Wicked Luck

by Shannon L. Maynard

  Part of me is disappointed but mostly, I’m relieved.

  “Well, here it is. Would you like a full tour now or would you rather wait until after we eat?” he asks, his dimples showing through the dirt on his face.

  I’m extremely curious but worried I won’t make it to the top without eating first, and my legs are so tired they feel like they could give out at the least bit of strain. “It’s very fascinating, but I’m pretty hungry,” I say, hoping I won’t offend him.

  “Me too,” he agrees. He sees me looking around nervously at the children who have gathered to stare at me. “Do you want to go back to the beach? It’s a little more private.”

  I nod, so he waves to the children and takes me back to the small cave that waits above the rocks on the beach. He gathers various things along the way, which he hands me to carry since he still carries the boar. I have a bunch of greens in my arms and some fruit I’ve never seen before. Near the beach, he picks up a coconut.

  “So was that the chief?”

  He smiles. “If you’re talking about the guy that looks like he fell face-first into a pile of sharp bones before a peacock landed on his head, then yes.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he says, and I don’t miss the amusement creeping across his lips.

  “Actually, I do.”

  He picks up the pace because it’s starting to rain, and I hurry to keep up.

  “I told him I found you on the beach, and you were alone.” His guilty grin tells me there’s more.

  “And?” I prompt.

  “I told him you used special powers to lure that snake out of the tree so you could kill it.”

  “Very funny. What did you really tell him?”

  He laughs. “Funny? That was brilliant. I painted you as a goddess who will offer protection to the people of the tribe.”

  “Why would you tell them a ridiculous lie like that?”

  “Trust me; it’s better than my original plan. Until the snake came along, I was contemplating telling them you were a mermaid.” He laughs. “But to pull that one off, you’d have to play the part, and something tells me you wouldn’t be willing to cooperate. Maybe you should consider yourself lucky the snake showed up because plan A involved you walking into the Anwai village not wearing any clothes.”

  My mouth falls open in shock. “Both ideas are absurd.”

  “Maybe to you, but not to them. They don’t have books and resources like we do. They rely on legends of spirits and gods with powers that have been passed down from generations. Besides, two things make women valuable on this island—bearing children and helping gather food and prepare it. I just used a different approach to make you a valuable contributor so that he’d allow you to stay on the island with me and not kill you for dinner. The special powers and protection bit was just an added bonus.”

  “Oh,” I say, stunned that I was so quick to put my life in Dax’s hands with complete trust as we stood among the Anwai. “Then thanks.”

  He pauses for a moment. “And I might have also mentioned something about making you my wife.”

  I punch him in the arm and drop the coconut and some of the fruit on the ground in the process. “What is wrong with you?” I ask. I gather all the food I dropped and hurry to catch up with him.

  It’s hard to tell over the sound of the rain, but I think he’s laughing. By the time we reach the cave, we’re both drenched from the steady drizzle. I stagger inside. After sitting the items down on a large palm leaf, I collapse onto my backpack to watch Dax make quick work of starting a fire. There’s a stack of firewood I hadn’t noticed before. Since I’ve been on this island, I’ve forgotten about my commitment to being observant. But it seems being observant here is more important than ever, and I make it my new top priority, right next to finding Preston.

  Dax pulls some vine from his pocket. In a matter of minutes, he’s built a spit over the fire. He sits the empty pitcher outside in the rain, and then walks outside with his knife and the pig, promising to return shortly. I stare at the flames, lost in thought, as the day’s adventures race through my head.

  Things would have turned out very differently if it weren’t for Dax. At least he knows I’m a magnet for danger. Every time trouble found me in California, Preston was never around to witness it. Like when Sergio decided to grace me with his presence or when I began noticing the constant appearance of a black car everywhere I went. Even the mysterious notes I started receiving always showed up a day or two after he left. Funny how my old worries have just been replaced by new ones.

  Dax is still gone, and the fire is dwindling. Before he left, he asked me to add small pieces of wood to keep it going. I got so wrapped up in my thoughts, I forgot. I grab some small pieces and toss them into the fire. However, the flames are smothered and now only a few red coals glow below them.

  In a panic, I look around the cave and grab my backpack so I can tear paper from my sketchpad, but the envelope containing my paycheck catches my eye first. I sigh with relief. Tossing the paycheck to the side, I tear the envelope into small pieces, tucking them under the wood next to the coals and watching them catch fire. The paper burns, but it’s not enough. The flames start to drop. I need more paper. Reaching for the piece of folded paper, I start to toss it on top of the fire but notice large, typed words in the middle of the page.

  DON’T GET ON THE PLANE

  I re-read the words at least ten times and am no less shocked the last time. Why didn’t I listen? And when did I first read this warning? I toss the letter on top of the wood in frustration and watch it ignite. The flames get higher and I replay the hours before takeoff over in my mind, but the memory always stops in the same place.

  Dax returns and sits the pitcher in front of me, filled to the brim with fresh rainwater. I thank him and give him a weak smile, hoping he mistakes my distress for exhaustion. The rain has washed the dirt and blood off his hands, chest, and back, and now only water droplets remain. After studying my face for a brief moment, he seems to notice my mood change and busies himself with preparing dinner.

  He positions the skinned pig on the spit over the fire, cutting off a few pieces to skewer on small sticks. Tearing up the greens and fruit, he uses the juice of the fruit as a dressing, and slides some to me on a large palm leaf.

  We eat in silence while we wait for the skewered pieces of meat to be done. The discovery earlier consumes my thoughts. The note was wrapped around my paycheck. My mind races with multiple possibilities but reaches only one conclusion. All the notes must have been from George.