We’d fallen through a tear in the map and no one knew where we were. It was up to us to find a way to be found.
“Come on. I want the grand tour.” Estelle dug her toes into the sand, moving faster.
I refused to use my walking stick any more than necessary and today was a day without it.
Gritting my teeth, I fought through the ache and did my best to hide my limp. She didn’t say a word as I moved with her, closer and closer to the house.
My fingers itched to touch her. Normally, I would fight the urge, but this time...I didn’t deny myself.
My hand curled around hers, holding loosely to give her the opportunity to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her grip tightened around mine, and together we entered our home.
The second her toes left sand and hit bamboo flooring, she bounced in place. Her black bikini top jiggled as her breasts moved; her cotton shorts bravely stayed up even with a few holes on the waistline. “It’s amazing.”
I’d painstakingly spliced, tied, and flattened the hard-wearing bamboo to finally have a floor that didn’t resemble a beach.
Conner and Pippa had already claimed their beds.
Their bright faces beamed. “You made us our own room.” Conner shook his head. “Wow, man. Thanks.”
It’d taken many hours of not having him there to help, but I’d inserted a few partitions in the house to make it more private. There were no doors, but Conner had his own spot with a partition blocking him from Pippa. It would be simple to remove the flax frond wall if they wanted to be together, but this way...they could have a normal sibling relationship without encroaching on each other.
Estelle drifted to the right where I’d put our wing.
Ours.
Only if she accepts me and stops fighting whatever exists between us.
I’d done the same thing on this side.
Another temporary wall separated her sleeping space from mine, but I hoped in time, we could reposition it to block the kids off and have our own private bedroom to do whatever we pleased away from the attentive eyes of youth.
Her fingers trailed over everything. From the natural walls to the fully stocked beds with a thick layer of fresh leaves to make a comfortable, warm, and no longer sandy resting spot. I’d arranged Estelle’s blankets just like a hotel would and even placed a tiny white flower on top. All that was missing was chocolate wrapped in fancy gold paper on the pillow.
The window holes let light in and a gentle breeze, keeping it cool while the shade finally gave our eyes a rest from the glare of fiery sunshine.
The middle of the house stored the cups and bowls we’d carved from coconut shells, the necklaces Pippa had made from fish vertebrae, and countless tools we’d adopted to make our life easier.
Shelving held the Swiss Army knife and axe, safe and ready for use whenever we required. We even had stored food, mainly salted fish with another bowl holding a variety of leaves and taro, along with a piece of fuselage hammered into a deep catchment holding fresh water.
We didn’t have a card house that would blow over like dominoes. We didn’t have a tent or lean-to. We had roots. Foundation. And for the first-time since we crashed, I truly took stock of what we’d achieved and how far we’d come from city dwellers to wild islanders.
We’d created this from nothing.
We’d forged bonds and skills through hard work and determination.
We’d become more than we ever thought we would.
I’m happy.
My heart shone like a torch as Estelle twirled in the centre of the house, smiling at the roof above her head. Watching her relax and throb with gratitude crucified my desire.
I was happy.
But I could be happier.
And I couldn’t wait any longer to find the ultimate paradise.
I wanted.
I needed.
Her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
I’ve been an idiot.
I’m the question mark on a question too hard to ask.
I’m the pause behind the sentence too hard to hear.
I’m the ellipses trailing on the confession too hard to read.
I’m the breath waiting to speak the truth too stupid to believe.
Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
WORDS COULDN’T DESCRIBE how singular and special such a simple thing like a roof was.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t airtight, rainproof, or even safe from bugs, but it was a roof and that was indescribable.
Waking up after our first night in our new home made me happier than I’d been in years. Happier than being on stage and performing to countless listeners. Happier than signing a million-dollar contract with my producer.
I’d kissed Galloway.
The air had cleared.
Tonight, I would tell him that I truly wanted him and finally indulge in the pleasure I’d denied both of us.
I shivered at the thought of touching him again, kissing him, finally feeling him thrust inside me.
Joy was hard to quantify, but I couldn’t remember being so happy as I left the house and prepared a breakfast of crab and fish for my still slumbering family.
Sighing peacefully, I glanced at the ashes smeared on the lintel over the doorway. The children had used the soot from the fire last night to name our castaway habitat.
The name wasn’t relevant or unique. Just a play on sounds that worked perfectly.
BB-FIJI
Bamboo Bungalow Fiji.
The ash christening would be washed away as soon as another rain shower arrived, but for now...the dark smudges told a story of people who’d finally found contentment in terrible adversity.
.............................
Lightning flashed out to sea, far enough away from us that it didn’t spark fear and send us running, but close enough to threaten that the storm might change direction and come toward us.
If rain hit, we would restock our dwindling water supplies, and for the first time, be semi-dry thanks to a roof and shelter.
I actually wanted it to rain. I wanted the blissful euphoria of lying in bed, listening to the droplets and not be in the midst of it.
