six
I WAKE UP THE FOLLOWING morning thinking about a night two years ago.
Edmund had just spent three days suffering through some sort of food poisoning from hell, and he was finally able to stay out of the bathroom for several hours at a time. His concierge doctor had stopped by to check on him once a day, but otherwise Alicia and I were the ones taking care of him.
When he was really sick, he was a pretty good patient. He didn’t whine very much even when he was puking his guts out, and he exerted the energy necessary to haul himself to the bathroom no matter how weak he was. But as soon as he started feeling better, he began acting like no one had ever been as victimized as him in the history of the world.
For two days I was deeply sympathetic and did everything in my power to help him and make him feel better. I spent hours by his bedside just in case he woke up and needed something.
But on the third day, my patience started wearing thin.
He complained about the light in the room. He complained that his sheets were damp. He complained that everything tasted bitter. He complained that the first piece of toast I made him was burned and the second wasn’t done enough. He complained that his body hurt too much to walk to the bathroom and then gave me a nasty look when I blandly offered him a bottle to pee in.
Eventually I got sick of the whining and left him to his own devices.
When I went to check on him an hour later, he was still in bed but had the covers up over his face.
“Are you okay?” I asked, coming in from the doorway.
He made a grumbly sound that wasn’t made up of any real words.
“Edmund?”
“Everyone calls me Worth. Why do you always call me Edmund?” The question wasn’t angry—just articulated in a bad-tempered mutter.
“Worth Worthing is a ridiculous name,” I replied crisply, pulling down the sheet so I could see his face and verify that he was actually okay. “You might as well call yourself Richie Rich.”
His body shook a few times. Then dry laughter huffed out of him. Then he couldn’t seem to stop, laughing until he coughed and had to wipe his eyes.
“It wasn’t that funny,” I told him.
“Yes, it was. Sorry I’m such an asshole. I feel more like crap now than I did when I was worse.”
“That’s pretty normal. It’s terrible when you’re improved enough to think you should be getting better but you’re still not all the way better.”
He sighed and pushed the sheet down. He’d been wearing nothing but loose boxers for three days, and his normally tanned skin was paler than it should be. His hair was sticking straight up on end, and he had the beginnings of a beard. “Yeah. That’s probably it.”
“Do you feel up to taking a shower? It might make you feel better, and I can change your sheets while you’re out of the bed.”
He nodded, then took a deep breath before he heaved himself up to a sitting position. He sat on the edge of the mattress for a minute, catching his breath before he managed to get to his feet.
“Shit, I feel like I’m going to fall down,” he said as I wrapped an arm around his waist because he looked so wobbly.
“You’ll bounce back soon. Give it another day or two.”
“Why are you always so calm and sensible when I’m in the heights of melodrama?” His voice was slightly hoarse and had an edge of fondness that I liked.
“Because one of us needs to be sensible.”
“When do I get to be the sensible one?”
We’d made it to the bathroom by then. He sat down on the closed toilet lid while I went to turn on the shower spray and adjust the temperature for him. When I was done, I turned around to meet his eyes. “If I ever get caught up in the heights of melodrama, you can be the sensible one then.”
“But that will never happen.” He was smiling just a little as he stood up, the waistband of his boxers so low they almost exposed his groin.
Feeling way too soft and melty, I reached out to yank up his boxers a couple of inches so I didn’t get any wrong ideas. “Then I guess you’ll never get to be the sensible one.”
He sighed as he felt the water and then moved a towel onto a hook, in easy reach next to the shower. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
I was starting to leave the bathroom, but I paused at the door. “Fair to you or fair to me?”
He paused with his lips slightly parted, as if I’d momentarily baffled him. “I don’t even know.”
“Well, you can figure it out while you’re taking a shower.”
I left him alone then while I changed the sheets on his bed, and that particular conversation never resumed.
I’m not sure why it comes back to me this morning as I’m lying in our little hut with only a towel between my body and the hard floor. But I relive it in my mind a couple of times before I finally roll over so I’m facing Edmund.
He’s still asleep on his side, facing me. He’s rumpled and unshaven, and he’s wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. If it weren’t for his suntan, he would look a lot like that day he was sick.
“It’s quite unnerving to be awakened by the full force of your stare,” Edmund mutters dryly without opening his eyes.
