by Lee Taylor
"I'm not sure we should be having this conversation." I squirm, but he holds me tight.
"Stop denying it, Vera. It's why you visited me when I was hurt, cooked for me and sang to me. It's also why you lied about your father."
I am so mortified. First Maryanne, and now Zach. He hasn't said he loves me back. Is he toying with me? Bragging?
"I'm just a friend. You know, a nurse. We're in the caring profession."
He chuckles and caresses the back of my head. "You texted me in Tagalog, but Google translate told me what it meant. You're not teasing me, are you?"
"No, but your family hates me. I've screwed up everyone's life. My brothers are missing and I can't go home. Mama will be so distraught. I don't know what to tell Emily--"
His lips stop my babbling. The scent of brine and sun mix with the essential Zachness I love so much to pull me right back into his orbit. My pulse quickens and even though I know I should draw back, I part my lips and pull him closer, fisting the collar of his shirt. Oh, Zach. What have you done to me? I'm trembling and clinging, wondering how I can get out of this mess and still have him.
The kiss starts cool and refreshing from the spring water we drank, so tender yet growing more aggressive. I open my mouth to let him in, my tongue embracing his. A groan rumbles from the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss. I match him stroke for stroke, inhaling, sucking, unable to get enough of his taste, texture, and the overwhelming sensations he elicits with a simple kiss.
I'm hovering over the precipice, wanting to let go and forget everything--my name, where we are, and what I saw. My breath hitches, and when he draws back, I gasp and lean into him. Just a moment longer, lost in him, wanting forever.
Zach breaks the kiss and gives me a snuggling headshake. "Okay, sweetie, we still have to find your brothers. Let's check the cove on the eastern side. It's a bit of a walk, but they might have tucked them where they think you won't look."
I'm still disoriented from that breathtaking kiss. How does he do it? Turn me into jelly mush one minute and be all business the next?
And even though my feelings are out in the open, he hasn't said he loves me. Is this a game? Conquer the woman who's never loved before?
I pull him to stand and shrug into my windbreaker. We take another drink at the cistern and hike through a spongy meadow thick with dried grass. The wind has softened into a refreshing breeze and our way is easier as the ground levels.
We circumnavigate the island, passing a large flock of terns and seagulls on the shore. Unfortunately, there's no sign of Ben and Dex. By the time we return to the shed, I'm as tired as a slug on salt.
I collapse on a flat rock and wipe sweat from my forehead. "Did we look everywhere?"
Zach rubs between my shoulder blades. "Yes, maybe you misunderstood. Are you sure they said the boys are on this island?"
"I didn't make it up. If they're here, they might have died of thirst already."
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm just as worried as you are, but there're no sign anyone's been here. No tracks or footprints. Maybe they took them somewhere else."
"But where? And why throw me here?" Tears sting my eyes. I lost two brothers already, and even though I don't know Ben and Dex that well, they're still family. My family.
"I wish I could say it'll be all right." Zach kisses my forehead. "We can look some more after we eat. It won't do them any good if we're fainting."
"You're right." I stand and follow Zach into the shed. He pulls aside a panel to let light shine on the junk pile. There's a box of fishing tackle and a few ratty rods. He checks inside a tin and finds matches and a lighter.
"Great! We're all set to go fishing. Are you hungry?"
Now that the seasickness is gone, I'm aware my stomach is a growling mess. "Very. But I have to warn you, I've never caught any fish before, not even the small fry."
"Hey, you caught me and I'm no small fry." He squeezes my arm.
His little joke turns my stomach the wrong way. Have I really caught him when he took another woman home with him last night? Then what was that soul-sucking kiss all about? I hate that I've given him ammunition, evidence of my one-sided addiction to him.
"We'll need bait," Zach says. "Crabs or strips of shellfish, like oysters and clams."
"Where can we find them?"
He hands me an empty water jug. "I'll need you to gather them. It'll be hard for me to search the tide pools for them."
"Okay, bait coming right up." I take the jug. I can see how living with an amputee will mean a lot of fetching and carrying, but I can't expect him to do all the work.
