by Kim Pritekel
"Okay. Thank you. Come on, Conrad." Meredith tugged her purse strap onto her shoulder, waiting for the boy to drag himself from the chair, then followed him out the door. The older woman glanced at him as they made their way to the receptionist's desk. "How did it go?" she asked.
Conrad shrugged. "This is stupid."
"I'm sorry you think that." She made an appointment for him, taking the reminder card the gray-haired woman behind the desk gave to her, tucking it into her purse. "You have got to do this, Conrad. Your grandfather is so upset with you. You have got to stop this fighting." She unlocked her side of the car, reaching across the bench seat to unlock Conrad's. The boy surreptitiously adjusted his jaw. Wade Pickett could sure throw a mean right hook.
* * *
"What's got you so sad, pretty girl?" Denny asked, settling herself down beside Mia, who sat on the beach, the shore washing up to cover her wiggling toes. The girl had been sitting there for the better part of an hour, staring out to sea, long, dark hair blowing in the salty breeze.
"Do you think we're ever going to get home?" the teen asked, her voice soft, wistful. The brunette was left without an answer for a moment. Mia was simply stating aloud what everyone else was afraid to dare breathe, let alone speak.
"Yeah. Sure we will." She smiled, though it was weak, and the girl knew it was. Denny's heart broke as she watched the girl's face crumble, then disappear behind her hands.
"I'm gonna die a virgin!" Mia cried, her voice muffled. Denny tried to hide her smile as she placed an arm around Mia's shaking shoulders, pulling her against her.
"Shh," the older brunette cooed, kissing the side of Mia's head. Denny had kept track of their time on the island for the first one hundred and seventy-two days, but then it began to depress her more than keep her up to date, so she stopped. She had absolutely no idea what month it was, thought he weather was warming immensely. The nights weren't quite as cold, and the rains had turned warmer, though more frequent.
"I want to go home, Denny," Mia said, sniffling as she rested her head against the strong shoulder offered.
"I do, too."
Mia was quiet for a moment, watching the waves come in, then flow out, just like they had done every friggin' day since they'd arrived on the God-forsaken island. She was beginning to hate the island, and never wanted to see the ocean again as long as she lived. Hope had faded along with the light in her dark eyes.
"Do you think they had funerals for us?"
Denny's eyes closed at the morbid thought, shivering. She took a deep breath. "I don't know. Probably. They all think we're dead."
"I bet we die here, Denny. I bet one by one we're going to die until there's only one left, and then that one person will have to try and fend for themselves until they, too die." Mia's voice was eerily soft.
"Why are you saying all this, Mia?"
"Because it's true, Denny. Tell me you haven't thought about it, too?" The girl raised her head, meeting troubled blue eyes. "Part of me feels guilty for thinking this way since I know I should be grateful, surviving that crash and everything. But what is the good of surviving when we're left to die here?"
"I don't really know." I wonder the same thing, kid. "But I have to think that the six of us surviving has to be for a reason, right? Maybe we're supposed to live on, whether it's here, or if we get home, making the best of the second chance we've been given." Denny's voice was velvety smooth and soft as she spoke in the girl's ear, fingers running absently through long, soft hair. Mia was almost getting lost in the sensation of the comforting gesture. Her mother used to do that. "I'm not going to give up, Mia, and don't you, either. There's a reason for everything, and there was a reason we all survived."
Mia was quiet for a moment, taking in all that the older woman, whom she respected so very much, had said. At length, the girl cleared her throat and spoke. "Denny?"
"Yeah, honey?"
"Can we stay in contact if we get home?"
Denny smiled, pulling the girl in closer, placing another soft kiss on the side of her head. "Of course."
Silence, then, "Denny?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you and Rachel fighting?"
Denny squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened then, sighing deeply. "No. Why do you ask that?"
Mia shrugged. "I don't know. Guess you guys aren't together all the time like you used to be. I saw her crying the other day, over by the waterfall. Not sure why, and I felt like I was intruding, so I left."