“Do we have time to finish?” Conner eyed the horizon. The sun had set and once again another night had fallen.
Tonight was New Year’s Eve, and once again, I didn’t share the date. Our goals and resolutions wouldn’t change.
Surviving.
That was our ultimate and only purpose.
Our old city rhythm had well and truly become history. We had no alarm clocks or rush-hour traffic; no bills to pay, no stress of social niceties. We worked harmoniously, ate happily, and kept busy throughout the day. This new rhythm snuck up on us so sedately, we didn’t even notice it’d happened.
Galloway and I had smiled and found every reason we could to touch one another while performing our tasks. Every brush and whisper sent desire cycloning inside me, spiralling with strength until a tornado billowed in my soul.
Tonight.
Once the children were in bed.
Things would finally be resolved between us. Being together would be our celebration and welcome of a new year.
“We have a few hours before it comes this way, I think.” Passing Galloway’s walking stick to Pippa, I added, “If it even swings this way. It might stay out to sea.”
Pippa took the stick, chewing her bottom lip. “I hope so. I don’t like thunder.” She shuddered. “Reminds me too much of the noise when we crashed.”
Galloway smiled softly. “You too, huh? Thought that was just me.”
I had no doubt he didn’t mind thunder—but the fact he was willing to come across as a scaredy-cat to support her made my body melt.
Over the past month, the message writing had become an integral part of our nightly routine. So
me nights, we didn’t bother, but it’d become valuable in a strange way. We focused on different things: fears, wishes, favourite hobbies, ultimate experiences, what we missed most.
Tonight, the theme was gratefulness.
I pointed at the sand. “What are you most thankful for, Pip?”
She bent over, doing her best to scratch out two simple words. I’m alive.
Coming from such a tiny, orphaned girl, it was one of the most touching things I’d ever read.
An angry thunderclap boomed on the horizon. Perhaps the weather was heading our way, after all.
She jolted but bravely handed the stick to her brother.
Conner took it, quickly etching his sentence.
His was no better for my heartstrings. I’m grateful for Galloway, and the skills he’s shown me. I can build and fish because of him.
“That’s all on you, Co.” Galloway hugged the boy. “You’re a great student.”
Conner grinned, his tanned face lighting up. “It helps that I like my teacher.”
Pinching the stick, Galloway scrawled: I’m grateful for the sun reminding me that every new day brings a better tomorrow.
My heart no longer had a normal beat around him. It spiked and flopped and sparked and galloped. His comment made it do all four.
With hooded eyes, Galloway gave me the walking stick.
I blanked.
I’m grateful for life.
I’m grateful for who I am.
I’m grateful for tonight and what will happen.
In the end, all I wrote was: I’m grateful for every moment because without them, I wouldn’t be living at all.
Another boom of thunder jerked our gaze skyward.
“Um...maybe we should go inside?” Pippa tugged my shorts, hugging Puffin, the kitten. I smiled at how delicious that sentence was. After so many months, we actually had somewhere to call inside. A shelter to protect us.
I looked up at Galloway, hoping he saw how grateful I was. How grateful I would always be.
That’s what I should’ve written.
I’m grateful for you.
Always.
Another fork of lightning.
Conner broke from our group, peering at the shoreline. His hand came up, pointing at something in the tide.
Something large, black, and sinister.
“What’s that?” He took a step closer. “Something’s crawling out of the ocean.”
“What?” Galloway spun around. “Where?”
A black blob slowly lifted itself from the waves, making its way inch by inch up the beach. “What the hell is that?” Galloway moved with Conner, closer and closer.
I didn’t want them to get too close, but if we didn’t investigate, we might be worse off. Knowledge was key on this island.
“I don’t like it.” Pippa stole my hand. “What if it’s not friendly?”
I squeezed her fingers as another black splodge appeared, following the first.
Then another and another. “I’m sure it’s fine, Pip. But let’s get closer and see.”
The little girl fought my pulling, but I didn’t let her go. Circumstances like these—when facing a new challenge—were best done together.
Galloway suddenly laughed. “Holy crap.”
“That’s so cool.” Conner ran toward the closest blob, his fear completely eradicated. “How awesome is this?”
Galloway jogged (with a slight limp) after Conner. Together, they hovered over the creature hauling itself up the beach.
“What? What is it?” Pippa strained to see.
My eyes finally made sense of the non-descript animal. “I know what that is.”
Pippa squirmed to chase her brother. “What is it?”
Galloway turned to grin. “They’re turtles. Lots and lots of turtles.”
I gaped at the carpet of turtles making their way up our stretch of sand.
After months of being on the island, we hadn’t seen any creatures apart from an odd lizard, snake, and occasional seagull. However, we’d suddenly become a zoo. “What are they doing here?” More black shapes hoisted themselves from the warm water, coming to meet us with a sheer mindedness that gave me goosebumps.
“I’m not sure.” Galloway left Conner crawling beside the leader, and returned to my side. “Perhaps to mate?”
