I wondered if she knew that.
***
“I’m going to take a bath,” Anna said, when I got back from the beach. She gathered the soap and shampoo and her clothes.
“Okay.”
After she left, I noticed we were running low on firewood. I took my backpack and shoved all the sticks I could find inside it. The sun dipped lower in the sky and the mosquitoes buzzed around me. I walked away from the thick canopy of leaves, not paying attention.
I stepped out of the trees and looked up in time to see Anna walking into the ocean, naked.
I froze.
I knew I should go, just get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t. I ducked behind a tree and watched her.
She dipped below the water to get her hair wet, then turned around and walked back out. She looked incredible, and her tan lines framed the parts of her body I liked the most. I slid my hand inside my shorts.
She stood on the beach and washed her hair, then waded in to rinse the shampoo. She walked back out, rubbed the soap between her hands, and washed her body. After sitting down on the sand, she shaved her legs and then went into the water one more time to rinse.
What she did next blew my mind.
When she came out, she looked around and then sat down facing the shore. She had brought the baby oil, and she poured some in the palm of her hand and put her hand between her legs.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
She lay back with one leg straight and one leg bent at the knee. I watched her touch herself, my own hand moving a little faster.
Though I did it almost every day, when I was alone in the woods, it never occurred to me that she might be doing it, too. I kept watching, and after a few minutes she straightened out her bent leg and arched her back. I knew she was coming and so was I.
She stood up, brushed the sand off, and stepped into her underwear. She pulled on the rest of her clothes and gathered her things. When she turned to leave she stopped suddenly and looked in my direction. Hidden behind the tree, I didn’t move, waiting for her to walk away. Then I fled, sprinting through the trees, away from the beach.
“Oh, hey,” I said when I walked up. She was standing next to the lean-to brushing her teeth.
She took the toothbrush out of her mouth and looked at me, tilting her head to the side. “Where were you?”
“Getting wood.” I unzipped my backpack and dumped the sticks onto the woodpile.
“Oh.” She finished brushing her teeth and yawned. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll be in soon.”
Later, as she slept beside me, I replayed the images of her naked body and her touching herself in my head like a movie I could watch as many times as I wanted. I wished I could kiss her, touch her, do whatever I wanted to her, but I couldn’t. The movie played in my head, over and over, and I didn’t get any sleep that night.
Chapter 21 – Anna
T.J. climbed onto the roof of the house and spread a layer of breadfruit sap over the palm fronds. “I don’t know if this will keep us dry. I guess we’ll find out when it rains.”
The house was nearing completion. I sat cross-legged on the ground, watching as he jumped off the roof, grabbed the hammer, and drove in the last few nails.
He had pulled his hair back in a ponytail, and he wore my cowboy hat and aviator sunglasses. His face was so tan he looked like he’d been born on the island. He had a great smile, with straight white teeth, prominent cheekbones, and a solid square jaw. I needed to shave him again.
“You look good, T.J. Very healthy.” He was lean, but he had well-defined muscles, probably from building our house by hand, and he didn’t show any outward signs of malnutrition, at least not yet.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m not sure how, but you’ve grown here.”
“Do I look older?”
“You do.”
“Am I good-looking, Anna?” He knelt down in front of me and grinned. “Come on, you can tell me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, T.J.,” I said, smiling at him. “You’re very good-looking. If we ever get off this island you’ll be quite popular with the ladies.”
He pumped his fist in the air. “Yes.” Then he put down the hammer and took a drink of water. “I can’t remember what I looked like before the crash, can you?”
“Sort of. But I probably haven’t changed as much.”
T.J. sat down in front of me. “God, I’m sore. Will you please rub my back?”
“Sure.” I massaged his shoulders, which were considerably broader than they were two years ago. His chest was wider too, and his arms were solid. I lifted his ponytail, kneading the back of his neck.
“That feels good.”
I gave him an extra-long massage and near the end he said, “You’re still beautiful, Anna. In case you were wondering.”
My face got hot, but I smiled. “I wasn’t, T.J. But thanks.”
***
Two nights later, we slept in our new house for the first time. We had decided on one large room, instead of two, which gave us plenty of space. I could dress inside the house, instead of wiggling into my clothes in the life raft. My suitcase and the toolbox sat in the corner, and the guitar case next to it held our first-aid kit, knife, and rope.
T.J. had removed the life-raft canopy – we had a real roof now – and made windows out of the mesh roll-down doors, which let in light and air. He used the nylon sides for shades that we closed at night. He nailed the tarp to the front of the house, stretched it out, and attached it to tall sticks he drove into the ground, then dug a fire pit underneath.
“I’m proud of you, T.J. Bones would be, too.”
“Thanks, Anna.”
We’d come a long way since our days of sleeping on the ground. Just a couple castaways playing house.
***
A seaplane landed in the lagoon while T.J. and I swam. The pilot opened the door, stuck his head out, and said, “We finally found you. We’ve been looking forever.”
I was fifty-two years old.
I woke up, drenched in sweat and stifling a scream, seconds before it flew out of my mouth.