"Crying?" Denny saw the girl's nod. She felt pain shoot to her heart. No, they weren't fighting, but yes they were spending less and less time together, compliments of Denny's avoidance. It was a hard thing to do on an island that was three miles across, but it was necessary. After that night in the shelter, she realized that she needed to put some physical space between them, and allow her heart and head to clear. Denny needed to believe that they would get home some day, and there was no way she could face Hannah, knowing that she hadn't been true to her.
"She loves you."
The coffee shop owner was tugged from her thoughts by the unexpected comment. She wasn't sure she'd heard right. "What?"
"That's what Dean says. He says you guys love each other, and that you need to get your head out of your ass and open your eyes."
Denny would have wanted to laugh if she hadn't been stung by Dean's words. "Well, maybe Dean should mind his own fucking business."
Uh oh. Mia raised her head from Denny's shoulder, turning enough to look in the older woman's face, which had hardened. "I'm sorry, Denny. I didn't mean to make you upset."
"You didn't, pretty girl." The older brunette smiled, raising a hand and gently cupping the girl's face before dropping her hand to her own lap. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her too long hair. "I can't allow myself to," she paused, unsure of just exactly what she was trying to say.
"To?" Mia encouraged.
"To follow my heart. These are hard circumstances, and the feelings I have aren't honest ones. I think ultimately Rachel would get hurt."
"And what about you?"
"What about me?" Denny met wide, innocent brown eyes.
"I see it," Mia brought her own hand up, thumbing one of Denny's eyebrows. "You look so sad all the time, when you look at Rachel." Mia felt so sad as blue eyes disappeared behind dark lashes. "Denny?" Her gaze was against met by piercing blue. "We may not get out of here. Don't keep hurting you and Rachel both."
"You don't understand, Mia." Denny's voice was thick with unshed emotion. Yes, she was hurting Rachel. She saw it every time she dared to look at the blonde, which wasn't often. At night, the brunette turn to her side, back facing the author, effectively cutting herself off physically and emotionally. The first few times Rachel had tried to snuggle up behind her, but when she got no response, she'd given up, curling up into a little ball. It had broken Denny's heart, but she had to do it, had to protect herself and her goddamn super-sized sense of what was right and what was wrong.
The girl had a feeling that she was only serving to make her friend mad, and she didn't want to do that. "Denny?"
"Yes?" Denny could feel her jaw clenching, trying to think of a way to tell the girl to drop the damn subject without hurting her feelings. She was eternally grateful when she heard the next softly spoken words.
"If we get back to New York, will you make me a mocha breve?"
Denny grinned, unable to help it. Her eyes far too moist, she pulled the teenager against her again, nodding. "Of course."
* * *
Angry. She was so damn angry she almost couldn't stand herself! Rachel splashed in the water, scrubbing at her skin until it was raw from the scratchy plant lather. Sniffling again, she ducked her entire body, pushing her medium-length hair from her face, finally able to keep her damn bangs behind her damn ears, and out of her damn eyes.
"That's some pretty fierce washing."
Rachel whipped around, green eyes flaring as she noted Dean sitting one of the rocks around t
he pool, arms crossed over his chest.
"Do you mind, Dean? I'm trying to take a bath."
"It looks like you're trying to kill the soap, your skin, the water-"
"Fuck off, Dean." The blonde turned her back to him, quickly swiping at her eyes, only to get more frustrated as the water made her nose itch, and the more she tried to scratch at it with wet fingers, the worse she made it itch. "Damn it!" Wading over to where she'd laid her sarong, which had become much shorts as the bottom third had been ripped off to make a covering for her breasts. Her bra had given out two months ago, finally literally falling apart.
"Hey," Dean rested his hand atop hers, which lay on the garment, ready to dry her face with it. Rachel looked up into concerned eyes, filled with compassion and understanding. "Slow down, Rach," the attorney said, taking the sarong from under her hand and gently wiping at her nose, then tenderly wiping her eyes. This only made more tears fall. The author tried to turn away, embarrassed at the man witnessing her emotions, but he wasn't about to allow that. "Come here, you. Play the tough butch later."
