A Change of Plans

by Donna K. Weaver

  I moved to the fire and set the breadfruit onto the edge where the wood glowed. “I told you I studied up for the cruise.”

  “That’s impressive. I did a little studying too, but not about stuff like this.”

  We worked in a companionable silence, and I considered the waning moon, wondering if we should dare to climb the uneven tree branches in the dark. It was risky, but I didn’t want to sleep on the ground. The nightmares were bad enough without having to fear animals attacking us while we slept. I wasn’t sure, but I felt the jungle hid more than we had seen so far.

  Braedon picked up one of the coconuts and brought it closer to the firelight. “This doesn’t resemble store-bought coconuts.”

  “Ever seen walnuts on a tree?”

  “So we have to get the husk off?” He reached for the ax.

  “A screwdriver or a sharp stick works just as well.” I picked up a branch and sat on a large rock, holding the stick in place between my knees. With the coconut on the point, I pushed down. The stick pierced the husk but didn’t go all the way through.

  Braedon put his coconut down and came over to help. He held the coconut still while I shoved the stick down hard. The husk split.

  “Once we have the husk off, I’ll show you how to crack the inside.” I thought of when Elle and I had done this on my apartment patio, and my eyes began to burn.

  “You okay?”

  The knot in my throat grew, and I waved my hand, croaking, “Don’t get me going.”

  He shoved the stick through the coconut husk again, tearing a piece off. “You should talk about it, you know.”

  I shook my head. I hated crying in front of people, and I had already done it too many times the last few days.

  Braedon leaned toward me, his eyes glistening in the firelight. “Can’t you see ....” His voice was rough. “Can’t you see you’re not the only one trapped here worrying about friends and family?” He swore softly and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me. I’m sure you’d have preferred Jori.”

  I burst out laughing, my sorrow forgotten. “Are you jealous of Jori?”

  Braedon shifted uncomfortably.

  I stopped laughing. He was. “I love Jori like a brother, but he’d be worthless here. He told me once he’s never been camping. Ever. His idea of roughing it is a four-star hotel.” I gave Braedon a soft push before handing him back the coconut. “Can you imagine me being the knowledgeable one here?”

  Braedon’s shoulders relaxed. “You’re not doing so bad.” He pointed at the stick I held. “Our knowledge is pretty complimentary.”

  Once we had the husks off the two coconuts, I showed him the three coconut ‘eyes’ on the shells. Following my instructions, he rapped the coconut hard four times on those spots, turning it in his hand after each blow.

  The juice ran between his fingers and spilled into the bucket. He licked his fingers. “I thought coconut milk would be sweeter.”

  “That’s coconut water. You get coconut milk from the meat, and it’s a much more complicated process.” I peered at the tall trees surrounding our cooking area. “The water is sweeter in young coconuts, and it’s very nutritious, which we’ll need. But the younger ones are still in the trees.”

  While Braedon went to work on the second coconut, I used the screwdriver to pry the meat from the cracked one. It was harder than I had thought. I ended up with only a single, intact half-shell. “We could use this as a cup or bowl.”

  Braedon considered the shell. “Our first step toward some kind of civilization.”

  CHAPTER 16

  WE SPENT the next two weeks doing little more than keeping watch, either on the beach or in the tree. No signs at all. Not even a glimpse of a plane or a teasing shadow on the horizon to give us some hope, even if false.

  Silent, we sat side by side on the tree’s floor, watching the sun set on yet another day. I wanted to cry. I was dirty. I stank. Braedon stank. He wasn’t supposed to. He was supposed to smell like shampoo and his yummy cologne.

  I lay my head on my bent knees, my face toward him. He had been quiet all day, and the red glow of the sun made his sunburned face seem redder than normal, fatigue making him look older. His eyes met mine.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “Until what?”

  The last bit of sun dropped over the horizon, washing away the light. Until the moon rose, we were almost blind. I could just make out Braedon’s form. “How long will they look for us?”