T.J.’s side of the bed was empty. He’d been spending a lot of time in the woods lately, gathering firewood in the morning and again in the afternoon.
I dressed, brushed my teeth, and walked to the coconut tree. While I gathered them, one fell off a branch and almost hit me on the head. Startled, I jumped and yelled, “Dammit.”
When I returned to the house, I checked the water collector. It was February, the middle of the dry season, and there wasn’t much. I dropped it and burst into tears when the water spilled on the ground.
T.J. walked up with his backpack full of firewood. “Hey,” he said, putting down his backpack. “What’s wrong?”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Nothing, I’m just tired and mad at myself. I spilled the water.” Then I started crying again.
“It’s okay. It’ll probably rain again later.”
“It might not. It barely rained yesterday.” I flopped down on the ground, feeling stupid.
He sat beside me. “Um, is this like PMS or something?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. “No. I’m just having a bad morning.”
“Go back to bed,” he said. “I’ll come get you when I’m done fishing, okay?”
“Okay.”
I woke up when T.J. rubbed my arm. “The fish are ready,” he said, stretching out next to me.
“Why didn’t you wake me so I could clean them?”
“I thought you’d feel better if you slept a little longer.”
“Thanks. I do.”
“I’m sorry I asked if you had PMS. I don’t really know anything about that.”
“No, it was a fair question.” I hesitated. “I don’t get my period anymore. I haven’t for a long time.” I still had tampons in my suitcase.
T.J. looked confused. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m underweight
. Stress. Malnutrition. Take your pick.”
“Oh,” he said.
We lay on our sides, facing each other. “I had a bad dream this morning. A seaplane landed in the lagoon while we were swimming.”
“That sounds like a good dream.”
“I was fifty-two when they found us.”
“Then we were missing a really long time. Is that why you were so upset?”
“I want to have a baby.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Two or three, actually. That was another thing John didn’t want. If they don’t find us until I’m fifty-two, it’ll be too late. Forty-two might be cutting it close. I can always adopt, but I really wanted to give birth to at least one.” I picked at a thread on the blanket. “It’s stupid, thinking about a baby when there are so many others things to worry about here. And I know having kids isn’t on your radar yet, but I really want them someday.”
“I have thought about kids. I’m sterile.”
His words were so unexpected I didn’t know what to say at first. “Because of the cancer?”
“Yep. I had a shitload of chemo.”
“Oh God T.J., I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Nothing like going on about having kids in front of someone whose fertility had been exchanged for survival.
“It’s okay. The doctor talked to me before chemo started. He explained that if I ever wanted to have kids someday, I had to bank sperm immediately because once I started the treatment it would be too late. I decided I wanted the option to have them.”
“Wow. That’s not a decision most boys have to make when they’re fifteen.”
“No, we’re pretty much thinking about not getting anyone pregnant. This next part might cheer you up. So my mom told me she was gonna drive me to my appointment at the sperm bank, and she handed me one of my dad’s Playboys – I had something way dirtier stashed in my closet, by the way – and she asked me, all serious, if I knew what to do.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” He started laughing. “I was fifteen, Anna. I was an expert at it, and I did not want to talk about jacking off with my mom.”
“Oh my God, I’m dying here,” I said, laughing so hard tears ran down my face.
“Yeah, the next time I had to bank sperm my dad drove me.”
I wiped my eyes as one last giggle escaped. “Do you want to know what your very best quality is?”
“Is it that I’m so good-looking?” he deadpanned.
I started laughing again. “I see the compliment I paid you went straight to your head. No, that’s not it. I want you to know that it’s almost impossible not to be happy when you’re around.”
“Really? Thanks.” He patted my arm. “Don’t worry, Anna. They’ll find us someday and you’ll have that baby.”
“I hope so.”
Tick tock, you know.
Chapter 22 – T.J.
I was in the woods when Anna screamed. It came from the direction of the house, and when I cleared the trees I ran toward the sound.
She staggered up and collapsed on the ground. Gasping, she said, “Jellyfish.”
The outline of its tentacles had left red welts on her legs, stomach, and chest. I didn’t know what to do.
“Get them off me,” she yelled. When I looked down, I saw a few clear tentacles still attached to her stomach and chest. I pulled on one, and it stung me.
I ran to the water collector and grabbed the plastic container on the ground next to it. I filled it, ran back to Anna, and doused her with the fresh water. The tentacles didn’t rinse off and she screamed in pain, as if the fresh water made it worse.
“T.J., try seawater,” she said. “Hurry!”
Still holding the container, I ran down to the shore and filled it with water from the ocean. I sprinted back and this time, when I poured seawater on her, she didn’t scream.
She whimpered on the ground while I tried to figure out what to do next. I knew she still felt pain by the way she moved back and forth, struggling to find a comfortable position.
I remembered the tweezers and hurried to Anna’s suitcase to get them. When I returned, I pulled off the tentacles as fast as I could. She closed her eyes and moaned.