I choke on a surprised laugh. “Sorry.”
His eyes are genuinely beautiful—a deep, melting brown. They’re soft and questioning and amused when he finally opens them to look at me. “What was so intriguing that you had to stare at me first thing in the morning?”
I can hardly admit I was remembering him all sick and pitiful and yet still himself, much less that I was feeling all fluttery about it. “It was nothing. I just opened my eyes, and you were there.”
“Story of my life too,” he says with a groan, sitting up and rubbing at his face. “You were probably lying there, worrying and wondering how you were going to drag me through this ordeal.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything of the kind!”
He slants a curious look at my indignant tone. “Haven’t you been dragging me through life for the last years?”
“No, I haven’t. And you’ve been just as helpful as I have since we’ve been stuck on this island. If not more so. Not to mention that you very clearly saved me from drowning in the ocean. So don’t you dare act like you’re useless.”
He stares at me, motionless, for several seconds. Longer than is entirely comfortable. Then he swallows visibly. Gives a little nod. And mutters, “Understood.”
***
I ’M SERIOUS ABOUT MAKING sure we take care of Edmund’s feet, so I don’t let him go into the forest that morning even just to grab a few coconuts. And I nag at him whenever he tries to walk around too much—even on the soft sand—so eventually he gives up and lounges on a towel on the beach.
I get the coconuts for the day and manage to break them open on the rock, then fill our bowls with water from the stream and bring them back to our camp. And I check our big SOS and straighten up the loose shells and rocks to keep the edges clean.
After that, there’s not much else to do.
If we’re here long enough, we’ll have plenty of projects to work on—building a better shelter, searching for food, brainstorming on making or finding other necessities. But none of that feels essential for today, and I definitely don’t want to start any of those tasks now, not when I’ve made it clear Edmund isn’t allowed to help because of his injured feet.
So by midmorning, I spread a towel out next to him and settle on it in an attempt to relax.
It’s going to be a really long day.
People dream of lying around on the beach without a single thing to do, but those fantasies always include books or phones or music or something to help pass the time.
Edmund and I have the rest of the day without anything to do at all.
“I guess we could catch up on sleep,” Edmund murmurs as if he’s been reading my mind.
“Yeah.” The sun feels good right now—warm and pleasant and tempered by the morning breeze—but after lunch I’m going to have to move into the shade. Even with the sunscreen I apply religiously twice a day, if I lie in the sun all afternoon, I’m going to get burned. “I suppose so. It shouldn’t be too bad for a couple of days at least.”
“Hopefully by then they’ll have found us.”
“Yeah.”
He must hear something in my voice. “You shouldn’t give up hope so quickly.”
“I haven’t given up hope. I’m just not as naturally optimistic as you are. Life hasn’t always fallen into place for me the way I want it.”
He turns his head to peer at me. “Your life hasn’t been that bad, has it?”
Because he sounds concerned, I’m honest with him. “No. It’s not been that bad.”
“Your parents were okay, weren’t they? And you have a sister?”
“Yes to both. My parents were pretty good. Stupid for their investments, but they loved us and they tried. And my sister is years younger than me. We’ve always been fairly close, but it’s not like we’re best friends or anything.”
“Did you have a lot of friends growing up?”
“What do you think?”
He frowns. “I don’t know. You’re smart and have a good sense of humor, and you always want to help people. You’re a great friend.”
Touched because he appears to genuinely believe it, I say, “Thank you for that. I think I am a pretty good friend. But kids aren’t popular for only those reasons. I wasn’t all that pretty or fun, and I believe my desire to help people sometimes came across as bossy. I always had a couple of friends, but I was never popular.” I smile at him. “I’ve never been the life of any party.”
“Well, you are kind of bossy,” he drawls with the warmest glint in his eyes. “But that’s one of your most endearing qualities.”
I fall into helpless giggles. “You don’t actually believe that when I’m in the midst of bossing you.”
“No. Probably not. But I always appreciate it afterward. Every time I don’t listen to you, I end up regretting it.”
“Really?” My voice breaks just slightly.
“Yes.” He blinks, visibly surprised. “Of course. Didn’t you know that? Why do you think my life has been slowly getting better? Because I’ve been listening to you.”
