by Banks, R. R.
"Do you think it's big enough for a plane or helicopter to see?" I asked.
"Between that and our fire, we’re about as visible as we can get given the materials that we have," Hunter told me.
The men gathered a few more supplies from the boat, including planks of wood that they had broken off of the deck, and we cross the water to gather by the fire. Despite the muggy heat of the island, this was becoming our central location, as if it were the kitchen of the giant new home that was this island. Somehow, though, I doubted that I was going to find the cappuccino machine and panini maker here that I would have found in my own kitchen, and I didn’t think that a white-coated chef was going to climb down from one of the banana trees to whip up a nice island bird-egg quiche for me for brunch. I might have once loved camping, but it had been many decades since I had roughed it, and I was now very much accustomed to the comforts my life had afforded me. It wasn’t something that I loved to admit to myself, and it had precisely been what I asked Noah not to tell anybody, but right about then as I started to feel the coffee deprivation settle in, I was realizing that I might be in far over my head. I was right with what I told Hunter. I didn’t have any of the Cub Scout badges.
"What do we do now?" I asked when we had gotten back and were sitting around the fire waiting for our breakfast to cook. "Just wait?"
“Wait for what?” Hunter asked.
“Rescue? To be absorbed by a tribe from another island? For another storm to come and wipe us out?”
"We really should do some more exploring around the island to find out as much about it as we can," Gavin said, choosing to ignore me.
"And then we need to start thinking about a shelter,” Hunter added.
The word made my chest constrict painfully.
"A shelter?" I asked, slightly louder than I had intended. "We only need a shelter if we’re planning on being here for a while, and I, for one, am not."
“Do you have some kind of recovery team on the way that we should know about?” Gavin asked. “Because if you do, I’m going to forego trying to make a meal out of these fish and wait for something a little more substantial.”
"The chances of us getting off of this island in the next 24 hours are slim to none," Hunter said a bit more gently than Gavin’s harsh tone. "Which means that we need somewhere to sleep."
"I’ll sleep in the cabin," I said.
Now that I had rigged my own transportation across the water I didn’t mind the thought of curling up on the berth again to get some sleep without the sand.
"That's fine for tonight," Gavin said, "but what if no one finds us for a few days and another storm hits? That boat is already in such bad condition that another wave could completely splinter it and there would be nothing to protect you from being drawn out to sea with the wreckage."
The words sent a chill down my spine. The only thing that sounded more terrifying to me than just being pulled down into the water while I was trying to swim was becoming part of sea monster snack mix.
"After lunch, we’ll look around some and see if we can find anything that would be helpful in building a shelter," Hunter suggested. "Eleanor, do you want us to go together?"
I straightened my spine and lifted my chin slightly, trying to look as dignified and in-control as I could with my two-day old makeup caked in streams down my face and my hair sticking out from my head at odd angles.
"No," I said with all of the confidence that I could muster. "I can do it on my own."
I stalked off toward the jungle, fighting the tears that stung in my eyes and immediately regretting my decision to shun Hunter’s help with literally no intention other than to try to sound like I wasn’t terrified when the truth was that despite telling myself that I was going to be strong, I felt more scared and vulnerable than I did even when we first arrived on the island. All of the pain and fear that Virgil had caused me over the years was building up in me again, bubbling up from the place where I had stored it with the hope of never having to deal with it ever again. In the years that I had devoted to him, Virgil had methodically chipped away at my strength, my confidence, even my belief in my own ability to make decisions and handle what came my way. I had never been like that. He had taken the person my father had raised me to be and destroyed her, dissolving that woman through years of mistreatment.
I had lost count of the times that I cried in private, sequestered away in one of the many anonymous rooms in the gigantic house that we had shared and that had always seemed ridiculous. There was no need for us to have that big of a house. It wasn’t like we had any children to indulge with all of the space, and when I did have the opportunity to have Noah over when he was young, Virgil had ensured that the time we spent together was limited to only three of the rooms. I knew that it was for show. He loved impressing people he thought were important and who fueled his hunger for money and power. I hated what it represented, but all too soon I felt like I didn’t have any way out. There was nothing that I could do to stop him.
When I had finally gotten the courage to walk away from him, I had promised myself that I would never feel that way again. After months of preparation and convincing myself that I was not only capable of being without him and defying his commands, but that all of the risk that I would face was worth it, I had taken the evidence that I had gathered against him and used it as leverage to escape. Signing the divorce papers had been like signing the declaration of my freedom. I took only the bare essentials when I left, knowing that anything that I owned was readily replaceable and not important enough to lay my life on the line for, because as I dragged what few necessary and sentimental belongings out of the house after Virgil left in a rage I knew that if he had shown back up and witnessed my leaving, I likely wouldn’t survive. Despite that, I left that house feeling like I had finally reclaimed my life for good.