"You're the best." He smirks and sorts through the lines and tackle.
He still hasn't said he loves me. Instead he's wearing a self-satisfied smile, probably thinking about the redhead and his fiancee, more knots on his string of female love slaves.
I stomp out of the shed.
"Vera?" He hops after me, but I'm too quick. I run across the clearing toward the spindly grove of trees. Zach's probably horny and wants a booty call after missing it last night.
I yank at the dried branches and kick the trunk. I've got news for him. There's not going to be any humping tonight. Even if we're the last two people on this island.
Chapter 25
The sun sinks low over the ocean. Zach watches the fishing rods he's wedged between the rocks. We've been sitting for hours and haven't had a bite.
"We're never going to catch anything!" I throw a rock into the water, picturing the redhead in Zach's arms.
"Fish are hungry in the evening." Zach crutches over to check on one of the poles. "You seem upset."
"Am not." I fling my hands and stomp to the furthest pole from him.
He carefully pulls in the line and checks the bait. Gone! I fetch the plastic jug where we store the tiny pieces of shellfish. I had to bash them off the rocks to open their shells. Fortunately, Zach had the hunting knife, and he used it to dig out the slimy flesh.
He takes the jug from me. "Tell me what's bothering you."
"I'm hungry and tired. You'd think your father would send a boat once he knew you were here."
Zach chuckles as he hooks the bait. "I suppose he's teaching me a lesson, not to mess with his schemes."
"What if it's not your father?" A chilling thought grazes my scalp. "What if someone wants me out of the way?"
He rubs his jaw, scratchy with a day's growth of beard. "Doesn't make sense. You were leaving the country anyway. Could it be Ben and Dex? What if they don't want to share their dad with you?"
"No, it has to be your dad." My stomach is a churning cauldron, because the alternative is unthinkable--that my father wanted to get rid of me because I had found his identity.
Zach casts a hook into the water and wedges the rod into the rock pile. "Unless it's Cliff."
"He wouldn't be so stupid. How would dropping me here make me want to marry him?"
I clap my hand over my mouth when I notice Zach hobbling away from me. He jams his stick into the sand over and over again. Crap. I forgot I hadn't told Zach about the fake elopement scheme and how I wanted nothing to do with it.
After a few minutes of nothing but the roar of wind and waves, one of the fishing rods bends. Zach lunges and stops the line from unraveling. "We caught something."
The silvery flip in the distance exposes the fish's location. Zach reels it in, playing with the line. "It's a big one, putting up a fight."
The line jerks back and forth and then stops dead.
"Darn it. The sucker's wrapped around a rock or something." Zach lets out some slack, but it doesn't move. He pulls it back and it snaps. "Lost it!"
"Ahh," I exclaim. "Did he take the hook?"
"Dunno. But it's gone either way." He pulls in the line and throws the rod on the sand.
"Let's check the bait on the other hooks." I take the bait jug and move to the next line. Zach's suffering on this island because of me, and here I go acting like Cliff is some po
tential prince charming. I suck so bad. I don't even like Cliff.
At the last line, I'm pulling the slack when it shoots through my fingers. I yelp at the burning sensation and wrap the line around my wrist. It pulls me sideways, and I almost stumble into the tide.
"You okay there?" Zach hops over as fast as he can. "You've got it hooked."
"I know, but I have to pull it in." The reel is stuck with tangled lines, so I have to wrap it by hand.
"Slowly, so you don't snap the line."
The fish thrashes powerfully, and when a black fin breaks the surface, I almost let go of the fishing pole. "It's a shark."
Zach has his hunting knife out. "Hold onto it. I'll kill it."
"But it might bite me!" I'm hauling it and running up the beach, imagining a great white from Jaws.
"It's just a tiny reef shark, probably feeds on crabs." Wrapping the line taut, he wrangles it onto the beach and stabs it. "Steaks for dinner. You did it, Vera."
