As we head back to our shelters, the mood is mixed. The Singletons are thrilled, going on and on about how they’ll be warm and now they can cook. But the rest of us, the white hats, are quiet. We’ve lost two allies, but more importantly, two very nice people have been sent away because of an inability to throw and catch raw eggs, a skill that people in real life never, ever need. The randomness of it is beyond depressing.
“How are you holding up?” Malcolm comes up beside me, looking as serious as I feel.
I shrug. “I’m sad.”
“Imagine how I feel. Now I’m the only man in our group.”
Even though I keep my eyes on the ground, his comment makes me smile. Then Layla bounds up and links an arm through her dad’s.
“Cheer up,” she says. “We all knew this would happen sooner or later. At least we didn’t have to turn on each other like the Singletons were hoping we would. And now there’s more food to go around and more sleeping space in the shelter.”
Malcolm’s booming laugh echoes through the jungle. “That’s my little ray of sunshine, always looking for the positive.”
“Dad.” Clearly embarrassed, she jogs away and claims Jess’s elbow.
“She’s a great girl.”
The pride is so evident on his face, he doesn’t need to say a word. Watching our daughters looking so carefree and happy, I wonder if I’ll ever be as comfortable in my role as a parent as Malcolm is. Sure, he’s been with his daughter her whole life. It stands to reason they’d have a close relationship. What kind of a relationship can I hope to create with Jess? It’s only been a couple days, but so far, we haven’t talked about anything important. My strategy of waiting for her to start a mother/daughter conversation is obviously flawed. I guess it’ll be up to me to spot the door crack when it opens up and jam my foot into it before she can slam it closed again.
18
Handing out flint made me the most popular girl in camp last night. But I knew it wouldn’t last. Sure enough, the sun is up and, thanks to a rain-free evening, the fires are still burning. It’s a new day, and I’m back to being boring old Monica.
The morning pail mail informs us that today is a free day. It stretches out like a long, deserted road. Twentyish hours of making nice and finding ways to pass the time. Which makes today the perfect opportunity to visit the confessional. I’ve seen others walk in that direction, but between my near concussion after the first challenge, and all the excitement of yesterday, this is the first time I’ve gone.
It’s a bit of a walk, so by the time I get there, I’m starting to have second thoughts. What am I going to say, anyway? I really don’t want to talk about anybody back at camp, because I know how those things get twisted. But this is something we’re all required to do. Maybe, I can just talk about Sal and Gracie, how nice they were and how sad I was to see them go.
The confessional setup is pretty bare bones: one stationary camera and two women. They’re having a heated conversation about sushi, of all things, but as soon as I walk up, they go silent and the brunette moves behind the camera.
“Welcome to the confessional.” The one with the blond ponytail points at a log on the beach. “Have a seat there and get comfy.”
There’s really no way to be comfortable on a hard, dry log, but I do my best to look like I am. I cross my arms, uncross them, cross my legs, uncross them, face the camera full-on, then turn slightly sideways.
“That’s great,” she says, making a movement that tells me to hold still.
I stop fidgeting. “Now what?”
“Now, you just tell us what’s on your mind.”
Right now, my mind is wishing this log was padded. Shoot, I had this all figured out. What was I going to talk about? “Sal and Gracie!” I’m so glad I remembered, I almost forget to say anything else. “I really miss them.”
Ponytail waits for me to say something fascinating, and when I don’t, she frowns. The surf behind me has just gotten really, really loud.
“They were nice.” Oh man, now I sound like the island idiot.
“You know, sometimes it helps if we treat it like a conversation.” Ponytail speaks slowly and sweetly, as though that will help me understand. “Just pretend you’re talking to a close friend. Okay?”
Just like I’m talking to Jules. I can do that. “Okay.”
“Great. You’ve had a few injuries already, haven’t you?”
I laugh. “You know, I’m usually not accident prone. I work with knives on a daily basis, and look,” I hold my hands up, fingers spread. “Haven’t cut one of them off yet.”
Once I start talking, it just keeps flowing. I lift my bangs and stick out my elbow, showing off my war wounds. I talk about the shelter, and how we have our doubts whether it was knocked over by monkeys. When I finish the fire sharing story, Ponytail seems impressed.
“I don’t know that anyone has shared their fire before.”
“It was kind of for a selfish reason,” I admit. “My aching head couldn’t take anymore yelling.”
She nods. “How are things going between you and your daughter?”
The abrupt change of subject nearly knocks me off my log. Jess and I haven’t even had a heart-to-heart yet. What makes Ponytail think I want to talk to her about it?
“You know, I’d better get back to camp before they think I’ve run away.” I hop up before she can stop me and jog back the way I came. There aren’t many things that would send me running back to that group. Asking me about the most important, nearly nonexistent relationship in my life is one of them.
***
Dinner that night is taro root and rice in a coconut milk reduction. It turns out better than I expected, but I won’t be adding it to my catering menu anytime soon.
“Well.” Jasmine pokes at her portion with one of the crude bamboo spoons Malcolm spent the afternoon whittling. “This is very . . . interesting.”
