by Kim Pritekel
“You gonna actually use a second tie this time?” Dean asked, strolling into the beach, doing one of his twice daily teeth picks with the bone from their dinner.
“Fuck off, fairy boy, unless y’all plan to help.”
The attorney chuckled, continuing on his way to the waterfall. “Whatever, red.” Feeling something warm and grainy seep into his shoe, Dean stopped, bending down to examine his shoe. “Ah, damn.” He could see his pinky toe wiggling through the small hole in the loafer. Grumbling to himself, he marched off to take his daily bath, passing Mia and Rachel on the way.
“Wonder who started his tighty whiteys on fire,” the author muttered, making the girl giggle as she led her off to the far side of the beach so they could talk. In the three days since Denny had told the blonde about Gloria being a fan of her work, she had thought a lot about Mia, and if it would make things better or worse to tell the teen. Ultimately, she decided she should tell her. “Want to sit?”
“Sure.” Mia sat, crossing her legs in front of her and resting her arms on her knees. She didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Rachel by herself, so was surprised when the blonde asked her to take a walk with her. She liked Rachel, as like Denny, she was young enough to be somewhat close to the teen’s age, but was old enough to gain her respect and admiration. Plus the two women were really cool!
“It’s hot today,” Rachel commented on, watching a sea bird diving for its lunch.
“Yeah. I can only imagine how hot it is back home.” The girl rolled her eyes at the thought of the hot, humid nights. At least here they had the breezes rolling off the ocean to cool things down.
“Are you a reader, Mia?” Rachel asked, not sure how to bring the subject up. She felt like she was trying to throw her name around, and felt slightly embarrassed doing so.
“Yeah. I used to read from time to time. Not half the reader my mom was, though.”
The perfect opening Rachel needed. She swallowed before asking the next question. “Did she have a favorite author?” She couldn’t look at the girl, feeling like she was manipulating her.
“Oh, yeah! Rachel Holt. Hands down.”
The author couldn’t help the slight shiver of pride, but it passed quickly as she realized it had to come at the price of a dead woman. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mia smiled, remembering the hours and hours her mom had spent reading all those books, many more than once. She looked at the blonde sitting next to her, only to find herself staring into intense green eyes. “Why?”
Rachel looked away, wishing she didn’t have to do this. “I like to know people enjoy my books, Mia.”
The girl sat there, confused. What? She stared at her friend’s profile, dark brows drawn as she tried to understand what Rachel was saying. Wait. Rachel. Blonde hair. Young. No way. Mia shook her head, not sure whether to laugh or be angry at the audacity of Rachel to make such a claim. The blonde met her gaze once more, never more serious. “You’re trying to tell me,” Again, Mia shook her head. “No way, Rachel.” Despite the girl’s protests, she once again looked into the green eyes, suddenly seeing them in black and white, as well as short hair, which Rachel had when they first landed on the island. “No way,” she breathed.
Rachel nodded. “Yeah.”
A hand flew to Mia’s mouth, eyes open wide as she studied the author, not sure what to say or think. Instead of doing either, she pushed up from the sand and ran off into the privacy of the jungle.
“Shit.” Rachel popped up, turning to run after her. “Mia!” She could hear the girl’s muted sobs as she followed the well-worn path through to The Rock. “Mia, stop, please!”
Mia stopped at the water’s edge, her tears nearly blinding her as she thought of her mother’s admiration for the author, and the way she went on and on about her work, and wondering what kind of person Rachel Holt was, and what she was like.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she yelled, hearing the blonde break through the trees behind her.
“I didn’t tell anyone who I was, Mia. Denny recognized me. I had no idea about Gloria, I swear.” She walked over to the girl, dark brows knitted in troubled thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, honey. I just wanted you to know that your mom’s loyalty to my work means a great deal to me, and I’m very grateful for it. That was all.”