He gives me all the credit when all I did was check the line. But a tiny smile must have lit my face because a laugh slips from my throat. I did pull it in, and I didn't lose it. Zach is beaming, and I'm pleased that he's happy.
***
Shark steaks never tasted so good. We eat until we can't hold any more. I store the leftover skin and parts in the plastic jug to use for bait in case we have to fish again. Since Zach has a campfire going, we boil the water collected from the water tank in a discarded kettle to sanitize it. It's a wonder how a pile of trash becomes so valuable when you have nothing else.
After dinner, we check the beach again for signs of my brothers and give up when the sun sets. Something doesn't feel right. The Survivor game is too far-fetched, and I find it hard to believe Zach's father would leave him here.
"Let's pray they're okay," Zach says as we drag ourselves back to the campfire. "Maybe your father turned himself in and they were set free already."
"Maybe." My head is throbbing, and I flop down on the piece of tarp laid over the thick spongy grass. It figures I'm the outsider, the last one to be rescued.
Zach pulls the tattered camp cot out of the shed and sets it next to me. "I'll sleep on the ground. Probably better out here since it's summer and won't get too cold."
"How about mosquitoes?"
"They're not too bad here. It's too windy for them."
My muscles are achy, and I lie on the tarp and stretch. The grass is soft and inviting. I'm so ready to curl up and sleep when Zach rolls to his side and tucks me into his arms. He's forgiving and willing to let everything drop, but I can't keep going like this, all confused, my emotions churning as wildly as the pounding surf.
It doesn't feel as if he's playing me. After all, he's here on the island with me. He risked his life jumping in the water, and he's treating me like a princess, forgiving my outbursts and making me feel safe and belonging--right where I am, by his side and in his arms.
"Zach?"
"Mmm . . ." He sounds groggy.
"I can't think of a better place to be than here . . ." with you . . . "Sorry what I said about Cliff."
"You don't have to say things to make me feel better. If you prefer him, I'm okay with it."
"I can't stand him." I roll away from Zach, heavyhearted and disappointed he's so lukewarm. "He means nothing to me other than an annoyance with a capital 'A.'"
"I can think of another word that begins with 'A.'" Zach's voice sounds amused. "What letter am I to you?"
Capital "L" pops up, but I say, "'H' for hero."
He flexes both biceps, then laughs. "I'm not sure I can live up to your expectations."
"You already have."
A shy smile lights his face, and I think he believes me. His warmth wraps around me when he draws me into his arms. "You're too kind."
I lean back with my head on his shoulder. A cool breeze stirs the soft grass around us, and crickets chirp against the lulling roll of the surf. The night is dark outside the soft glow of the campfire.
"Look at the stars." Zach kisses my hair. "I bet the southern sky is different to what you're used to at home."
"Not really. I've never been away from the city lights, and San Francisco is always foggy, not a hotbed for stargazing. I can't even tell where the North Star and Big Dipper are."
"Then this will be real special." Zach points skyward. "I'll show you how to find the South Pole. All these stars rotate around it. We can also see the center of the Milky Way because the South Pole faces its galactic center."
"I never knew you to be such a scientist."
"Thought I was a dumb jock, I bet." He's still grinning, but I wonder if he hides a lot of pain in his carefree attitude.
"No, I didn't." My hand finds his, and we intertwine fingers. "I thought you were arrogant and didn't take anything seriously."
He's quiet for a while, so I stare at the sky. Pinpoints of light, bright and glittery like diamonds, litter the black vastness of space. This would be so romantic if we were at a luxury resort, lying on floats in a private pool. Visions of dancing in the moonlight and sipping champagne complete the fantasy. That would be my idea of stargazing. But the serene, otherworldly beauty of this wild place overcomes me. I point toward a band of twinkling stars, some icy blue, others white hot, surrounding darker patches of black.
"They look like jewels, millions of them."
"That's the heart of the Milky Way." His hand traces an arc. "See those two bright stars close together?"
"Yes, they're like a pair of eyes."
