Gillian's Island

by Natalie Vivien

  “I knew it,” Charity whispers, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing triumphantly. “I knew you had a thing for her! Look at you. This is so fantastic!”

  I find myself chuckling quietly, my sides rising and falling as I laugh, but then I stiffen: I don't want to wake up Ivy.

  “Charity, shh,” I beg her with a huge grin, placing a finger in front of my lips.

  Rusty ducks his head in beside Charity just then, and he glances down at Ivy and me, wrapped together on the floor of the tepee.

  And then he does something unexpected: he frowns.

  I stare at him and feel my skin pale. I'm so surprised and more than a little dismayed, but the frown flickers over his mouth so quickly that, within a heartbeat, his face changes, smooths.

  What was that about?

  “Hey, Gillian,” he says softly, clearing his throat and glancing away from us. “We just wondered if you guys planned on waking up anytime before noon.”

  I blink, glancing past them at the sunshine pouring down onto the beach. “What time is it?” I ask around my confusion.

  Rusty checks his waterproof watch. “Almost noon,” he says, one brow up.

  Behind me, Ivy stirs, opening her eyes. I glance over my shoulder as she yawns hugely. My heart decides to skip a beat when I see her, and I smile down at her as she looks up at me with warm eyes.

  “We have an audience?” she asks, her voice gravelly with sleep.

  “Yes, and consider yourselves applauded,” Charity crows, hooking her arm through Rusty's. Ivy chuckles, but she isn't able to say anything in response, because Charity is already turning on her heel. “C'mon, sailor boy,” says Charity, grinning at Rusty. “Let's leave the lesbians to do lesbian things. I'm starved for a peach.”

  “Lesbian things?” I call after her, chuckling, and Ivy laughs beside me, too, shaking her head.

  “God, what I wouldn't give for a door with a lock.” Ivy smiles at me from her position lying on the ground, an arm pillowing her head, her long blonde hair fanned out. She snakes her other arm around me, and then she's drawing me down to her, kissing me with a warm, sleepy mouth. She's slow and soft against me, and as we break away, she yawns again and gives me a lazy grin. “Come on,” she says huskily, sitting up. She stretches and yawns again. “I'm starved for a peach, too.”

  We spend a happy day together. We swim in the pool by the waterfall; I'm better today than I was yesterday. Ivy, proud of my progress, peppers me with kisses, but after swimming, we're hungry again, so we share fruit and eat some clams by the shore. Together we explore the rainforest, discovering animals, birds, plants, flowers...

  And Ivy poses ridiculously for me—like a supermodel—while I take her picture. But, eventually, the pictures stop being ridiculous and become so beautiful that I can scarcely press the button in my distraction.

  Ivy has the kind of beauty that's natural, wild, carefree. She doesn't wear makeup, doesn't do anything special with her hair, wears the kind of clothes that are easy, requiring little-to-no maintenance... And the confidence she exudes makes her breathtaking.

  “You're gorgeous, Ivy,” I tell her, after she poses, laughing, against the trunk of a palm tree. I lift my gaze from the view finder, and then she begins to strip off her clothes—very matter-of-factly. She pulls her shirt over her head and drops it in a pile beside her pants on the forest floor.

  “We'll just keep these photos between us, okay?” she murmurs to me, her mouth curved into a sweet, seductive smile as she climbs effortlessly onto a fallen tree trunk among the underbrush.

  Ivy arches her back against the trunk and lifts her left leg up, the leg closest to me, draping her arm over her breasts. She turns to the camera and smiles. But this isn't just any old smile. This is the secret smile she gives me when she glances at me, the kind of smile that assures me that there's something special between us, something deep and intrinsic, part of us, like our bones or our breath.

  I'm flushed as I click the shutter, as I move through the underbrush, breaking twigs beneath my feet. Her beauty is mythic, her confidence daring, lovely.

  Finally, it's too much, watching her watch me. I drop my camera onto a fallen banana leaf, making absolutely certain that it's out of harm's way, and then I'm beside the tree trunk, drawing Ivy to me. I pull her close, kissing her, tasting her, and we make love right there, in the forest, wrapped up so entirely in one another that I forget where I am.