Mia, still crying nodded, understanding. She allowed herself to be pulled into a warm embrace, her head resting upon Rachel’s shoulder. “I can’t get over the irony,” she said at last, followed by a sniffle. “My mom would crapped her pants if she realized her beloved Rachel Holt was on the plane with us.”
Rachel smiled, gently caressing the back of the girl’s head.
“When did Denny know? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She spotted me when she got on the plane. I don’t know. I guess she was trying to respect my privacy, which I’m grateful for. I don’t need all that crap, Mia. I’m just me, just Rachel, and I happen to love to write stories. We had enough to deal with here, without buzzing about who I was.”
Rachel’s voice was so soft, so calming, Mia found herself burrowing even further into the blonde woman’s arms. She loved to listen to Rachel talk, always had. The author had such an aura of peace and calmness about her that you couldn’t help but be affected by it.
“If we ever get back home, can I have you autograph one of my mom’s books for me?”
“Of course, honey.”
Mia grinned, pulling back just enough to look into caring green eyes. “I can’t believe one of the people I care about most is a famous author.”
Rachel smiled warmly, brushing strands of dark hair off tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m just me, Mia. No better, no less.”
“I’ll have to tell my mom about this, tonight when I pray to her.”
“Tell her I said hello.”
Mia laughed, taking the author into another hug.
* * *
“Hey, Monk,” Tony Smith called out, seeing his boss walk into the hangar. Crew and mechanics at Davies’ Hangar used the pilots childhood nickname: Monk, short for grease monkey.
“Hey, Smitty. How’s it hangin’ today?” The blonde mouthed the words the mechanic said every time she used that greeting: straight and slightly to the left. “Walk into that every damn time.” She made her way to her office to use the phone. Keller had called her over the radio while the blonde pilot had been up in her Cessna, so she promised to call her when she got in. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” Garrison plugged her other ear to try and hear around the ruckus of a drill across the hall in the hangar. “What?” She nodded as she took in the words, broken up from a bad connection on Keller’s cell phone. A quick good bye, and Garrison flopped down into the chair behind her desk, whipping off the doo-rag she’d been wearing to cover her blonde hair, fluffing it with her hand.
So Keller had found them a seaplane. A G21-A Goose, to be exact. A vintage plane made in the last year of World War II. It seated six, plus seats for pilot and co-pilot. If they needed the room at all, Garrison hoped it would be enough. They’d been working on their plan for a month, using what time they had between jobs. Summer was the most busiest time for the pilots and their cargo business, but Keller was determined, so Garrison supported her on it. After all, the blonde started the whole thing a year ago.
Grabbing a pencil out of the coffee cup on her desk that held a small army of them, she twisted it in her fingers as her mind began to wander. Only one of them would be flying to Florida, where they’d pick up the Goose. Many years ago they promised that they’d never fly together, unless Parker were with them. If something happened, and a plane went down, Parker would not be orphaned again. After Parker and Keller’s mother was murdered years ago, and their father, an evil beast, was put behind bars for the crime, the Mitchum sisters, who had taken Garrison’s name of Davies, had no one but each other and Garrison. The three of them had formed a bond stronger than anything the blonde had ever known, especially after losing both of her own parents.<
br />
That great love for Keller and Parker, whom they both saw as their daughter, had driven Garrison to help Dean in the first place, and then continue when their searches had proven fruitless. She also knew that same love was what kept Keller determined to finish, no matter what the outcome.
They planned their final search mission for the last weekend of July, Garrison flying it as Keller would be out of town on her own flight, and the blonde was free. The spots on the map where they had yet to peruse were too far away for the Bell to safely search and return to land, and Keller would be using the Cessna. They had decided to call in a favor from Duke Wingom, a long-time friend and flying peer of Garrison’s. He had agreed to fly with her, as she was shaky on seaplanes, having only flown one a few times.
Sighing, she returned to work.
