Wreckage (25 page)

“Things change, Lillian. After Kent, after he . . .” David shakes his head and rain rushes down his nose, cricked to one side. It splashes all over, sending water running down my arms. “I can’t do it anymore, it’s not worth the risk.” He puts his hands onto the split bamboo floor ready to push off into the rain. Before he can get away again, I grab his hand.

“Can’t you forgive me? I should’ve gone with him. Then he’d be alive and you wouldn’t hate me.” He turns so fast the rain in his hair flies into a halo of moisture.

“Don’t you
ever
say that again.” His fingers squeeze mine till they ache. “You can’t even think you should’ve gone with that man.”

“But I killed him and I made you do things, horrible things, to cover it up.”

“No, he
made
you kill him.” His finger slides under my chin, lifting my face to his. “I’m glad he’s dead, I’m glad I gave you that knife, I’m glad it was sharp, and I’m glad we killed him.”

“
I
killed him.”

“No.” David shook his head and let his hand cradle my face like on the beach earlier. “Kent killed himself. You shouldn’t feel guilty. I know I don’t.” The words come out so easily, leaving me with more questions than answers.

“Then why do you hate me?” I whisper, biting my bottom lip.

“Drop it, Lillian.”

“I’m not going to let it go until you tell me what the problem is. Why can’t you look me in the eye?” I slip my arm around his broad shoulders. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“You aren’t going to give up are you?” His body slumps.

“You should know the answer to that by now.” I want him to smile but instead he stares at the ocean.

“I’m afraid, okay?” he says slowly. “I’m afraid I’m turning into Kent.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re nothing like Kent.”

“You don’t know me, Lily. You don’t know what goes on inside my head.” He taps at his temple.

“I can’t read your mind, but I know you.” I push my hand into his overgrown hair, stroking the base of his neck. “You’re a good man, a very good man.”

“If only I was as good as you imagine me to be. If you only knew . . .”

“Knew
what
, David? Seriously, what could be that bad?”

He turns toward me, grabbing my shoulders roughly. “That I want you, okay? More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. When you sleep next to me, I can’t sleep because all I think about is how I want to kiss you over every inch of your skin. And when I sit next to you on the beach, I wish you were mine. That I’d stay on this island forever if it meant that I’d never have to give you back.”

Searching my face frantically, he shoves me away, burying his face in his hands. Those words churn in my head, making me dizzy. I’ve been on this island too long. It’s made me forget about love and romance and physical desire. What Kent felt wasn’t any of those things. He wanted to control me, to dominate me, but David? No, he’d never behave like Kent.

“David, don’t run away from me again.” I push my fingers up the nape of his neck, twisting a dark curl around my finger. “This morning on the beach, you could’ve kissed me. I would’ve let you.” I flatten my palm against his back, filling the space between his shoulder blades. “You walked away. Kent never would’ve done that. Why did you walk away?”

He glances at me. “I couldn’t do that to you, after what he did. I . . . I love you too much for that.”

I lean forward and pull his face toward mine, gently pressing my lips against his. They give more than I expected and are sweet with rainwater. The warmth we shared cuddling is a tiny lit match compared to the bonfire that fills me through his kiss. I pull back and look at him, my lips tingling and happy. His eyes are still closed, like he’s lost in a dream. Licking my lips, I lean in to kiss him again. He pulls away just before we meet.

“Don’t do this, Lily, please.”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“Of course I did, more than I should. Listen, you don’t have to pretend with me. I won’t hurt you, I’ll stay away. You don’t have to do this.” He pats my hand and my arm hair stands on end.

“I know I don’t have to but I
want
to.” I really want to. How long have I felt this way without realizing it? “It’s not because I’m afraid or I want to keep peace but because . . . I think I love you too.”

He stares at me. “Are you sure, Lily? I need you to be sure.”

“I don’t know how it took me so long to realize it, but yes. I love you and”—a hot blush fills my cheeks—“I want you too.”

He closes the space between us, tucking a damp strand behind my ear; his eyes explore my face as he measures my responses. His lips turn up when I raise my eyebrows, tired of waiting. Letting his hands slip around my face, it takes only a hint of pressure for him to pull me forward. I flick my tongue over my lips, still salty from my swim.

His mouth meets mine gently at first, exploring, like he’s sure I’ll change my mind any second. But I won’t change my mind. Now that I’ve tasted him, his singular essence of smoke and salt and rain, I can’t stop. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him in hard, turning my head to the side so our noses don’t mash. Under my palms his shoulders relax and his mouth follows suit. Letting out a low groan, his kiss grows urgent and hungry. I’m just as hungry. Any space between our bodies is too much.

As the kiss deepens, our hands roam freely. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, up my back. I urge him into the shelter, rolling over the damp laundry. There’s desire and passion, but there’s this tenderness that makes any particle of reluctance dissolve. I forget where I should be and even where I am. Instead I let myself get lost in his arms and burn with the knowledge that even if we never leave this place, as long as he loves me, I’ll never be alone again.

CHAPTER 23

DAVE

Present

“I’m going to skip ahead for a moment because I’m curious about something.” Genevieve Randall and “curious,” two things Dave didn’t like hearing in the same sentence. “After Kent died how long were you and Lillian alone on the island before you were rescued?”

Dave had to think. The sequence of deaths went Theresa, Margaret, Paul, Kent. Yes. That’s right.

“Three months,” he said and Genevieve nodded. Dave assumed that meant he’d remembered correctly.

“What was that like, being alone together? How was it without Kent there?”