Rachel chuckled through her tears as she allowed herself to be drawn into a warm, scratchy embrace. It reminded her briefly of Matt, used to the smooth skin of Denny. The thought made her tears really fall in earnest.
"Shh, sweetie," Dean cooed. "It's okay, Rachel. It's ooookay," he rubbed comforting circles over her back, rocking her gently. He felt his own heart ache for the two would-be lovers. He knew what the problem was, but decided to make the blonde talk about it, out loud, to somebody else. She lived so often inside her own damn head, it was no wonder she was falling apart.
Once Rachel had managed to get herself under control, Dean got her dressed, and led her by the hand to the blonde's ledge. It was time they talked. She knew what was coming, and tried to brace for it, her brain swarming with ideas and excuses. Anything to avoid talking about Denny. Dean got himself comfortable, patting the rock beside him. Once the blonde was situated, he placed an arm around her shoulders, absently playing with the muscle of her shoulder, a testament of the hard lifestyle of survival. None of them had an ounce of body fat on them, now lean and fit. Even Pam had lost all of her mid-section. Dean often ran his fingers over the hard bumps and valleys that was now his stomach, amazed at the transformation.
"This is kind of nice," he commented, squeezing the blonde's shoulder for emphasis. "Reminds me of the first and last time I played peek-a-boo with a vagina."
Rachel exploded into laughter, her voice thick and nasally from crying. She looked at the attorney, incredulous. "Dean!"
"What?" he asked, glancing over at his companion. "It's true." He smiled with a wink. "Now, tell me what happened."
Rachel sighed, knowing there was no way to get around talking, so she swallowed and readied herself for humiliation. "I don't know. I think I've pissed Denny off in some way, or hurt her, or-"
"Made her fall in love with you..."
The blonde was stunned, head whipping around until she was looking at the attorney's profile. Finally he met her gaze. "What did you say?"
"I said she's in love with you, and scared shitless."
"She's scared shitless?" Rachel blew out. Dean nodded.
"Honey, she's got a partner back home, whom she loves dearly, and then her heart goes and has the nerve to fall in love with another woman? Shit, that's a lot for a dyke to deal with, you know?"
"She can't be in love with me," Rachel insisted, her stubborn streak coming to the surface.
"Why not? You are with her," Dean said pointedly.
"No, Dean. I am not in love with Denny. I can't be."
"Why? Cause you have a husband back home? Because you're straight?"
Rachel looked down at the hands that fidgeted I her lap. "Because I don't know how to love. I made that clear by totally screwing up my marriage." Dean had no idea what the blonde was talking about, but decided to wait her out, let her explain in her own time. "I'm so confused, Dean. Never in my life have I felt anything like what I feel when she's around." Rachel was shocked by the words that came out of her own mouth. She couldn't take them back, so she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep anything else unexpected locked inside.
Dean hadn't been expecting that, but was glad it wouldn't require anymore prodding. They were at the core of the issue. "What do you feel, Rachel?"
"I don't know. It's like my day brightens, my skin tingles and my stomach flutters. It's like, it's like nothing else matters, you know? Just the fact that she's close to me. I want to touch her, I want her to touch me," she paused, searching the sea before and below them for answers. "It's like I need her to touch me."
"Honey, can I ask you a question?" Dean asked, his voice soft, filled with understanding. The blonde nodded. "Have you guys..."
"No." Rachel smiled sadly, shaking her head. "I thought for sure one night she was going to kiss me, but ... she didn't."
"What if you kissed her?"
The author snorted, bringing a hand up to swipe at an errant tear. "I think she would freak out. She won't talk to me, it's like she can't stand to be around me. It hurts Dean, and there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it."
"Give her time, Rachel. I think Denny's probably pretty torn right now. She's got a good heart, and is obviously loyal to Hannah, even if it's just not necessary anymore. No doubt she's pushing you away because she's struggling, a fight between her heart and her head."
"Really? You think so?"
"I do," Dean nodded.
