“By taking pictures of us?” My hands shook as I scrolled. She’d taken photos stealthily: me plaiting rope. Conner and Pippa crouched on their haunches, digging for clams. A selfie of her with the helicopter crash in the background.
I paused on the one of me sleeping in the dark. My beard had grown in, and I looked in pain even as I slept. “When did you take this?”
“The night before the rain came.”
I switched to the selfie of her standing alone on the beach—the moon etching her in silver and the shapes of us sleeping in the background. It was a haunting image. It sent shivers down my back.
“Wow.”
She tried to take it back. “Anyway, it was a bad idea. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset me? Why would I be upset?”
“Because I took pictures of you without your consent.”
I chuckled. “Estelle, knowing I mean enough to you that you want to photograph me for future memories is the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.”
She blushed. “So...you’re not mad?”
“Why the hell would I be mad?”
Her lips twitched. “I just said why.”
My insides warmed as fresh desire thickened my blood. My gaze locked on her mouth. “Christ, I want to kiss you again.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You can’t. The children are right there. I don’t want to have to explain—”
“They’re not newborns, Stel. They get what kissing is.”
“Yes, well. I just...I want them to be happy. It’s too soon after their parents’ death. Change isn’t good for them.” She trailed off, tucking sun-bleached blonde behind her ear. “Just...give it time. Okay?”
My heart hurt but I grinned. She didn’t notice I’d used her nickname. And I didn’t let her see how honoured I was to use it. I was allowed. Even though I’d done nothing to deserve it. “That I can give you. What other commodity do we have but time?”
She laughed, but it was forced. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Looking away, I flicked the phone from gallery to camera and tapped the video recorder. “Now, how about instead of taking sneaky pictures, we do this the right way?” Holding the lens up, I captured her beauty. Freckles had appeared on her nose and the salt and wind had banished any hint that she’d been a city girl, replacing her polished smoothness with survivalist edges.
She laughed, covering her face. “What are you doing? Get that thing away.”
“No chance.” Hopping backward, I called, “Conner, Pippi. Home movie time.” Scanning the phone their way, I captured their white smiles, skinny bodies, and feet splashing in the tide.
“Movie? Can I be the Incredible Hulk?” Conner tried to commandeer the phone.
“I want to be a princess.” Pippa twirled.
Looking at Estelle, I said quietly, “Starting today, let’s document every little thing that matters. Be it rain to drink or a fish to eat...or a kiss to pleasure. Let’s be grateful for what we have.”
I zoomed in as Estelle stared at me with a thousand emotions in her gaze. The camera picked up flashes of brown and green, twisting my stomach into a hundred knots.
Slowly, she grinned. “I’d like that.”
“I’d like it, too,” Pippa said. “Will we be on TV when they find us? Will they use our movies?”
I stiffened.
Who knew what the footage would be used for? Perhaps, it would be used as evidence of how a bunch of ordinary, society-spoiled people endured the elements.
Or...
Maybe the videos would be found many years from now, washed up in a bottle, a message to the outside world of four castaways who didn’t make it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
Don’t fret when fate forbids you. Don’t cry when life doesn’t listen. Be brave and trust that you will survive. Be strong and never give in.
Never give in.
Never...give...in.
Lyrics for ‘Never Give In’ Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
FOUR WEEKS
(September bleeding into October)
COCONUT, CLAMS, AND water.
Coconut, clams, and water.
I’m sick to death of coconut, clams, and water.
We’d done our best to supplement our diet with insects and an occasional lizard but even starving, there were limits.
Despite the lack of variety, my body still functioned, my period came and went, the children grew, and life aged us.
I craved fish. Something robust and meaty. Up till now, no one had been physically able or skilled enough to catch any (and we’d all tried, on numerous occasions).
I sat with my arms wrapped around my legs, resting my chin on my knees as the world woke up.
Four weeks and counting.
We’d survived this long doing what we knew. But fear kept us from trying anything new. Along with our unsuccessful attempt to spear a fish, we’d done our best to catch a seagull that’d landed to inspect our quickly growing pile of clamshells.
But we’d failed.
We were slowly starving from sameness.