  Because I begin and end in her. And I know that, know that as deeply as I know that this falling-in-love thing has gotten out of hand.

  I'm totally in love with her. And it scares me to death.

  Later, much later, guilty for, yet again, neglecting our duties, we return to the campsite. Ivy helps Brendan and Brian repair a crack in their tepee, and I'm about to go gather more bananas. I'm grateful that there seems to be a large supply of them, but as a group, we consume a lot of bananas per day. What if we run out of fruit before the rescuers arrive? At least we can't run out of fish...

  I'm beginning to lose count of how many days we've been marooned here; no one thought to mark things down, carving lines in a tree, or—I don't know—stacking rocks in a pile. But I feel as if we've been here for over seven days. The rescuers could show up anytime now.

  The question is...do I want them to?

  Really, Gillian?

  But it's useless to lie to myself: part of me really, really doesn't want to leave this island. Because to leave this island means to leave the relationship I'm beginning with Ivy. I'd be a fool to think otherwise. When life goes back to normal, when the six of us are no longer lost at sea...

  No.

  I can't think about that now.

  Ivy kisses me as if I'm the only woman in the world for her, but we haven't talked about the future. We used to talk about it, asking one another what we would eat first back on the mainland, or what modern conveniences we missed most. We don't discuss stuff like that anymore, I've noticed. And I've also noticed that Ivy never brings up her life back in Florida, and that unnerves me.

  I trust her deeply. But I'm afraid that my time with her is drawing to a close. What will change when we leave this place? I can't predict anything, and the not-knowing is driving me crazy.

  So I have to talk to Ivy about it; I have to be frank with her. I have to tell her exactly how I feel about her, and what I hope will happen when we go home...

  I have to find the courage to say the words.

  And I have to do it this afternoon.

  I'm so lost in my thoughts, composing this scary conversation with Ivy, that I don't hear Rusty walking up behind me. I'm in the middle of my fruit-gathering task for the afternoon, on my way to another banana tree, and I don't notice him until he's right upon me, clearing his throat beside me with a small grimace. I'm so surprised that I startle, dropping a banana to the sand.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “Guess I'm kind of jumpy today.”

  He picks the banana up from the ground and offers it to me with an apologetic smile. “No, I'm sorry,” he mutters, as I laugh nervously, shaking my head. He rocks back onto his heels, biting his lower lip. “I didn't mean to startle you, Gillian. I just...” He toes the sand like a schoolboy who just got caught stealing a piece of candy. I stare at him uncertainly. Finally, he lifts his gaze to me and sighs. “Um. Can I talk to you?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I tell him, and then he's rambling off down the beach again, his hands deep in his pockets. I follow after him, mystified.

  We walk companionably in silence for a few moments, and I become more and more perplexed by his furrowed brows, suggesting that he's deep in thought. What—is he going to ask me for my blessing to marry Charity? Ha!

  Finally, he clears his throat.

  “You're really into Ivy, aren't you?” he asks me then, his voice low as he casts me a furtive glance.

  Now I'm narrowing my brows. What is this about? He was so happy for us yesterday by the fire, when we came back from the waterfall, but then this morning he wore a fr
own at the sight of Ivy and me together. I'm so confused. Honestly, I can't imagine that Rusty could be so close to his twin sister and also be homophobic, but I'm not sure of anything...

  Still, I smile—I'm not going to hide how I feel about Ivy, even if Rusty is homophobic.

  “Yeah,” I tell him, smiling. “I really am.”

  Rusty only sighs, shaking his head.

  God, this is going to be terrible. He must be homophobic. That explains his frown. I echo his sigh, raking a hand back through my hair.

  “You don't...approve of me?” I ask him, squaring my shoulders, my jaw tensed.

  He casts me a surprised glance. “No,” he tells me carefully. Uncertainly. “It isn't that.” I relax a little as I watch him search for the right words. “Gillian, I just...” He pauses and clears his throat.