I think about that. About how he’s gradually been giving up on the wild, decadent lifestyle he indulged in when I first met him. How he’s been healthier and more content and more involved in worthwhile causes.
Maybe some of it is because of me.
“You didn’t listen to me about Kontessa.” As soon as I voice the thought, I wish I hadn’t.
“You never said anything to me about her.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Only at the very end. And did you not notice that a few weeks after we had that conversation, I broke up with her?”
I lick my lips, oddly nervous about the turn of the conversation. I have no idea why. “Oh.”
“If you had something to say about her before that, why didn’t you say it earlier?” He doesn’t sound as light and nonchalant now. He sounds confused and slightly hurt.
“It wasn’t my business.”
“Wh—”
“Edmund, you know it’s not. I’m your assistant. What you do with your personal life isn’t my business. If I’d tried to tell you not to date her when you first got together, you would have gotten pissed at me.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. Look, I knew she wasn’t good for you the very first time you went out with her, but that was something you had to figure out for yourself. You can’t talk people into doing what you know is best for them. It just doesn’t work that way.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” He’s frowning and staring up at the very blue sky. “It makes me feel stupid though.”
“Well...” I give him a little nudge to take the sting out of the next words. “It was kind of stupid of you. But everyone is stupid about love sometimes.”
He relaxes, clearly understanding and agreeing with what I’m telling him. But eventually he mumbles, “I never loved her, you know.”
I swallow over a weird lump in my throat. “I know you didn’t.”
“What about you?” he asks in a different tone.
“What about me?”
“You said that everyone is stupid about love sometimes, so when have you been stupid?”
“Oh.”
“Oh, what?”
“I’ve been stupid plenty of times.”
“Like when?”
“Like my whole life. I’ve gotten crushes on guys who would never even look at me twice. Guys I never had a prayer of getting. But knowing that didn’t stop me from falling for them. Daydreaming about them. And getting hurt over and over again when my feelings aren’t returned.”
“You’ve dated, haven’t you?”
“Of course. Not a ton, but I dated Richard and Jake. You met them. And I had a couple more boyfriends before them—one in college and one in grad school.”
“So they were obviously into you.”
“Yeah. I guess.” When it looks like he’s going to object, I hurry on. “They obviously liked me enough to date me, but I don’t think any of them were really head over heels about me. And the truth is... the truth is... they weren’t exactly dream guys to me either. I dated them because they asked and they were decent and I liked them well enough. I’ve never—not in real life—been swept away.”
I sigh, my stomach roiling at that deep and depressing truth.
Edmund is clearly listening, but he doesn’t respond immediately.
Shifting on my towel, I add, “I sometimes wonder if there’s something about me that... that doesn’t fit with being swept away by love that way.”
“You think you’re too sensible?”
“No. Like I said, I’ve fallen for more than one guy who wasn’t at all the sensible choice. They just never were into me back. Maybe what I mean even more is that there’s something about me that makes it impossible for guys to be swept away by me.”
That admission is even rawer. More naked. I’m left feeling chilled and nervous, and I sneak a peek at Edmund to see how he reacted.
He’s got his head turned in my direction. His expression is quiet. Thoughtful. Not his normal clever humor. He doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I.
We stare at each other for a minute until I’m so antsy I sit up. “I’ve got to get some water.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t sound surprised or rebuffed or amused or anything but reflective.
I get up to take the last few swallows of my bowl of water and then go back to the stream to refill it.
Edmund is asleep by the time I return.
***
W HILE HE SLEEPS, I get ambitious and experiment with options that Edmund might use for shoes.
Obviously we have nothing genuinely functional, but I consider sacrificing one of our towels. If I could tear it into strips, we might be able to tie on some pieces around his feet like socks.
But before I destroy one of the towels, I wander along the tree line and start picking off a variety of the larger leaves from the trees and vines and scrubby bushes. Maybe one of those will be strong and flexible enough to walk on.
Eventually I decide on the best leaves to try. They’re huge—longer than my face and almost as wide. And I can bend them and step on them and fold them in half without them cracking or ripping.
When I’ve picked out two good specimens, I crouch down at the bottom of Edmund’s towel and line up the leaves with his feet to see how they’ll fit.