  “How would I know?” He didn’t even try to sound pleasant. “I wish you wouldn’t act like I know everything.”

  What a jerk. “Aw, poor Braedon. Does that happen to you a lot? Weak women thinking you know everything?”

  He stiffened, and I thought I heard him open his mouth and then snap it shut. With a sigh, he rubbed his face and straightened, popping his back. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Then don’t throw the first punch.”

  Braedon laughed. “Is that what you thought it was?”

  I gathered my dignity about me like a cloak. “I was asking your opinion, not expecting you to spew wisdom based on your extensive experience of being shipwrecked. I thought having lived near the ocean you might have heard about searches for people lost at sea.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Point taken, but I don’t appreciate the jab about weak women. I’ve spent my life around strong women, now being no exception.” Standing, he touched my shoulder. I hesitated but took the hand he offered, and he pulled me to my feet. He kept my hand in his as we made our way to the center of the small shelter we had made from the sail and a pile of leaves.

  The evening breeze increased, bringing with it the smell of flowers and rain. I stared into the darkness. “They’re not coming.”

  He didn’t say anything at first. “No,” he finally said, his voice tight. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Rolling over so my back was to him, I watched the moon rise over the trees. We had two options. We could stay here, or we could rescue ourselves. A knot formed in my throat. At night, in the dark, with nightmares waiting for me to fall asleep, it was hard to consider going out on the ocean again.

  Clouds swallowed the stars and the moon, and finally raindrops smacked against the sail above us. I scooted farther under the sail, away from the rain splatters. I froze when my foot brushed Braedon’s.

  He touched my shoulder. “Lyn.”

  When we lay so close under the sail, memories of those last days on the ship would run through my mind. Braedon never mentioned them. It always amazed me that, of all the people on the catamaran excursion, I ended up here with him—a fact I was grateful for. I rolled onto my back, ignoring the desire to keep going until I was cuddled against him. I turned just my head toward him instead.

  “I think it’s time to make some plans,” he said gently.

  There was only one thing he could be talking about. “How about the catamaran?”

  He shifted an arm under his head as a pillow. “It’s too damaged, and the hulls are fiberglass. I have no idea how to fix them with the tools we have.”

  “Have you ever built a boat?”

  “No.”

  Not only was I going to have to face getting out on the water again, I was also going to have to do it in a homemade boat. A knot in my stomach joined the one in my throat. What a choice. Stay here or go out with the sharks. “How will we get past the waves?”

  “Track the tides.” Braedon brushed my clenched fist with his fingers.

  “It’ll take time to prepare.” He yawned, the tenseness in his voice lessened, as though having reached a decision lifted his spirits. “We’ll be here for a while.”

  Planning I could handle.

  WE SPENT the morning digging a latrine pit. Hot and sticky after our manual labor, we went for an ocean swim to clean off, since Braedon didn’t want to risk fouling the lagoon. I hated the sticky residue from swimming in salt water.

  “I’d like a shower to be o
ur next project.” I shifted the load of wood I was carrying for the bonfire pile on the beach.

  Braedon shook his head, concentrating on organizing the wood for the best airflow against the breeze. “A shower’s a luxury. We need to put our energy into getting a roof over our heads.”

  “We have a roof over our heads with the sail. How about we work on a shower and the roof at the same time?”

  “No.” His house of wood collapsed, and he growled in frustration. “We’ll spend our energy on a tree house.”

  Speechless, I stood watching him as he rebuilt the fire pit, my skin itching from the sea salt. He had never blown me off before, and the longer I thought about it, the angrier I got. I forgot all about my earlier gratitude for his survival knowledge and how glad I had been for his company. And how I had been crushing on him.

  I clutched the load of wood tight to my chest. “When were you voted king of the island?”

  Braedon twisted to stare at me. “Be reasonable. I have the building experience.”

  That was his excuse for playing high and mighty? “I should also have a say in which projects we work on.”