  I stare at him as he swallows. Finally, he lifts his eyes miserably to mine, and he blurts out, “God, I hate to do this. She's my sister, and I love her more than anyone on Earth, but...” He crosses his arms over his chest. “She's a love 'em-and-leave 'em kind of girl, Gillian.”

  Motionless, I stare at Rusty, my mouth gone dry. This is so...not what I expected him to say. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

  Great. Just great, I reflect sarcastically, as I feel my heart fall inside of me. My greatest fears about my future with Ivy have been confirmed: a love 'em and leave 'em kind of girl.

  Well, it's not like Ivy didn't warn me.

  I don't do relationships, she said.

  “And—I don't know—maybe you're okay with that,” Rusty tells me softly, offering a small shrug. “But from what Charity has told me about you, I get the feeling you're looking for a real relationship, and...” He trails off with another shrug, as if he doesn't know what else to say.

  I shake my head slowly, breathing out; I feel as if the world is spinning.

  “Okay. So, what are you saying?” I whisper.

  “I...I guess I just wanted you to know. And I guess that I just wanted you to be careful, to protect yourself. Prepare yourself,” he tells me softly, leaning forward. His face is open, kind and earnest. Ivy has all of those qualities, too, I realize numbly, as Rusty holds my gaze.

  Rusty and Ivy are alike in so many ways, but in this, I suspect, they aren't at all. Rusty strikes me as the kind of guy who wants and thrives in long-term relationships, if his interactions with Charity are indicative of his usual behavior.

  As I stare at his earnest face, I imagine all the conversations he and Ivy must have had in the past about things like this, before coming to the island. I can imagine him telling Ivy, during one of her flings, “You should settle down if you love her.”

  And I can imagine Ivy shaking her head, lifting her chin, her electric green eyes flashing as she considers her little brother with a frown.

  Because Ivy doesn't do relationships. That's just who Ivy is.

  And now her brother is telling me, loud and clear, that this is the way she's always been.

  “I don't want to see her break your heart, Gillian,” Rusty murmurs then, spreading his hands wide with a small shrug. “We're in a weird situation here, you know. We're all kind of out of our element, acting a little out of character... God, we're on a deserted island. This kind of thing doesn't happen every day, and it drives people closer together, people who might not have gotten close under other circumstances,” he rambles on.

  I bite my lip, blushing, as I recall the last few days and consider how out of character they have been for me.

  But isn't that a good thing? I'd closed myself off from every possibility, had discounted my deepest dreams and desires. It's a good thing that this island has brought something out of me that strays from the norm. All of this out-of-the-ordinary stuff has been healing for me, rejuvenating, and I've loved every minute of it.

  But here, now, Rusty waves his hand, pointing out to the horizon, out to where the coastline of Florida waits for us, in the distance many, many miles away. His eyes are wide. “There's a real world to go back to,” he tells me quietly. “A real world with structure, expectations.” I can tell that he's trying to phrase this as tactfully as he can: “And you've got to trust me when I say that Ivy rebels against structure and expectations. And commitments. She...sets her own rules. And she's hurt a lot of women in the past.”

  “A lot?” I ask him weakly.

  Rusty takes a step back, raising his hands. “Hey, what do I know? I can't read her mind. Well, I can kind of read her mind,” he says with a little smile, “but I don't really know what she's thinking. I don't know if what she feels for you is bigger, better than what she's felt for women in the past. If it's changed her. I mean, I really, really hope that you're the one. You're awesome for her. I've never seen her so happy. But at the same time...” Again, he drifts off. This is the most he's spoken with me since we met. Rusty's a man of few words—one of the reasons that Charity has been falling for him so hot and heavy. She likes her men to be the strong, silent type.

  So it must have taken a lot for him to take me aside, to tell me this. I know that, in the end, his own sister's happiness is paramount to him. Maybe he told me this not just to warm me but to instigate the thing I've been most worried about.

  When we go back to the real world, Ivy will no longer feel the same way about me that she does here. She loves, and she leaves, and she's been great at the loving part, but the leaving part has been, well, impossible, because we're stuck on an island.

  But that won't always be the case. It's only a matter of time.

