CHAPTER TWELVE
HANK
As morning turns into afternoon, Elliot and I work diligently on preparing the fire, flipping wood under the sun. With only one fully functioning hand, I rely on him for the heavy lifting, and we continue to find a steady, collaborative pace.
After I decide we could use some more drift wood, I head to the beach to scout. Wandering, I luck out and find some clams first, a major score that brightens my spirits. After some slow digging, I use my T-shirt bunched in my good hand to carry the mollusks. As I trudge back up to Elliot, my thoughts finally land on the loaded moment earlier.
When the birds sang, and our bodies pressed tight beside the berry bush.
Being so close with Elliot was… Well, not exactly nice. Nothing is nice under these circumstances. But last night, the storm was frightening enough that I didn’t notice as much the comfort of touching another person. And today, finally quiet for a minute, my body responded differently.
Before the birds called out, something seemed to pass between us. It might have just been my delirium. Like how hunger can make you euphoric. But I swear, he looked at me like he wanted to kiss me.
That’s ludicrous. He’s got to be ten years younger than me. It doesn’t matter if he is attractive and funny and increasingly likable. We’re in a survival situation, for fuck’s sake.
I snort. No time for confused whims or random hormonal impulses. It’s bad enough to get stranded on a desert island with my boss’s son. The last thing I need to do is try to kiss him.
I pause beneath a Pacific Madrone, catching my breath.
My only concern right now needs to be returning to civilization as safely and soon as possible.
I wonder if our ordeal had made the nightly news. Has everyone in my life heard that I’m missing?
What the hell is everyone going to think?
I hear a rustling in the trees. Turning, I see Elliot emerge. He’s bare-chested, and his pants are filthy, mud-smeared. There’s dirt on his chin, too, although he’s stopped walking with a waddle.
“I think the wood is dry,” he says excitedly.
Grateful that our efforts are aligning, I nod and stand. “Fantastic. I had some good luck foraging, too.”
“Oh yeah?”
I lift my shirt-bundle. “Butter clams,” I say happily, and Elliot’s eyes light up.
“Butterclams?”
“They’re that good,” I tell him with an honest smile. “Actually buttery. Just need to cook them.”
Elliot swoons. “Let’s get that fire roaring.”
I nod confidently, my spirits rising. “Let’s do it.”
“With the clouds and rain gone, you can see so much farther over the water,” he says as we head up the incline. “And you’ll never guess what I spotted.”
My eyebrows pop up, hope filling me. “A rescue boat?”
“No, Orcas!” he says, excited. “There were a few of them!”
“Oh.” I try not to feel disappointed. I live for spotting wildlife, but that’s not the news I wanted. It strikes me, however, that being able to see farther might help me better identify where we are.
“I need to climb a tree again,” I say, and walk straight over to the nearest tall conifer.
“Damn,” Elliot says. “I don’t get acool, Orcas.”
At the base of the tree, I turn to him. “Orcas are beautiful. Shockingly violent and beautiful. At least a few pods live in the Salish Sea year round, and others pass through the ocean nearby. Marine life returns north with the spring. I’m glad you spotted some. Now will you give me a boost?”
“Nope.” Elliot smiles. “You hurt your hand. Now it’s my turn to climb the tree.” Without accepting help, he turns and scrambles up the lower branches. “And I’m still younger than you!” he calls down.