I had removed almost all of them when Anna’s skin started turning red, not only where she had been stung, but all over. Her eyelids and lips puffed up. I panicked and poured more seawater on her, but it didn’t help. Her eyes swelled shut.
I ran into the lean-to and found the first-aid kit, then flung myself back down on the sand next to her, opening the lid and dumping everything out. When I picked up the bottle with red liquid inside, I heard her voice in my head.
This can save your life. It’ll stop an allergic reaction.
Anna’s face resembled a balloon by then and her lips were so swollen the skin had split. I struggled with the childproof cap, but once I got it off I put my arm under her, lifted her head up, and poured the Benadryl down her throat. She coughed and sputtered; I had no idea how much I’d given her.
Her bikini top shifted when I lifted her. It was too big on her, since she’d lost weight, and when I looked down I saw a few tentacles inside it, still stinging her.
I yanked her top off, wincing at the marks on her chest. I laid her back down, poured the last of the seawater on her, and removed the tentacles with the tweezers.
I took off my T-shirt and covered her with it, tucking it gently underneath her. “You’ll be okay, Anna.” Then I held her hand and waited.
When her skin wasn’t as red and the swelling had gone down a little, I looked through the contents of the first-aid kit scattered on the ground. After reading all the labels, I chose a tube of cortisone cream.
I started with her legs and worked my way up, rubbing the cream onto the welts. “Does this help?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Her eyes weren’t swollen shut anymore, but she didn’t open them. “I’m so tired.”
I didn’t know if I should let her fall asleep, afraid I’d accidentally overdosed her. When I checked the bottle of Benadryl, there was still a lot left, and the label said it would cause drowsiness. “It’s okay, go to sleep.” She passed out before I finished speaking.
I rubbed the cream on her stomach, but when I got to her chest I hesitated. I didn’t think she realized I took her top off, or maybe she didn’t care.
I lifted my T-shirt off her chest and cringed.
Her boobs were a mess. Raised welts covered her skin, some of them already crusting over with dried blood.
I stayed focused, thinking only about helping her, and I applied the cream carefully with my fingertips. When I finished, I checked her over to see if I’d missed any welts.
Her skin color was back to normal and the swelling had disappeared. I waited a bit longer, and then I picked her up and carried her to the life raft.
Chapter 23 – Anna
I opened my eyes and sighed in relief at the absence of burning, stinging pain. T.J. slept beside me, his breathing deep and steady. Naked from the waist up, something soft covered my chest like a blanket. I sat up and slipped the T-shirt over my head, inhaling the familiar smell of T.J. I rolled over on my side and slept again.
In the morning, I woke up alone. I pulled the hem of my T-shirt up. The faint red outline of the tentacles remained and probably would for quite some time. Raising it higher, I cringed at the condition of my breasts. Dark red streaks covered them, crusted and bloody. I let the T-shirt fall, stepped into shorts, and left the house to go to the bathroom.
T.J. was making a fire when I returned.
He stood up. “How do you feel?”
“Almost back to normal.” I lifted my T-shirt a little and showed him my stomach. He traced the marks with his finger.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, not really.”
“What about?” He pointed at my chest.
“Not as good.”
“I’m sorry. There were some tentacles inside your top, stinging you, and
I didn’t notice right away.”
I had no recollection of him taking off my top, only the burning pain. “That’s okay, you didn’t know.”
“You turned red and swelled up.”
“I did?” I didn’t remember that either.
“I gave you Benadryl. It knocked you out. “
“You did exactly the right thing.”
He walked into the house and returned with the tube of cortisone cream. “I rubbed this on your skin. It seemed to help. You told me it did before you fell asleep.”
I took the tube from his outstretched hand. Had he rubbed it on my breasts, too? I pictured myself lying on the sand, wearing only the bottom half of my swimsuit while T.J. rubbed the cream onto my skin, and suddenly I couldn’t look at him.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Did you see the jellyfish before it stung you?”
“No, I just felt the pain.”
“I’ve never seen one in the lagoon.”
“Me neither. That one must have taken a wrong turn at the reef.” I walked into the house to get my toothbrush, squeezing a miniscule amount of toothpaste onto it. When I came out, I said, “At least it wasn’t one of the deadly ones.”
T.J. looked at me with an alarmed expression. “Jellyfish can kill you?”
I pulled the toothbrush out of my mouth. “Some of them.”
We stayed out of the water that day. I walked along the shore, squinting into the distance and checking for jellyfish, reminding myself that just because we couldn’t see the dangers of the ocean didn’t mean they weren’t there. I also wondered if the first-aid kit would someday cease to contain the one thing we needed to save either of our lives.
***
In June of 2003, T.J. and I had been living on the island for two years. I had turned thirty-two in May, and T.J. would be nineteen in a few months. He stood at least six-two by then, and there was nothing boyish about him. Sometimes, when I watched him fish, repair the house, or emerge from the woods that he knew like the back of his hand, I wondered if he thought of the island as his own. A place where he could do whatever he wanted and anything was acceptable, as long as we stayed alive.
On the Island Page 10