Now, though, I was forced to feel that old familiar fear and helplessness again. In my marriage, I had been at Virgil’s mercy. Now I was at the mercy of the island and the men with whom I was forced to share it. I hated feeling like I didn't know what was happening or what I was supposed to do next, but what I hated even more was that both of these men seemed to have assumed that I was helpless. Suddenly, I felt like the sense of freedom and power I had gotten when I finalized the divorce was all an illusion. I thought that I was getting away from the looks of pity and the disdain that I had been so accustomed to getting, and the ever-present feeling of oppression that came from being told daily that I wasn’t capable of doing anything. At least when I had been married to Virgil I had usually been able to anticipate the challenges and even how he was going to react to me. Most of the time I knew what was going to infuriate him, how he was going to be able to twist and manipulate the situation into somehow being my fault, and then whether I should expect him to be angry, aggressive, or even violent. While this didn't make it any more pleasant to contend with him, at least it made it a little easier for me to tap into my coping mechanisms to deal with whatever came my way. I had melted into the world around me, becoming the wallpaper in Virgil's life. Unobtrusive, elegant, and the perfect way to tie in the details of the rest of the room. That was what he expected me to be. He expected me to be quiet and appealing, seamlessly fitting in with whatever situation I was in and enhancing his position in the world without regard to my own thoughts or needs. In his mind, I had neither.
I had been prepared then. I hated every moment of it, but at least I knew those fears. Those were evils I was familiar with and I could combat in my own mind. Now I was in a world filled with fears and challenges that I couldn’t escape just by going inside myself and pretending that I was somewhere else or that it was all just a game, a test of how much I had learned about him and how much better I could do next time. This island was a new nightmare and I didn’t know what was around the next corner. The evidence that I had against Virgil hadn’t intimidated him for long and now I was forced to run from men hell-bent on ensuring that I never breathed a word of what I kne
w to any of the laundry list of people, both legitimate and not, who wanted to get their hands on Virgil. I was on an unsettled island with no means of communication or escape. We had only the food we could scavenge and the shelter we were yet to build, both of which were things that Hunter and Gavin apparently felt I was wholly unable to handle.
I was starting to feel that same cold wash of abandonment and loneliness that had settled into me over the months of my early marriage and on into the first years when part of me was still hoping that things would change, when I had watched the life I had known and the one I had always planned for myself slip away. Maybe I should have just ignored everything that I knew about Virgil; maybe I should have just done as he asked and burned the documents that I eventually used to release myself from his clutches. It was something that I had gone over many times in my mind. I had clung to those pieces of evidence as the magic key that got me out of my marriage, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that I wasn’t protecting myself with these documents and transcripts. Instead, I was putting myself into even more danger by holding onto them. I wanted to believe deep inside that holding onto them was out of spite. I wanted to know that I had that dirt on him and that somehow there was power in it, but if that was really the case, I would have handed them over to the authorities, or even to his rivals who would have been just as interested in them as the government.
Burning them would have taken that potential power away from me, but it also would have assuaged Virgil and bought me the actual freedom from him that I had thought about and dreamed of during those long, dark nights alone in the cavernous house. I should have just given up the thought that I would ever be able to use the information that I had on him to earn myself some sort of justice for everything that he had put me through. At least then I could have put it behind me, moving forward with a life that wouldn’t be riddled with constant threat lurking around every corner.
Chapter Nine
Hunter
We had found absolutely no evidence of other people on the island the first time that we had gone searching, or during any of the times that we had gone scavenging for food, so I didn't know why I thought that it would be any different when I ventured out on my own. Somehow in my mind, however, I had convinced myself that it would be different this time, as if heading out by myself would somehow magically make crates of food and clothing appear in the trees or people show up so that they could help us. As I pushed my way through the thick jungle, I just knew that any moment I was going to find an elusive resort tucked up close to the beach on the other side, or at least a small hut where an eccentric rich old man lived. The further I walked and the more of the same trees, rocks, and sky I saw, however, the less I really believed it and the more I knew that I was just repeating it in my mind so that I wouldn’t lose hope. That wasn’t going terribly well for me and I could feel the nervousness and panic starting to settle into my belly.
I wasn’t cut out for this. I wasn’t made for outdoor life, especially outdoor life that didn’t involve a comfort station and a group of people who actually knew what they were doing. I might have been able to carry armloads of fruit out of the jungle and had helped Gavin create the help sign out of shells and rocks, but I didn’t think that that really qualified me as a wilderness man. The truth was that I had never even been to an island before. I had never even been on a cruise until I climbed aboard the post-wedding celebration cruise that had brought me here. The lack of knowledge of the landscape, plants, and animals made me feel like I was at a distinct disadvantage. I was accustomed to at least having research to back me up in unfamiliar situations. I might not fully have the grasp of what was happening or what I was supposed to be doing, but I would have facts and figures in my mind that could at least give me a sense of stability and control.
