Page 21 of Return to the Island

I stared down at him. His eyes softened in the dim light of my room, the green finally the color I recognized. I wanted to trust him again. I wanted to think I could rely on him, but we were no longer on the island, two people in need of togetherness. He lived in a world separate from me.

“Just tonight, Mouse. Just lay back down and let me hold you. Nothing else tonight, I promise.”

I nodded, suddenly drained. I scooted back down and curled into him as we were. I expected sleep, but found myself wide awake, envisioning an island, a heated tent, and a time when I wasn’t worried I’d lose him.

+ +

Just like the previous night, he was gone in the morning. I promised Miller I would spend some time with him. No more avoiding Tack, I said, so there was something I needed to do first. I woke with a new perspective. I allowed myself the day before and forgave my weakness. I deserved to be touched and tasted. I didn’t ask for it, and I couldn’t return it, so I accepted that I let him do what he did because I wanted it. Today was a new day and it would not happen again. Abby and Miller and money and organizations stood in the way, and I wouldn’t risk any of those things, as much as I wanted Tack.

I found him in the most surprising of places—a boat house. He was wearing board shorts and a white T-shirt, a baseball cap backward on his head. He looked like a college kid as he worked with a tool over the planks of wood curved for the underside of a boat.

“What’s this?” I asked, too curious to start out with my purpose, too impressed to see him working on a boat. I’d startled him and he jumped as he spun to face me.

“Hey, how did you find me here?”

“I asked Branson,” I said, hitching a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the resort. It was a little hike down the hill and over to the old boat house but I found the one Branson described. “So what are you doing?”

He turned and rested his back on the structure held up by a pulley of some type. He spread his legs, but crossed his arms.

“I’m building a boat.” His eyes squinted at me as he spoke, as if he was trying to tell me more. I smiled slowly in response, and his lips curled, too. We shared the same memory. We’d built a double outrigger together. This one definitely looked more professional and polished.

“What’s her name?” I asked, remembering he told me all boats were female, and they all deserved a name.

“Vixen 2.” His eyes danced as he spoke, but my mouth fell open.

“The first one is gone, isn’t it?”

“The hurricane took her.” The comment pulled at my heart for two reasons, the first being the loss of what we worked so hard to build. He took great pride in what we had done. The original Vixen had been a valiant effort. The second memory was that of the hurricane and all that happened during the night. The hurricane seemed like the perfect bridge for what I came to say.

“I never had the chance to thank you for all you did.” He waved his hand in response, dismissing my words, but I continued. “I mean it. I was scared out of my mind that day. I couldn’t think straight. I never would have made it without you.” His hand stilled and his eyes watched my face. “And that night, well…” I sighed. “That night was the best night of my life.” I blinked back the tears threatening to fall. They were good tears. I was filled with happy memories of being with him. He stood straighter, and I sensed he wanted to step toward me, but I held up a hand and stepped back. I didn’t want him to touch me. I had things to say.

“I wanted to return something. I don’t know how I ended up with it, other than in the rush of packing up, it mixed with my things.” I pulled my prized possession from my bag and held it out to him. He stared at the book—The Little Prince.

“I thought it was lost with all my other stuff.” He hadn’t reached for it and my hand trembled holding it out to him.

“Did you lose most of your things?” I asked.

“I only lost the most important thing,” he answered, still not taking the book from my hand. His eyes hadn’t left mine. He crossed his arms again and returned to leaning against the boat. “Can I ask you, why didn’t you come to me?”

“And say what, we were part of a social experiment, and we failed?”

“Yes,” he said, aghast, then lowered his voice and asked, “Did we fail?”

I shrugged a shoulder. I had only failed in losing him.

“I could have helped you,” he added as the silence built.

“How could you have helped me?”

“I could have given you everything.” Silence fell again like a heavy weight between us and I drew a deep breath.

“I did come to see you.”

He stood up again and I lowered my hand, still holding the book.

“You did?” His voice was like a surprised child, pleased but confused.

“I did. I didn’t know where else to look for you so I went to Corbin Industries. Let me tell you, that is some tough security,” I quipped, attempting to laugh but his face had fallen and he found no humor in what I said. “I’d just learned about the social experiment—Lillian’s version. I worried that she would expose your name and I didn’t think that would be good for your reputation. I mean, you’re Terrence Jackson Corbin the fourth.” I waved a hand at him. “I had already learned you were entered into restoration as a means to protect what you’d done, who you were with, and keep you out of jail. I assumed your father had known restoration would be beneficial and protective. I wanted to tell you what I knew and let you know that I had no intention of following through with my dissertation. I would protect your name at all cost.” His nostrils flared, and his chest moved with heavy breaths. He wore no expression on his face.