Page 23 of Restoration
“What will we do with rainwater?”
“We can wash with it or whatever. It just seems like it might be convenient—so we won’t always have to be going over to the stream.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He drags the tub farther away from the trees and leans over to pull out the contents. “After all, we have all this good shampoo. Be a shame for it to go to waste.”
I giggle again, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe I’m going hysterical. When we have the stuff situated inside our shelter, there’s really nothing else to do.
It’s too late to try to explore more on the island. We’ve got enough food and water for the night. We’ve already agreed on how to handle bathroom issues—go far enough away from our camp to not risk any contamination and bury any waste—so there’s not much else to figure out.
We have no phones or computers or televisions or books to entertain us. It’s a very odd feeling.
“You okay?” Edmund asks after a while in a different tone.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I give him a half smile. “As fine as anyone would be marooned on an uninhabited island with Edmund Worthing.”
He chuckles. “Hey, there are worse people you could be shipwrecked with.”
“That I know.”
***
THE EVENING PASSESslowly. We sit on towels out on the beach and watch the waves and the sunset.
The island really is like paradise, and in a different situation I would thoroughly enjoy it. But it’s hard for it to feel like a vacation when there’s a very real chance of being stuck here for the rest of our lives.
I don’t say any of that, however. No reason to pull Edmund into my own worries. Instead, we chat about when folks at home might realize that something happened to us and how long it will take for them to come looking.
Edmund thinks it will be just a few days, and the most I’m willing to counter his belief is to say it might be a couple of weeks.
It might be never. They might locate the GPS beacon at the bottom of the ocean and make a very reasonable assumption about our being lost at sea.
When the sun goes down, I start to get nervous about creepy-crawlies that might be lurking in the forest. So Edmund suggests we just go to bed, and I immediately agree.
I spread out two towels in our hut with the heads toward the back and the feet toward the entrance. Then I fold up two more towels so we can use them as pillows.
We don’t have any sort of covers, but it’s so warm we’re not likely to need them. After I go behind the tree I’ve identified as my bathroom site, I sip some of the water from my bowl and then climb all the way inside our shelter and lie down on the right side.
I always sleep on the right side, and Edmund doesn’t question it.
He’s gone to the bathroom like I have, and he settles onto his towel shortly after me. When he contorts his body strangely, I see that he’s taking off his shorts.
“I hate sleeping in clothes,” he explains. “But I’ll leave the T-shirt on if you want me to.”
“I don’t care as long as you leave your underwear on.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
“I wish we had an air conditioner.”
“I wish we had some toothpaste.”
“I wish we had pillows.”
“I wish we had a shower.”
“I wish we had a flashlight.”
“I wish we had my sleep sound machine.”