Evelyn frowns at her. “There’s not a thing wrong with it.” She turns to me and nods sharply. “We need to stretch out the rice, and you found a way. Kudos.”
“And don’t forget the coconut,” Malcolm adds. “No scurvy for this group.”
Jess wrinkles her nose. “Doesn’t citrus fruit prevent scurvy?”
We look from one to the other, but I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.
“We could ask one of the Singletons,” Layla says.
Even if one of them knows, I doubt they’d tell us. Still, I look over at their side, with their individual fires burning in front of their individual shelters. They’re sitting in pairs, but no one is talking, and they certainly aren’t laughing. I suppose, from a game play standpoint, they’re being smart. By avoiding personal relationships, they can strategize and play a cutthroat game without guilt. Even so, I can’t help but feel sorry for them.
I’m pulled out of my musing when a flash of lightning cracks the sky, followed by a rumble, and the rain begins to fall. We scramble for the shelter, taking our possibly-scurvy-preventing dinner with us.
“I wish we had a way to keep that from happening.” I point to the fire, which is now a slightly smoking heap of wet wood and ash.
“At least we have more than one flint now. Which reminds me,” Evelyn waves her bamboo spoon around, “everyone needs to practice starting a fire.”
Layla sighs. “Maybe we should hunt up some eggs and take turns tossing them to each other.”
“There’s really no way to know what’s coming next.” Jess takes a swig out of her canteen. “Do you think we’ll have a challenge tomorrow?”
Malcolm nods as he eats his last few grains of rice. “We should. A reward challenge.”
“Ooh, what do you think the reward will be this time?” Layla leans forward, and even in the darkness, her eyes sparkle. “Maybe pillows and blankets. Or food. I hope it’s food.”
Evelyn shakes her head. “I hope it’s something to catch food, like fishing gear. That’s what we really need.”
“Like that old saying.” Ja
smine taps her lip with one finger. “Give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish—”
I hold up my spoon with authority. “And he’ll find a woman to clean them all.”
All the women laugh. Malcolm hangs his head in mock shame. “I apologize for my entire gender.”
I pat his shoulder. “Apology accepted. Personally, I hope it’s a gentle challenge. One that involves padding. Or sitting in a chair.”
“Or a pillow fight,” Jess adds.
Everybody has an idea of what kind of challenge I might get through unscathed, each one more ridiculous than the other. Before long, we’re laughing so hard no one can speak.
It’s such a light-hearted moment, I choose to ignore that these people are my competitors, just like the Singletons. Right now, with the rain pattering against the tarp and collecting in puddles beneath our raised floor, I choose to be thankful that I found camaraderie and humor in such a bizarre place. Tomorrow, we compete. And tomorrow, I’ll agonize over when and how to have a serious talk with Jess.
But tonight . . . tonight we laugh.
19
The challenge the next day is the exact opposite of gentle. It’s a physical obstacle course that includes scaling walls, crawling through mud beneath a low wooden structure, and swinging from one rope to another like Tarzan.
That’s bad enough, but then Rick delivers the twist: team members will be tethered to each other. The only way to win this is through extreme teamwork.
Oh no. Absolutely nothing can go wrong with this.
A production assistant gives us what we need. There’s a leather belt with padding on the inside. We’re told to buckle it loosely around our waists. Then we connect ourselves together with a three-foot length of rope that snaps onto D rings on the side of each belt.
Jess looks down at her waist. Her eyes follow along the rope, to my belt, and then up to my face. “This is a very bad idea.”
I don’t blame her for being afraid. With my track record, who knows what calamity I’ll drag her into?
With an awkward pat on the shoulder, I attempt to encourage her. “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble. Promise.”
She doesn’t look convinced. If we weren’t literally attached at the hip, I’m pretty sure she would have walked the other way. Instead, we stand on our orange mat, waiting for Rick to start the challenge.
But there’s one more thing. Rick reveals the reward we’re playing for.
“Something to stretch out that supply of dry goods. Fishing equipment.”
Evelyn pumps her fist, making it clear just how much she wants that prize.
“And, to make island eating a little more interesting, there’s this.” Rick holds up another basket full of jars and bottles. “A selection of cooking oils, spices, and utensils.”
My heart actually jumps when I hear the word spices. “We are so winning this,” I whisper to Jess. Her only reply is to cover her eyes with one hand and shake her head.
“Families ready!” Rick calls.
I crouch slightly, weight on my back foot, ready to spring forward when the word is given. Jess is in for the surprise of her life. We’re going to win this thing.
***
We come in dead last. Although technically, I don’t know if you’re considered last if you have to stop in the middle of the course.
It started out so well, too. If not for those stupid rope vines, I’d be taking inventory of the spices. Instead, Payton is carrying the prize back to camp, and I’m having my ribs wrapped.
“I seriously doubt you fractured anything,” Mr. Medic says. “But this will give you support and lessen the pain for the next few days.”
When he’s finished, I try to take a deep breath, but the bandage keeps my lungs from totally filling. “I feel like a sausage.”
He pats my shoulder. “Great. Then I did it right.” He looks next to me. “How’s our other patient?”
