turns to me. “The most important question is, do you really want to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because I don’t want you to get hurt any worse than you already are.”

  “Jess.” I put my good hand on her shoulder. “I want to do this. After all we’ve gone through to get to this point, and all the injuries I’ve suffered, do you really think I would quit now?”

  “I know you don’t want to, but—”

  “No buts. I’m here and I’m ready. Besides,” I say with a grin, “it would be a shame if you did all that lace tying for nothing.”

  “You got me there. I can’t fight logic like that.”

  We’re both laughing when Rick tells the teams to take their places. I scramble onto the platform while Jess settles the face mask over her eyes.

  “Families get ready,” Rick calls. “And . . . go!”

  Remembering how I panicked when I was the Seeker, I take a moment to make sure Jess can hear me before I tell her which way to go. It helps that mine is the only female voice calling out directions. Bob and Malcolm both have deep, booming voices that sound oddly similar when they yell at their daughters, and it appears to be confusing Tracy and Layla.