"Alpha and Beta Centaurii. Draw an imaginary line up from them and you'll see the Southern Cross. It's four bright stars, the points of a cross and a fifth one tucked to the side." Zach's voice is as smooth as the whispering sand, raising goose bumps over my shoulders and upper arms.
I follow his gaze and find the corners of the cross. It's the first time I've actually identified a constellation. "It looks like a kite, sort of."
"I used to wonder if God was up there, hanging from the cross," he says. "I imagined the fifth star as His heart."
A star shoots across the night sky, and soon, several more wink by. I close my eyes and wish on the last one, that my family will heal from my father's betrayal. I'm too afraid to ask for what I really want--Zach's heart.
When I open my eyes Zach's face is so close, he looks lopsided.
"Were you making a wish?" he asks while brushing his fingers through my hair.
"Yes. I'm afraid to go home and face everyone. My mother will be so hurt. And my poor uncle, he loves my father so much. To see him in jail will kill him if the cancer doesn't get him first."
"It's better that the truth comes out, even if it hurts."
"Why is that?" I'm thinking it would have been better had I ignored the postcards and messages.
"So you can deal with it and move on. Like I had to when I lost my leg."
"Is it that easy?"
"It was the hardest thing ever. I had to give up my dreams of being an Olympic champion. It was everything I worked for."
"You can still train and run again. I saw a documentary on an amputee who finished Ironman Kona. I know you can do it."
Zach rests his head on his arm and closes his eyes. He blows a puff of air between his teeth and shakes his head. "I'll never do triathlon again."
The sea rattles and wheezes over the beach, serenaded by a chorus of night sounds. Zach lies still, almost immobile, save the rising and falling of his chest. I search for his hand and squeeze it. Who am I to argue with him about his dreams? How could anyone understand what he'd been through? To lose a limb at the prime of his life? I well remember the blank look on his face as he stared at the ceiling, unresponsive during the days after his surgery--how he prayed to be left to die. I had held his hand like I'm doing now and sang to him even though he ignored me.
"Is the pain better?"
"Manageable," he replies. "I'm getting used to the prosthesis, but it doesn't feel natural."
I rub his hand for several mome
nts until he opens his eyes. I want to tell him it's okay, but I can't. How would I know? Instead, I pat his thigh. "Shall I check your leg? Wrap it or something?"
One side of his lip quirks in the light of the dying campfire. "Sure that's not an excuse to get my pants off?"
My stomach sours, and I swallow the surge of jealousy. He'd been pushing me away with excuses of reforming himself, but was quite ready last night with the tramp he picked up at the bar.
I unhinge my hand from his and sit up. "It's time we really talk. I can't figure you out."
"What did I do?" His eyes are wide, as if he's innocent.
"You're confusing. You flirt with me, then you shut down. Sometimes you act like my boyfriend, like you really care, but last night, you were back to the old Zach, the player. You made me feel I was beneath your notice, just a child who tripped on the floor, but now you're here with me on this deserted island, acting all romantic. I don't get you."
"I don't get you, either." His retort is sharp, like the cracking of a rifle shot. "Tell me what you really want from me and maybe I can figure out how to care for you."
"Why?" I pull my knees up to my chin and hug them. A spiral of fear roils in my stomach. How can I tell him what I truly want? It's what I've been running from all my life, because as soon as I let my guard down, I'll get hurt. It gives someone too much power over me, to make me hope and wish for happiness and then pull it out from under me.
Zach pushes himself up and grabs his stick. "Let's take a walk on the beach."
Is this his way of avoiding my questions? Distraction and diversion? Oh, boy, if Dr. Apodaca were here, she'd say I've met my match. Insecure attachment syndrome. Emotional detachment or fear of intimacy, oftentimes as a response to the loss of a caregiver in childhood. He lost his mother; I lost my father. Or, so I thought.
I take his offered hand. Haltingly, we pick our way down the trail toward the beach. The moon has risen enough for us to see. The tide has gone out and the sand is smooth and wet.
We climb around a pile of rocks and settle on a sand dune overlooking the dark waters from which a shaft of moonlight reflects.