Rachel sighed heavily, finally leaning into the attorney. "This would all make such a great book."
Dean drew his brows, confused. "What do you mean?"
The blonde chuckled. "Never mind."
PART 10
WILL PULLED A face as he adjusted the headset again. Those things just weren’t meant to be comfortable. He wondered how his pilots did it every day, day in and day out, and still managed to have magnificent hair. Keller sat beside him, the tall, powerful brunette well in control of the Cessna they were using. Garrison was using the Bell 407 today, and couldn’t get away. The blonde had warned Keller not to “kill her baby”, whatever that meant, some sort of private joke between the two women, no doubt, before they left. Keller was a good pilot, adept and graceful, yet she seemed to take more chances than her partner. She’d get an evil twinkle in those baby blues, and the architect knew he was in trouble. She’d apologized profusely for making him lose his lunch the last time they flew tighter, and was behaving this trip.
It was their fifth trip, fifth fruitless tip, and Will was beginning to think maybe Garrison was right, and it was a fool’s dream to think anyone else could have survived the crash, and that they were floating around somewhere, or living on a modern day Gilligan’s Island. Will was a stubborn man, and very tenacious, but even he was starting to wonder when is enough enough. The trips were draining him financially, even with donations fro the public, that hope only held out so long, as did the funds. The worse part, though, was that his own hope was draining, resignation settling in. Dean was most likely dead, and his heart had been lying to him for almost a year. An entire year without his feisty, picky, fussy, primadona attorney.
Sighing heavily, Will looked down at the map that the girls’ friend had drawn up for them, little red makings and circles all over it, marking where they’d been. The map was a testament of how much he loved Dean, but also, and perhaps most sad of all, his determination not to believe what was so clear to everyone else: Dean was gone, and no amount of stubborn determination was going to bring him back.
“Look at those waves,” Keller said, eyeing the sea below, which was starting to curl in on itself. “Looks like a good storm is brewing. We should probably get back soon, Will.”
The architect nodded mutely, noting the unrest of the waters below. It was early May, and hurricane season was just around the corner.
Keller glanced over at her passenger, noting the lines around his mouth and eyes that had started to form over the past y
ear, as well as the touch of gray at his temples. Everything was having such a profound effect on the man, and she just wanted to grab him and protect him from his own heart and hopes, which any fool could see were fading. She remembered when Garrison would come home at night, after the first couple of turns, and she’d be exasperated by the architect. His demands and earnest belief were exhausting and pushing the small blonde pilot to her limit. Now, Keller could see the toll taken on Will, and he wasn’t quite the man he was when everything had started. Feeling the need to comfort him, she reached across the small cockpit, covering his hand, which rested on the map that was splayed out on his lap. His sad gaze met her own, and they shared a moment, something passing between them of understanding and affection. Will squeezed the hand that held his before his own larger hand was released. The message had been clear and very appreciated. Even after everything was over with, he wanted to keep Keller and her family in his life. He’d never known truer, more wonderful people.
* * *
“Nonna, give me that.” Gloria took the heavy box from her stubborn grandmother, placing it atop the others in the storage unit the younger woman had rented. Inside were all of her daughter’s belongings, which she just couldn’t make herself part with. She hadn’t wanted to remove them from the apartment, but since her grandfather died, there was no way Gloria was going to let her Nonna live all alone in Milan, and she couldn’t leave her life in New York. Having only a two bedroom apartment, the dark-eyed woman had made the difficult decision to pack up Mia’s room and bring her Nonna to live with her.
“Watch yourself.” The older woman stepped back, watching as her granddaughter slid the storage door shut, locking it with a yank to the lock.
The past year had been a difficult one, watching Gloria fall apart then put herself back together, only to fall apart once more when Paolo had finally succumb to cancer. Lizbeth was amazed that her granddaughter still had a job to come back to, so much time off she’d had to take. Gloria wasn’t the same woman she was this time the year before. When she’d lost Mia, Gloria had shrunken inside, now just a machine who walked through life doing what must be done. She was existing.