The word mate and the implication of what that entailed twisted my tummy.
He cleared his throat as the silence between us became heavily potent. “Or to lay eggs. They do that on land.”
Pippa freed herself from my hold. “I like turtles.” Taking off, she headed for her brother, her stuffed kitten dangling in her hand.
Galloway and I tensed. We weren’t alone, but there was enough distance to conjure the same electricity and jolting awareness demanding to be acted upon.
We kept our eyes trained on the children, even as our hands stretched out and our fingers interlocked without a word.
The second we touched, I ceased to breathe. I became nothing more than neurons and hormones, desperate to finally claim him.
Pippa tried to push past Conner. “Is it a turtle? I want to touch the turtle.”
Conner caught her as she darted around him. “Wait, you have to be gentle, Pip.”
She stuck out her tongue. “I am gentle, noodle head.”
“Noodle head?” Galloway snickered, catching my eye. “That’s a new one.”
Over the past few months, the children had hurled obscenities, slowly becoming more and more creative. Any word, if said in the right connotation, could become a surly curse.
I should know. Galloway was a master at muttering simple phrases but with rage that painted my cheeks.
“Come on, we better supervise.” Galloway tugged my hand, and together, we caught up to Pip and Conner, sharing in their excitement.
Respectful of the creatures, we didn’t talk loudly. Preferring to watch the giants of the sea trade the grace of swimming for manual labour of flippers on sand.
The thunder slowly stopped its threatening rumble, heading away while the turtles took their time climbing ashore.
We paced beside them patiently. I counted eight, with more appearing behind us.
A few minutes later, as more arrivals appeared, Galloway said, “There has to be close to sixteen or so. What were the odds that their nesting ground was our tiny island?”
I didn’t know how that made me feel. Awed that we had the honour of being the birthing safety of such ancient creatures or extremely sad that it was far enough away from human and predators that their age-old process hadn’t changed.
How long had this island been untouched, unnoticed? How much longer would it remain so?
Another month?
Two?
A year?
Was it possible to go our entire lives in this day and age and never be found?
My throat closed up as my thoughts careened down a chute of depression.
Balling my hands, I forced sharp nails into my palm.
Stop that. Galloway is stronger now. We have a home.
Soon, we would be free to look at methods of leaving on our own merits. We no longer had to wait for nature to heal us. We could find our own way back to society...somehow.
“What are they gonna do?” Conner whispered as the lead turtle stopped a couple of metres from the treeline. Soft sand glistened in the darkness as large flippers scooped and flung a shower of grains over its shell.
I waited for Galloway to mention mating (had the children had the sex talk before the crash?) but he paused.
Scratching his beard, he frowned. “Um, how much do you guys know about the miracle of life?”
“Miracle of life?” Conner snorted. “Come on. I’m thirteen. I know what fucking is—”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Galloway slapped his hand over the boy’s mouth. He narrowed his eyes at Pippa. “I don’t think we need such talk in front of ladies, do you?”
Conner pulled away, his smile cocky that he knew something Pip might no
t.
The little girl blinked in confusion, never taking her eyes off the line-up of hole-digging turtles. “What are they doing? What’s fucking?”
Conner snorted.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath while Conner poked his sister with a smug smile. “They’re making babies, Pip.”
“Babies?” Her eyes popped. “How?” Her angelic face swivelled to face Galloway. “Tell me.”
Galloway chuckled. “Oh, hell no.” Pointing in my direction, he added, “You’re up, Stel. Girls stick with girls...remember?”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Pippa hugged her kitten. “Mummy told me that daddy somehow put me in her stomach, but I didn’t understand how.” She pointed at the closest turtle. “Is that how it happens? By digging a hole?”
I struggled not to smile or laugh inappropriately at the thought of telling her exactly what men and women do. If we never got off this island, she would never experience the heartbreak of first love or the pain and incredible pleasure of losing her virginity.
Unless she turns all Blue Lagoon and fancies her brother.
I shuddered at how gross that would be.
I remembered my teenage years with crystal clarity because it’d been a time of insanely epic highs and violently depressing lows. My ex had been bad news, but it’d taken me too long to figure that out.
Draping my hair over my shoulder, I said, “Turtles are different. They lay eggs—like chickens. Unlike chickens and the eggs we eat, if a male chicken is affectionate with a female, the eggs turn into baby chicks.”
“Okay...” She didn’t tear her gaze from the ever-expanding nest the turtle made. I sighed in relief; glad she didn’t delve into what ‘being affectionate’ entailed.
There was time for that. Time for me to come up with a better sex lesson than the one my mum gave me.
She’d petrified me by teaching how to put a slippery condom on a banana. My eleven-year-old fingers fumbled, and I’d ended up with lube and a rogue condom flying into my eye.
Pushing away the recollection, I carried on. “If memory serves, turtles return to land once a year to lay and then leave the eggs to fend for themselves.”
“So...they’re making lots of babies?”