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“Let’s get this stuff back to camp,” she said, looking sheepish. “And then I need to go find the well, because we need to be drinking lots of water.”
“I’ll go with you,” I offered.
She put up a hand, refusing me. “You work on the shelter, and I’ll get the water.”
The argument about the whiskey was forgotten as she set it back in the wood chest, closed, and latched it. We each took a handle and carried it back to our camp in silence.
Lauren took the map and headed into the woods with both canteens. I replayed our breakup as I built the frame of our shelter.
I’d expected her to come with me when I made the move from Iowa to Minnesota. We’d been together for two years by then and were very much in love. Her ultimatum had caught me off guard.
She was hurt that I hadn’t wanted to get engaged? I shook my head as I used thick blades of foliage to lash branches together. I guess she’d never considered what it felt like to me. The woman I loved with my whole heart had told me I could either put a ring on it or she was done.
I’d been hurt too. Love wasn’t supposed to come with conditions.
I was the villain in Lauren’s story, though, and nothing I said would change that. Whether we made it a month or another couple days, our stay on this island was going to be really fucking long.