They’re way too long, so I tear them off at an appropriate length. They’re also too wide, but it might be helpful for the sides to bend up around his feet, so I leave them that size.
Now all I need is something to tie the leaves to the bottom of his feet.
I walk the forest line again, this time looking for vines or long grasses, and eventually tear off a handful of different possibilities.
It takes a long time for me to sort through them and try each one. I finally decide on a flowering vine. When I pull all the leaves and blooms off, what remains is a thin, resilient vine that’s flexible but surprisingly difficult to break. I gather a bunch more, cleaning them up and tearing off the leaves.
There. That should work. They’re not going to work like shoes do and will definitely provide zero support. But they might protect the soles of his feet from getting a thousand tiny cuts and abrasions.
And he can put on new leaves each day.
I’m so pleased with my idea that I don’t want to wait for him to wake up to try them on. He’s sound asleep, so I settle myself at the bottom of his body and put one of the leaves in position against his foot. Using my pieces of vine, I tie it on up near the ball of his foot and then use another to tie it around the arch.
I’m trying to figure out how to tie it to keep the leaf on his heel when he says in a dry, sleepy voice, “What exactly is happening down there?”
I giggle, flushing with a tinge of embarrassment. “Sorry. I had an idea and wanted to see if it was going to work.”
He sits up and inspects his foot. “This is your idea?”
“It was the only thing I could think of. Your poor feet are constantly going to be torn up if we don’t figure something out.”
He’s chuckling and shaking his head, but he doesn’t object when I tie on the other leaf.
“They look like they’ll hold, but they’re still flapping on your heels.”
“Well, let’s see how they do.” He pushes himself to his feet, tugging up his shorts and pulling down his T-shirt at the same time. Then he takes a few steps with the leaves tied to his feet.
“They’re like very annoying flip-flops,” he says, walking back to me with a half-suppressed smile. “But those leaves are tough as hell, so good job finding them.”
“Maybe if I leave more length at the heel, we can fold it up and tie it around your ankle.” I get busy as I talk, picking up two more of the big leaves and then kneeling down to pull off the other leaves and tie the longer ones on instead.
Edmund allows me to work without complaint. And I’m pleased when these leaves are long enough to fold up over his heel and tie with a vine around the ankle.
When I’ve gotten both of them secured, I’m grinning as I stand up.
He starts walking again. The improvised slippers stay on and appear fairly secure. And when Edmund jumps around and runs for several yards down the beach, they don’t tear or slip off.
“There’s not much traction,” he finally announces. “So I wouldn’t want to walk in these on a smooth surface. But for the beach and the forest, they might do. Not sure how long they’ll actually last.”
“We can replace them every day. Or twice a day if we need to. There are a ton of those plants around. It’s better than your feet being shredded and you picking up who knows what bacteria and parasites from walking around barefoot.”
“I agree.” He smiles back at me. “Quite brilliant really.”
I flush again—with pleasure this time. “I have my moments.”
“You have a lot of moments.”
***
O UR LUNCH CONSISTS of a protein bar each and splitting a coconut. Since we’re better at breaking them open now, we’re able to save most of the water inside in our bowls so we can drink it.
After lunch, we play around some more with Edmund’s shoes to see if we can improve them. Then we take a swim in the ocean and stretch out on our towels to rest afterward.
Edmund lies in the sun, but I settle in the shade even after applying more sunscreen.
The last thing I need is a bad sunburn.
I still have a ball of anxiety in my gut—I’m not sure it’s going to go away as long as we’re stranded on this island—but otherwise I’m feeling okay. I’m able to relax enough to actually doze off.
I must have rolled over onto my stomach in my sleep because that’s how I’m positioned when I’m next aware of anything.
There’s something itching my back. It’s irritating me. I’m trying to muster the energy to reach around and scratch at it but haven’t quite woken up enough yet.
I manage to open my eyes and am suddenly aware of something else. Edmund is there. Right there. Crouching beside my towel.
He’s reaching over toward my back. He has a small stick in his hand.
“Wh—” I don’t even get the first word out before he interrupts me.
“Don’t move.” His voice is brisk. Not loud but oddly urgent.
It startles me so much I do as he says. I freeze.
He’s reaching over farther with that stick.
Something terrible is happening. I can sense it in his stiff, tense stance. I gasp instinctively.