  Maybe he told me this to lessen the blow for her, to coax the inevitable into motion. Maybe he told me so that I would start the breaking-up momentum, to make things easier for her.

  Maybe he told me so that our inevitable parting would be easier for the both of us.

  I nod then with finality, lifting my chin, though my heart aches inside of me. “Yeah. I get it, Rusty,” I tell him, my voice soft and dull. “Thanks for the... I mean, thanks.” I back away from him, unshed tears pushing against my eyes, my throat full of a lump I can't seem to swallow.

  God. My heart is so heavy as I turn back toward camp.

  Part of me always knew that Ivy was an untamed creature, a wild thing who could never be tied down, kept. But we... I mean, I thought that we really connected. I hoped that things were different for her now, as they are different for me. After all, she'd said it herself: she felt a connection with me when we first met.

  And when Ivy kisses me, it feels like she means it, like she wants it just as much as I do, like this bond pulses between us like a living thing.

  But maybe...maybe it was all wishful thinking? Maybe, to Ivy, this was really only a vacation fling. A nice story, a feather to put in her cap, about the time she seduced a woman on an island after her boat was shipwrecked.

  Maybe...

  I'm such a mess. I stumble into the tepee that Ivy and I built together, and I curl up into a ball, chores be damned. We have enough fruit piled up beside the fire. I just wanted to feel useful.

  So instead of gathering bananas, I'm having a pity party for myself, simultaneously chiding myself for it. I mean, I can't pretend like any of this is a surprise. Ivy never led me on. She never promised me anything at all.

  And Rusty is just looking out for his sister, I remind myself, as I take in a deep, quavering breath. And he was looking out for me, too, I guess, because he's a good guy.

  All Ivy and I have done, from an outside point of view, is make love and enjoy one another's company. Maybe she only wanted to pass the time in a pleasant way. Maybe she doesn't feel any special connection with me, after all.

  Maybe...

  Maybe...

  Maybe I'm driving myself crazy.

  I breathe in another gulp of air, and I curl myself into a tighter ball. Outside the tepee, I hear happy laughter; I hear Brendan and Brian talking about who they'd do first if they were on a deserted island with a bunch of celebrity women... Hardly charming, but Rusty makes a
polite chuckle occasionally, and Charity laughs out loud when Brendan waxes poetic about his hypothetical seduction of some supermodel.

  Eventually, Ivy pokes her head into our tepee and clears her throat, gazing down at me with gentle eyes. “Hey, are you all right, Gillian?” she asks me. “Sick from too many bananas?” she jokes, but I can tell that she's serious, and that she's concerned about me. Her brows are furrowed, and her electric green eyes are bright with worry.

  “I'm fine,” I tell her quietly, propping myself up onto my elbows to look at her.

  She says nothing more, only smiles at me softly, her full mouth turning up at the corners with a secret sweetness. Ivy backs out of the entrance, the sun setting behind her, silhouetting her body with bright, satin light. She and Rusty begin to talk together in quiet conversation.

  I gaze up at the peak of the tepee, my heart twisting inside of me, and I drift off into an uneasy nap.

  Sometime later, I open my eyes to darkness as Ivy crawls in beside me. Her length is warm as she curves her body against mine, wrapping her arms around me, turning me gently to face her.

  “I asked Rusty to tend the signal fire tonight,” she says.

  And then she kisses me. Ivy kisses me as if no one else exists, only her, only me. Just the two of us together in the darkness, with the primal fire roaring outside. We could be anywhere, at any time. We could be the last people on Earth.

  Together, we begin the dance, moving together, finding our rhythms, savoring one another as if we've never tasted anything sweeter. Ivy and I make love hotly, desperately, clinging to each other hard, fast—as if this might be for the last time.

  I think we're both aware that it could be.

  We don't know when the rescuers will come. We don't know when this dream will end. I realize, then, that that's why we've avoided speaking about the future. Because right now, this moment, is all that we have for sure.

  Still, as I taste her, as I touch her beautiful body, kissing it, telling her with my actions, with my caress, how much I care about her...I can't help but think about what is to come.