“Peachy.” Jess grumbles.
A female medic is at Jess’s ankle, wrapping it up. “It’s just a little sprain,” she says. “You’ll be fine.”
“I’m so sorry, Jess.”
She turns her head slowly and glares at me. “You promised you’d stay out of trouble.”
“I tried.” If I thought it would help, I’d go on about how having the rope obstacle right after the mud crawl was a really bad idea, and how it really wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t hold onto the rope with all that mud on my hands. Maybe, if everyone had fallen, that line of reasoning would help. But they didn’t, so it won’t. So I stop talking.
A shadow crosses in front of the sun as Rick walks up to the medic canopy.
“How are the two patients?”
“We’ll live.” Jess pushes herself up on her elbows and juts out her chin. “Rick, correct me if I’m wrong, but in the history of this show, I don’t think anybody has managed to get hurt in every single challenge, have they?”
His lip twitches. “No. Monica here is a first.” Then he looks at me and shakes a scolding finger. “It’s a streak I hope you break soon.”
“Yeah, before I break my body beyond repair.” My other two injuries were painful and embarrassing, but this is the worst. Because this time, I took Jess down with me.
By the time Jess and I limp and hobble our way back to camp, everybody has adjourned to their regular places. Payton and his partner—I really need to find out her name—are off trying out the fishing equipment. The rest of the Singletons are grumpy and probably wishing they had the kind of alliance where people shared what they won. Back at the big shelter, Malcolm is chopping a branch into fire-pit-size pieces while Layla and Jasmine are weaving together strips of something.
Malcolm notices us first. “The wounded warriors have returned.”
I groan and collapse on the shelter floor. Jess limps past me and joins the other women.
“What are you guys making?” she asks.
Layla grins. “Blankets. Kinda.” She goes on excitedly about how they decided to weave together palm fronds into large rectangles. “They won’t be the same as real blankets, but they might help a little.”
Jess nods. “Cool idea. Want help?”
As she joins the weaving bee, Malcolm leans the machete against the side of the shelter and sits next to me. “You’re getting a reputation, you know.”
My eyes narrow as I look at him. “Is that right?”
“They’re starting to call you Hurricane Monica.”
“Excuse me? In what way am I like a hurricane?”
He laughs. “Because you breeze in leaving a trail of destruction in your wake.”
“Oh brother.”
“Hey, I defend you.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I remind folks that all the damage you’ve done has been to yourself.”
I glance at Jess. “Until today.”
He looks at her now, too. “She doesn’t seem any worse for wear.”
No, she doesn’t. Laughing and chatting while she wrestles palm fronds into submission, she’s once again settled into an easy camaraderie with someone other than me. And I really don’t want to start talking about that, because if I do, I think I may cry.
“Where’s Evelyn?”
Malcolm tilts his head, and I know he recognizes my desire to change the subject. Thankfully, he goes along with it. “She was so irritated about not winning the fishing equipment, she decided to make her own. She whittled a point on the end of a stick and went off to stab something.”
“Uh oh. Payton better watch his back.”
“I’m sure he can take care of himself.” Malcolm stands and stretches. “Would you like me to take over dinner duty?”
“No, I’d still like to cook.” So far, making a meal is my big contribution to our group. It’s the one thing I’ve been able to do without hurting myself or others. “Do you mind?”
He dismisses my concern with a wave of his hand. “Not at all. I’d probably burn it if I tried. I just wasn’t sure if you were up for it.”
>
My side still hurts, but not nearly as much as it did when I hit the ground. Cooking—if you can call what I’m doing cooking—will help take my mind off of other things. Like how my daughter always finds a way to spend time with someone else and avoids talking to me.
A quick inventory of our food supply tells me it didn’t magically multiply and diversify while I was gone. We still have three bags of beans, two bags of rice, six tubers, and two under-ripe bananas. It won’t take long until all the beans and rice are gone. I wonder how long our happy, can-do team attitude will last once we’re all starving to death?
“Monica.”
I could have sworn someone just said my name, but nobody’s looking at me. I’m about to go back to cooking when I hear it again.
“Monica!”
It’s a hissing sound coming from the jungle growth on the edge of camp. I hiss back. “Who is it?”
“Payton. Come here.”
What does Payton want? I struggle to my feet and walk toward the voice. There he is, on the other side of a palm tree, eyes darting back and forth as if he’s an agent on a covert mission.
“We have to stop meeting like this.” I hope he appreciates dry humor.
Whether he does or not is a mystery, because he ignores the joke and holds out a canvas bag. I start to open it, but he stops me.
“This is just because of the fire. And because I nearly gave you a concussion.” With a sharp nod, her turns and walks into the jungle.
“Payton, wait!” He looks at me over his shoulder, and I feel silly for asking this, but it may be my only chance. “Who is your teammate?”
“My sister. Rhonda.” And then he’s gone.
I open the bag and laugh. Inside is one fish and a spice bottle labeled garlic salt. Well, what about that . . . I’ve always heard the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Who knew fire has the same affect?
20
The next day is sunny and dry. The perfect day to send another family packing.
Last Family Standing Page 11