  He tried to hide the flash of impatience that crossed his face before looking at me again. “Do we have to talk about this right now? There’s a lot to do.”

  My nightmares from the night before had already left me tired and edgy. The skin on my back itched again. I wanted to be clean, and Braedon stood in the way. “I want to talk about it now.”

  His jaw muscles tightened. “We’ll work on the tree house first. End of discussion.” He turned back to the woodpile.

  “Oh, we will?” I tossed the wood onto his little tower, wrecking it, and stalked away.

  He grabbed for my hand, but I danced out of his reach and ran down the beach.

  “Lyn! Come back here!”

  I ignored him and went back to the lagoon. He didn’t follow. Fuming, I made my way to the top of the falls, searching for a good place to divert some of the stream. Scrutinizing the area, I tried to visualize several possibilities. It soon became apparent that redirecting enough water for a decent shower would take time to design and a lot of digging and rock carrying.

  I thought about my behavior on the beach. Yeah, I was miserable, but it wasn’t like Braedon loved it here. I had overreacted. I consoled myself that it didn’t excuse Braedon for playing the boss.

  Collapsing to the ground, I gave in to a pity party and considered all the things I missed from home. My thoughts drifted to my family and what they must be thinking. My father had a heart condition, and he wouldn’t have taken the news of my disappearance well. It might be easier on him to know I had died than to be left worrying about me. My morbid thoughts moved to Jimmy and Maria, and then to Elle and Jori. I lay in the dirt and cried.

  I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, Braedon sat beside me, leaning on his elbows, his legs stretched out before him.

  Sitting up, I straightened my legs. Even though I hadn’t handled myself well, I wasn’t going to be the first to speak. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “I’m sorry I was so rude.”

  A guy who could admit he was wrong once in a while. How refreshing. But it didn’t get him off the hook completely. “And arrogant and offensive.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  I sighed. My turn. “And right.”

  His eyes danced. “That too.”

  “I’m sorry for throwing a tantrum, but please don’t blow me off. I don’t like being treated like an ignorant child.”

  Braedon sat silently, and I wondered if he was thinking of telling me I shouldn’t act like a child if I didn’t want to be treated like one. He chose diplomacy. “I’ll try not to do it again.” He wiped at the mud on my cheek. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  All my residual anger faded away. “Fine. We’ll do the stupid tree house first.” I pushed against his shoulder before jumping to my feet and going to wash off my muddy face.

  I TOSSED ON my leafy mattress, sleep eluding me, probably because of my nap. Rolling over to face Braedon’s silent form, I watched the movement of his chest’s slow, steady breathing. His grooming on the ship had been immaculate, and with a smile I wondered if his short, scruffy beard drove him crazy.

  A plop hit the sail, followed by another and another, and then the deluge of the regular evening rain shower started. Braedon stirred but didn’t rouse. Listening to the rain, a burst of inspiration came to me.

  I slipped out of my bed and stepped into the steady stream— perfect for a shower. Because of the triangular shape of the sail, it left one corner hanging down and provided some privacy, so I pulled off my cover-up and shimmied out of my swimsuit, careful not to get too close to the edge in the dark.

  The water beating against my bare skin relaxed my taut muscles. I promised myself if we ever got back to civilization, I would never take a shower for granted again. Without shampoo, scouring my hair was unlikely to make a difference, but I did it anyway. At least I could braid my long hair and keep it out of the way. The suit came next, but when I squeezed the water from the heavy, knit cover-up, the sound made more noise than I anticipated.

  “Lyn?”

  I startled like a child caught cheating. “Don’t come out!” I shrieked, trying with shaking hands to undo the twisted cover-up.

  Braedon must have caught the panic in my voice because I heard him leap from his bed. I barely got the dress unrolled and in front of me.

  “What’s wrong?” He reached for me, but as soon as he felt my bare back, he let me go like my skin had burned his hands. “Where are your clothes?”

  “I told you not to come out!” I accused. “I wanted to take a shower and wash my clothes in fresh water.”