There’s still that tickle on my back.
I don’t move my body. He told me not to, and he meant it. But panic is rising inside me, and there’s absolutely no way for me to not turn my head to see what’s going on.
I can’t see very well, but I see enough.
He’s using the stick to flick something off my back. Something dark with way too many legs. Something way too big.
I squeal as he makes the sudden move with the stick.
“It’s off,” he says hoarsely. “I got it off.”
With a series of gasps and whimpers, I jump up and brush my hands all over my body. It feels like every inch of my skin is itching now. Like bugs are crawling all over.
“It’s gone,” Edmund says, standing up too. “Autumn, it’s off.”
“What was it?”
I’m reaching around with both hands to swat clumsily at my lower back.
“Some sort of spider. I don’t know what kind, but I was afraid it might be poisonous and didn’t want it to bite you. That’s why I was being careful.”
He makes perfect sense. He did everything right. And I believe him when he says the culprit is no longer on me. But it still feels like spiders are crawling all over my skin, and I can’t help panicking about it. I’m almost crying as I swat and rub and scratch at my skin. Everywhere I can reach.
I’m wearing just my shorts and tank top, so a lot of my skin is exposed. “Edmund,” I whimper. “Is it still there?”
“No.” He hasn’t lost that urgent note in his voice, but I know at the back of my mind it’s because of my reaction and not because of a potentially poisonous spider now. “It’s gone, Autumn.” He turns me around to look at my back. He rubs his hands up and down from my shoulder blades to the back of my thighs. “There’s nothing there. You can believe me.”
I do believe him, but I’m still scared and itchy. I hug my arms to my chest, shaking and trying not to cry and occasionally slapping myself.
“Why don’t you get back in the water?” he suggests. “Maybe that will help.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I quickly scoot out of my shorts, completely unselfconscious of disrobing in front of him. Then I hurry across the sand in my panties and tank.
Edmund comes with me, pulling off his shorts and T-shirt as he walks and wading into the water beside me in just his boxers.
The water helps. A lot. It’s a shift in sensation that my brain evidently needs.
I fully submerge and then bend my knees so only my head remains out of water.
“Is that better?” Edmund asks, sounding stretched and concerned.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” I still feel shaky, but I don’t want to be ridiculous. I’m fine, so I need to start acting fine.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch it earlier. I dozed off, and when I woke up, I saw it.”
“It’s not your fault.” There’s a gurgle in my throat I can’t seem to help. “Thank you for... for getting it off me.”
“You’re welcome. Of course I’d get it off you.”
I stay in the water for a long time, and he stays with me, still shooting me concerned glances. I keep trying to swallow down the surge of emotions so I can return to my sensible self.
Finally I decide there’s no reason not to get out, so I wade back to the beach and stand there dripping.
I rub my hands over my arms and legs, then pull my tank top away from my chest to squeeze some of the water from it.
Edmund has gotten out with me. He’s peering at me silently.
“I’m okay,” I tell him in a wobbly voice.
“Are you?”
For some reason, that’s what does it. I burst into tears.
I have no idea why. Some sort of aftermath of the fear and disgust. I bawl like a baby as he pulls me toward him, wrapping his arms around me, so I cry against his bare chest.
I weep for a long time, and there’s probably more to the crying than the spider aftermath.
Edmund doesn’t question it. He doesn’t say anything. He holds me tight and doesn’t let me go until I finally pull away.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“I think that’s probably a natural reaction to having a big spider crawling over you while you sleep.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” I wipe my face with both hands. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me again.” He reaches over to tuck my wet hair back behind my ears. “To tell you the truth, I kind of like when I can help you.”
“You do?” I ask with a sniff.
He nods, looking softer, warmer, more tender than he usually does. It makes my heart burst into flutters. “So I can take care of you occasionally instead of you always taking care of me.”
My breath hitches in my throat. I lower my eyes before peeking up at him through my lashes. “I don’t mind taking care of you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He moves his hand from my hair to my cheek and cups it possessively. “Autumn.”
For a moment I’m absolutely positive that he’s about to kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
He makes an odd little noise in his throat and then takes an abrupt step backward, dropping his hand.
I let out a breath.
The spider is gone, and the moment is over.
It’s time to get back to normal between us.