I finally squint and try to focus on him. Hard to recognize him now with the beard, but his blue eyes peer back at me from his sunburned face. “I’m not going to make it,” I tell him. I know beyond him is Lisa’s body. “Don’t let me start drinking salt water,” I beg. “Please? You have my permission to smack me with a paddle.” I giggle. “Just not on my ass. I like that too much.”
He smiles. I think. Hard to tell as blurry everything looks. “You talk an awful lot for a girl who’s convinced she’s dying.”
“You sound awfully cocky for a guy stuck on Gilligan’s Island. Look how that worked out for them.”
“They got off.”
I snort. “Oh, thatwasn’ta double-entendre? Sorry.”
He laughs. “No, really. They were rescued. There was a movie.”
“Yeah, but they ended back on the island. I think that was the plot forLost, too. Metaphor for Hell.” I gasp. “Shit!”
“What?”
“I think Iliterallyjust came up with the perfect analogy, and I’ll never get to tell anyone else about it.” I fight the urge to pout. “Tell Carter I said the whole cycle ofGilligan’s Islandis basically the uselessness of existence. Futility. Failure.”
“That’s…deep.”
“I never had kids to watch it with. We never got to have kids.”
He holds my hand and does a passable British accent. “We’re not dead yet.”
I gasp. “You’ve been holding out on me! You like Monty Python. You rat bastard.”
I almost start crying again when I think of Carter.
He chuckles. “My wife hates Monty Python.” He sadly sighs. “Hated,” he whispers.
Fuck. “I’m sorry.” He’s been so strong, not talking much about losing his wife. His kids lost their mom, might lose him, too.
Here I am, whining, when I have two perfectly good and safe husbands waiting for me at home.
At least they won’t be alone. They’ll have each other.
He squeezes my hand. “Thank god the kids didn’t come with us. I almost bought them tickets, but my brother was going to Alaska for three weeks and offered to take them all with him. Ellen wanted them to go with him so we could have some time alone.”
Kids. “How many kids again?” I know this already from our talks, but once I die, he might not have anyone to talk to, depending on how long the others survive. I feel guilty I’m going to be abandoning him.
“Two boys and a girl. Nineteen, seventeen, and fifteen.”
I squeeze his hand. “Sorry.”
He looks at me. “Trade you a kid for a husband?” He smiles.
I think. Hard to tell with the scruff on his face.
“I don’t know. You a Top or a bottom?”
“Oooh, me? Totally a Top. Ellen liked when I blindfolded her and tied her to the bed. That’s as kinky as we ever got as far as sex, because that’s also how we ended up with three kids.”
“Yeah, well, that’ll do it. What else did you guys do?”
“Had to get sneaky because of three kids. But she was…mine.”
Ah. Maybe that’s why we clicked so well. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” His hand finds mine and squeezes, stays there, and I don’t mind.