It was that attention to detail and mastery of research and calculations that had landed me the job with Mr. Royal at the agency. Even though he had advertised for an assistant, the somewhat rambling description of the job position had revealed that he needed something much more than just a person who could take notes and run memos for him. That was more the domain of Cindy, his secretary. Instead, the brilliant but somewhat scattered older man was looking for someone who would be able to understand what he was saying even if he didn’t say all of the words that he needed to, decipher his thoughts and actions, and overall act as a sieve for what went from him out of his office and through to the rest of the agency. I looked over figures before they went to the accountant. I read through memos before I had them distributed. I screened mail that came in as well as went out. Most of the people throughout the agency didn’t have any idea of the scope of everything that I handled for Mr. Royal, and I was perfectly fine with that. All that mattered was that the things got done and the agency ran smoothly.
It was that thought that still made me feel guilty when I thought about everything that had happened with Mr. Royal and Lucille. Their brief marriage hadn’t been as shocking to me as it had been to many of the other people in the agency. It was just another of the impulsive flights of fancy that I had come to know in Mr. Royal, and one that I often thought that I should have been able to catch before it happened. I should have been able to distract his dirty old man mind enough to convince him that gorgeous young twenty-somethings don’t just fall head over heels in love with men old enough to be their grandfathers and covered with enough liver spots to be considered kin to a Dalmatian. Mr. Royal was one of the most endearing and likable people I had ever encountered, but he was never going to grace the front of People as the World’s Sexiest Geriatric. If I had been able to just keep him away from Lucille, we never would have been subjected to the misery of having the icy woman take over the agency while her new husband traveled the world. I still wasn’t sure that Snow had gotten over the doughnut debacle yet.
Thoughts of Snow and how she had reacted, not at all gracefully, to the sudden and non-forewarned disappearance of her beloved morning coffee and doughnuts in the office breakroom, filled my mind. If I had been able to detect that something might be happening and stop Mr. Royal from marrying Lucille on a whim and a hopeful Viagra prescription, I wouldn’t have had to convince Snow to take the several months’ worth of vacation that she had accumulated over her time working at Royal and Company so that she could get away from Lucille and avoid any more conflict. Of course, that would mean that she wouldn’t have met Noah until he had come to take over the company, and likely wouldn’t have pursued a relationship with him. While that might not have been the best course of events for her, it would mean that I wouldn’t be here fighting off Godzilla mosquitos and hoping that the bacon cheeseburger tree I drew when I was eight had sprung into existence and was just around the bend. I considered Snow a dear friend, but right then I wasn’t above choosing my own selfish needs over the possibility that she might not have gotten to marry Noah when she did.
If that had happened, though, I also would have never met Eleanor.
I was surprised by the thought that suddenly flickered through my mind. Why would I have thought that?
I turned around and was planning on following a widely curved path in the opposite direction back toward the beach when I heard the muffled sound of crying coming from somewhere ahead of me. I crept forward carefully and pushed aside the large frond of a palm ahead of me. As if the strange and unexpected thought of her had led me toward her, Eleanor was sitting on a moss-covered rock, her head in her hands as she sobbed. I quietly approached and crouched down in front of her, resting a hand on her back.
"Eleanor?" I said gently. "Are you alright?"
I always hated that question. Why did people ask that when they saw other people crying? It wasn’t like sitting there sobbing was a normal reaction to everything just going perfectly well in life. And yet, when people saw someone else crying, the first thing that always came to mind was “are you alright?”
I half expected her to string together some colorful and illustrative curses that ensured I
knew exactly what she felt about me and the fact that this was largely, likely entirely, my fault, and that I sounded like a blithering idiot checking in on her when she was clearly not alright. Instead, Eleanor looked up at me and tried to brush the tears from her face.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"No," I said, settling down beside her. "Don't say you're sorry. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want to feel right now. I just want you know that I'm here if you want to talk about it."
"Those men who were on the boat," Eleanor started, but then hesitated as if she wasn’t completely sure that she wanted to keep going with that train of thought.
"Yes?" I said, trying to gently guide her forward.
I had been thinking about what she said about her ex-husband since she mentioned him on the cruise ship, and now she finally seemed as though she was willing to tell me what was really going on.
"They're never going to stop, are they?" she asked. "They are just going to keep coming after me until they finally get me, aren't they?"
Despite the hot, heavy air around us, Eleanor was visibly shaking and her arms were wrapped tightly around her body. I shook my head and slid closer to her so that I could meet her gaze again.
"They can come," I said, "but they won't get you." Eleanor started to look away and I reached out to tuck a finger under her chin and lift her face to look at me again. "They won't get you. I won't let them."
What had started as me just trying to comfort and reassure her had become a vow, a promise to her that I meant with everything in me. Eleanor didn't look away this time. I felt warmth building within me and tension filling the space between us. Led by the same compulsion that I had tried to ignore after the wedding, I reached up and ran my fingertips along the curve of her jaw, briefly allowing them to brush across her lips. I leaned forward toward her, longing to taste those soft, full lips again. For a moment Eleanor leaned toward me as well, but then she pulled back suddenly, looking away and pushing back so far on the rock that she nearly toppled off. The moment between us shattered and I felt embarrassment mixed with frustration wash over me. I couldn’t understand Eleanor’s sudden resistance. She had been ready, willing, and eager when we were at the hotel, and I had been the one to have second thoughts. Now she was pulling away from me, looking at me like she was horrified by my advances.