* * *
“Everyone move together!” Denny grunted, the weight of her end of Michael’s raft nearly unbearable. She could see from everyone else’s face that they were struggling, too. “Jesus, Michael! Did you use an entire forest?”
The Texan grinned, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t trip as he stepped back into the water. He felt a small wave break on the backs of his legs, and knew they’d start getting bigger and stronger. “Set it down,” he instructed, feeling they were in deep enough water that the raft should float on its own. A round of relieved groans sounded with the splash of the heavy raft hitting the surface of the water. They all watched with baited breath, the raft bobbing on the oncoming waves. Michael climbed on top, the oar he’d carved from branches in hand. Soon Dean and Mia followed suit.
“I think they’re going to kill themselves,” Rachel muttered, stepping up beside Denny, their arms touching. The brunette nodded absently, amused as she watched the three try and get their paddling in sync. “I talked to Mia yesterday, about her mom and I.”
Denny looked over at the blonde, catching her profile before the wind whipped long, blonde strands around her head. “And?”
Rachel tucked the strands behind her ears, meeting the blue gaze. “She was upset, but then we talked, I mean really talked, about Gloria, Mia’s fears of going home. She doesn’t have a father, Denny. The only people she has are her great grandparents in Italy, and she doesn’t want to live in Italy.”
The brunette sighed, brushing her own hair out of her mouth. “I’ve thought about that. Hell, I’d be willing to take her in.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the room at my place, and I could even give her a job at the shop.” She shrugged. “It’s not much, but it would keep her somewhat close to home, I guess.”
“Poor kid. She’s such a sweet thing. I’m actually impressed with how well she’s handled all this. She seems like a sheltered girl, somewhat naïve.”
Denny nodded in agreement. “I know.” Before she realized what she was doing, an arm had snaked around Rachel’s waist, pulling the author against her as they continued to watch the three drift further out, Michael’s deep voice barely able to be heard barking out orders to the other two. Rachel stepped into her personal space, moving to stand in front of the brunette, arms wrapping around her neck. She rested her head on Denny’s shoulder, sighing heavily at the feel of the brunette against her, the warmth, the softness.
Denny lowered her nose to Rachel’s neck, inhaling her scent, forgetting herself, and where they were. The warmth of the blonde’s bare stomach pressed against her own, only two thin cotton layers separated their breasts. She closed her eyes as she felt warm breath against her sensitive neck, causing a shiver to travel up her spine. Soon the breath was replaced by soft lips. The brunette sighed at the sensation, one of her hands coming dangerously close to the top of Rachel’s sarong, her fingers itching to slide underneath.
Rachel started when she heard cat calls, her head whipping around to see Dean making less than gentlemanly gestures, and Michael whistling around two fingers.
“Oh, god,” the blonde buried her face in the chuckling brunette’s neck. “I’m sorry.” Denny hugged her close, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.
“Come on. Before we get knocked over by a wave.”
* * *
“You okay?” Rachel asked, her voice soft, as she climbed up onto the ledge. Denny, who lay on her back, an arm over her eyes, nodded. “Another of your headaches?”
“Yeah.” When the brunette had lost her contacts in the plane crash, the eye strain of the past year and some change had played havoc on her head. She suffered almost weakly headaches, sometimes bad enough to make her physically sick.
“I’m sorry, Denny. Want me to leave you alone?”
“No.” One blue eyes peeked out from under her arm.
“Okay.” The author settled next to her, brushing some hair from her face and studying her with concerned eyes. “Can I do anything for you, honey?”
“A cool rag?”
“Okay.”
Denny closed her eyes again as she heard her friend scamper away. She hadn’t realized just how much Tylenol meant to her until she had none. They were all lucky, as no one had been sick or hurt badly enough to require serious medicines, but the brunette was plagued by these horrendous headaches, and she was so tired of it. There was very little she could do, save try and sleep or lie in utter blackness and quiet. She’d left dinner early that night, bidding everyone a good night, then slipping away to the ledge to suffer in peace. Truth was, she was glad Rachel had sought her out.