  The now light sprinkle flattened Braedon’s hair as he stood for a second in the dim moonlight breaking through the clouds. I could just make out his shaking head as he turned and went back under the sail. “Unless you plan on coming back to bed naked, you’re going to have to sleep in wet clothes.”

  I hadn’t thought about that.

  CHAPTER 17

  BRAEDON STOOD near the floor’s edge and the newly installed railing, the outline of the tree house walls and roof behind him. He squinted at the distant beach. “Do you see something?” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice.

  Braedon shook his head, marking something on a piece of bark with a charred stick. “The moon was full last night. I’m tracking the tides.”

  We had been there a month. With a sigh, I began to climb down the ladder. Our eyes met and my heart lurched. Just what we needed: me crushing on him. I grabbed the large pot and headed to the falls.

  Before filling it, I made sure there was plenty of a plant I had found which grew prolifically around the island. Its stalk, when split open, poofed out with a fluffy, absorbent fiber, and it even had a mild, pleasant fragrance. It was a heaven-sent sanitary supply.

  After lunch, we moved to the shady lagoon area and Braedon pulled out some hemp rope he was using to make bowstring. I tried not to watch him too much, but it was hard not to. He glanced up and caught me peeking at him. I flushed, dropping my eyes.

  When he went back to work on the rope, I studied his graceful hands. Something about them triggered a memory of my nightmare from the night before ... and that sense of security that let me fall asleep again in peace. My breath caught. How stupid was I not to have put it together sooner?

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” I said. Braedon’s head jerked up, and I continued, “You’re the one stopping my nightmares.”

  He nodded. “I tried to wake you the first time but couldn’t. I think you could have PTSD.”

  “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

  “I’m not trying to diagnose you.” He set his bow on the ground. “But nightmares can be a symptom of PTSD. Have you had problems with bad dreams before?”

  I thought of the months after Jace had died and the nightmares that had driven me to run. When Elle had found out I had been
running rather than sleeping, she had suggested the cruise to take my mind off Jace. I nodded.

  “You need to talk about it. That’s something they recommend for PTSD.”

  I knew he wanted me to talk about Jace. “I thought you weren’t diagnosing me.”

  He scowled. “I’m not. Don’t change the subject.”

  I could stay on subject. Kind of. “Jimmy’s always there. Sometimes Elle and Maria are too, or my family.”

  Braedon peered at me, his body tense. “Why won’t you talk about him?”

  I jumped to my feet, but he got in my way. When I tried to go around him, he pinned me to his chest. “Let me go!”

  “You always run away. Stay and talk about it.”

  Weariness swept through me, far beyond the physical stresses of the last few weeks. I stopped fighting and leaned against him, closing my eyes. He circled his arms around me. It made me feel like I did at the end of my nightmares, safe and secure.

  “Tell me about him.”

  I lifted my head. “I won’t give him anymore time or energy.”

  “You really don’t see it, do you? He’s consuming you, even now.”

  This time when I pulled away, he let me go—except for one hand.

  “Lyn, I can’t fight a dead man.”

  The pain in his voice made me stop. “What do you mean?”

  “He has power over you because you won’t talk about him.” Braedon eased me closer. “He’s already come between us once. Tell me it wasn’t Ja—”

  My fingers flew to his lips, stopping him from saying the name I hadn’t spoken aloud since that hospital visit. Elle wouldn’t have told Braedon; she had promised. “How do you know his name? Was it Jori?”

  He shifted his face away from my hand, his jaw tight. “That’s not important.”

  So it was Jori.

  “Say the name, Lyn.”

  I looked at Braedon and tried to say it. I really did. With my eyes squeezed shut, I concentrated on forcing my lips to form it.

  He stepped away, fixating me with hard eyes. “Jace. The bastard’s name was Jace.”

  I tensed reflexively. But instead of pain, Braedon’s words brought me incredible satisfaction. I savored the venom and disgust in his tone. “Say it again.”