Blissful. Heavenly. In actuality they’d spent more than a year on the island without Kent. Alone and with some distance from the trauma of the crash, Dave got to know Lily in a whole new way that was more than physical. He found out that she was a Civil War buff and some nights she’d diagram whole battles in the sand. He accused her of embellishing them for entertainment value because he’d never found history so interesting before. Dave still couldn’t look at a five-dollar bill without remembering her dramatic interpretation of the Gettysburg Address.

And they laughed together, a lot. She giggled at puns but would get nearly hysterical at any type of potty humor. Some of their conversations could easily have come from a couple of twelve-year-olds snickering at the lunch table.

But Dave knew plenty about sorrow and hunger on that island, especially in the last weeks before they were rescued. All he needed to do now was think about the hopelessness of those days. Then he’d be convincing.

“Life was very difficult without Kent,” he sighed. “We didn’t have the skills to keep up with our food needs. Lillian got very sick and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“She was dehydrated and near starvation, right?”

Dave nodded. There was no laughter then, only fear that she would die and he’d have to watch it.

“Why weren’t you sick, Dave?” Genevieve Randall asked slowly, evenly.

Dave coughed, his throat suddenly tight. He didn’t like the insinuation in her words. Could she be suggesting that he let Lily waste away so he could have a few more bites of food?

“After Lillian got sick, she couldn’t keep food down very well. I’m still not sure if they ever found out what she had. You’ll have to ask her and Jerry. We’ve only seen each other a handful of times since the hospital and even then it was very brief.”

“Why?” Genevieve Randall puckered her lips before asking her next question. “Why is there this distance between you and Lillian Linden? Are you estranged?”

Dave paused, his mind rushing through possible responses. He was going to have to ad-lib this one. Their careful story hadn’t ever gone past the rescue.

“We aren’t estranged,” he responded. “We live thousands of miles apart and have our own lives and families.” Dave poked a finger into his knee. “Remember, Lillian and I didn’t know each other before sharing that plane. We helped each other through some difficult circumstances but as far as I’m concerned, it’s normal to return to our ‘real’ lives.”

Beth didn’t seem to notice his lie. She was too busy nibbling on her pinky nail, scrolling through her smartphone, her blonde curls covering most of her face. Dave imagined her most recent tweet: “Watching Genevieve Randall interrogate my husband. Growing more suspicious :) LOL.”

Surprisingly, his wife
wasn’t
suspicious, or if she was, she didn’t let on. In general she was a lot of other things: bored, annoyed, distracted. It should make Dave happy, or at least relieved, that she wasn’t trying to break it all down or look for inconsistencies. But instead she made him feel a tiny bit foolish, like he was blowing the crash into the ocean, survival on an island, and firsthand experience of death out of proportion.

Beth hadn’t always been so apathetic. When he’d first come home, she was full of curiosity, wanting to know every little detail, every moment she missed. She’d lie in bed at night quizzing him on what he’d been doing on a certain day or try to figure out if they’d ever been thinking about each other at the exact same moment in time, as if it made a difference.

In Guam, she spent endless hours by his side as he was pumped full of IV fluids and antibiotics. Back then it was Dave who had to feign interest. Lily was only one room over, in serious condition, still unconscious and completely unaware of their rescue. For Dave it was hard to think past that room, to listen to anything more than the steady beep of her heart monitor through the wall.

In the hospital, Dave wished he was the one holding her hand. Instead, he was listening to Beth prattle away. It had been a year and a half since he had to pretend to be enthralled with one of her stories and frankly he was out of practice. No matter how well he placed his comments or how flawlessly he timed a raise of his eyebrows, he knew she wasn’t convinced.

It only took two weeks of Beth’s forced understanding and Dave’s inability to BS for things to come to a head. Since returning from the South Pacific neither of them had said more than the common scripts most married people repeat to each other every morning: “How did you sleep?” “Did you hear those dogs barking this morning?” and “Pass the toothpaste.”

During the television interviews they were a loving, reunited couple but at home they shared an emptiness between them that speech couldn’t fill. One Sunday morning, they sat at the table for breakfast and the familiar blanket of silence settled over them.

Dave shoveled in the bulging egg and cheese sandwich he’d made for himself, his pathetic attempt to copy the Egg McMuffin at home. He’d visited the fast-food restaurant every morning for the past week. Dave would never admit it in an interview but since getting home he couldn’t resist a drive-thru window. Besides, all of Dave’s pants were four sizes too big now, so if he gained a few pounds in the process at least he wouldn’t need to buy a new wardrobe.

So after a few phone interviews, he spent much of his Saturday planning out this home attempt at the famous sandwich, finding it provided him with much-needed distraction.

Taking another bite, Dave chewed slowly, considered the mix of flavors, and noted that perhaps he needed real Canadian bacon rather than deli ham. Without notice, Beth spoke, breaking their implicit truce.

“Are you happy to be home, Dave?” Beth asked, poking nervously at the soggy bran cereal floating in her bowl.

“Huh?” A lump of melted cheese dripped onto his plate. Beth placed her spoon on the table like she was putting a baby down for a nap, but it still clanked loudly on the tinted glass breakfast table.

“Do you even want to be here?” Beth said, her hands balled in front of her.

“What do you mean? Of course I want to be here. Okay, I’d rather be at McDonald’s at this precise moment but my arteries need a little break,” he joked, tossing the half-eaten sandwich onto his plate.

Beth didn’t laugh. “I’m serious, Dave, do you want to be here? Are you even happy to be home?” she demanded, her voice wavering but her light blue eyes remaining still and clear.

“Of course I am,” he said, cocking his head to the side. Fooling her was supposed to be easy. She never seemed to take an interest in his feelings before. “What’s going on, babe? What has you so anxious?”

Pushing her bowl forward, Beth slumped in her chair, making little blonde curls dance around her face. She was still beautiful.