“Here we go,” the blonde said, as though bursting forth from Denny’s thoughts. Denny gasped at the coolness that was laid across her forehead, gentle fingers cool against her pain-heated skin. “How’s that?”
“Better. Thank you.” Denny closed her eyes, the sudden cold causing the pounding to become worse for a moment before the blood vessels began to relax slightly, calming to a marching band inside her skull, rather than an atomic bomb exploding again and again.
“Do you want me to go, Denny?” Rachel asked, gently caressing the brunette’s arm.
“No. What were you writing? Before you ran out of paper,” Denny smiled weakly.
“A novel. I finished it in my head. Actually, still writing it.”
“Tell me?”
“Okay.”
Denny listened to Rachel’s voice, the soft, soothing tones affecting her like it did Mia, the sound having an instant calming affect, making Denny want to relax and listen. She did, listening to a novel about strangers, trapped on an island. She smiled, listening to the characterizations of the six of them, including the antics that Dean had pulled over the endless days. Denny tried to stop herself from laughing outright at the mention of the fictional character’s own private pleasure device struggles.
Rachel spoke, enjoying talking about her tale, her fingers running over the soft skin of Denny’s arms. Her voice never broke as she smiled, noting how the brunette turned her arm over, silently encouraging the blonde to caress the sensitive, pale underside of the limb. The skin was unbelievably soft.
Denny sighed, the exquisite touch filling her with such pleasant sensations, once in awhile sending a shiver down her spine. Between the touching and soft voice and story, and was almost able to forget about the pain in her head.
Rachel paused for a moment, her fingers touching the cloth covering the brunette’s head. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Just don’t stop. I love listening to you talk. Have you ever considered reading books on tape?”
Rachel smiled. “No.” She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Denny’s damp hair. “Shall I continue?”
“Please.” Denny leaned into the touch as fingers left her arm, only to resume their stroking in her hair. She loved to be touched by this woman. As Rachel continued her tale, weaving her story, as well as discussing details of it, almost as though she’d forgotten Denny was there altogether, though her fingers continued to play in the thick, dark hair. Denny knew the questions posed weren’t for answering, but just simply the blonde’s min
d at work. She was enthralled to hear the thoughts and questions slowly mutate themselves into ideas, then visions, then scenes, and finally they were smoothed over to fit into the story, molded and gently squeezed around the edges until they were seamless.
Rachel was lost in the world she knew so well, and felt most comfortable in. A world of her own making, a work in her own head. The world of creation. She had no worries of what people thought of her, or how they may complain or try and pick apart her story. In the world of creation, she was the boss, she made the decisions, and she could make things beautiful. Denny was entranced.
The blonde grunted slightly as she pushed herself down to her side next to Denny, her thigh brushing the side of the brunette’s. She held her head up as she continued. “I’m thinking of calling this ‘Lost In Paradise’.”
“I like that,” Denny smiled, eyes still closed. The pounding in her head had lessened substantially, making her want to kiss Rachel in gratitude. “Will you take it to your publisher?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel shrugged a shoulder, her hand moving from Denny’s hair to rest on her naked stomach. A larger hand covered it, entwining their fingers. “This may just be for me. Not sure yet.” Finished with her tale, she grew silent, studying Denny’s features. “You know, you are truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” The blonde’s voice was soft, almost in awe. “Truly,” she said at the blue eye that studied her. “It’s just amazing.” Rachel shook her head slowly in wonder. “I think someone sculpted you.”
“Stop!” Denny protested as loud as she dare. “You’re making me blush.” Her eye closed and she heard a light chuckle.
“Not trying to. I thought that from the moment I laid eyes on you on the plane.” Soft fingers brushed over softer skin on a forehead, trailing down prominent cheekbones to a proud jaw. “I have an artist friend who I bet would love to paint you.” Her whispered words flew straight into Denny’s heart, warming her from the outside in.
