Page 32 of Restoration
There. That should work. They’re not going to work like shoes do and will definitely provide zero support. But they might protect the soles of his feet from getting a thousand tiny cuts and abrasions.
And he can put on new leaves each day.
I’m so pleased with my idea that I don’t want to wait for him to wake up to try them on. He’s sound asleep, so I settle myself at the bottom of his body and put one of the leaves in position against his foot. Using my pieces of vine, I tie it on up near the ball of his foot and then use another to tie it around the arch.
I’m trying to figure out how to tie it to keep the leaf on his heel when he says in a dry, sleepy voice, “What exactly is happening down there?”
I giggle, flushing with a tinge of embarrassment. “Sorry. I had an idea and wanted to see if it was going to work.”
He sits up and inspects his foot. “This is your idea?”
“It was the only thing I could think of. Your poor feet are constantly going to be torn up if we don’t figure something out.”
He’s chuckling and shaking his head, but he doesn’t object when I tie on the other leaf.
“They look like they’ll hold, but they’re still flapping on your heels.”
“Well, let’s see how they do.” He pushes himself to his feet, tugging up his shorts and pulling down his T-shirt at the same time. Then he takes a few steps with the leaves tied to his feet.
“They’re like very annoying flip-flops,” he says, walking back to me with a half-suppressed smile. “But those leaves are tough as hell, so good job finding them.”
“Maybe if I leave more length at the heel, we can fold it up and tie it around your ankle.” I get busy as I talk, picking up two more of the big leaves and then kneeling down to pull off the other leaves and tie the longer ones on instead.
Edmund allows me to work without complaint. And I’m pleased when these leaves are long enough to fold up over his heel and tie with a vine around the ankle.
When I’ve gotten both of them secured, I’m grinning as I stand up.
He starts walking again. The improvised slippers stay on and appear fairly secure. And when Edmund jumps around and runs for several yards down the beach, they don’t tear or slip off.
“There’s not much traction,” he finally announces. “So I wouldn’t want to walk in these on a smooth surface. But for the beach and the forest, they might do. Not sure how long they’ll actually last.”
“We can replace them every day. Or twice a day if we need to. There are a ton of those plants around. It’s better than your feet being shredded and you picking up who knows what bacteria and parasites from walking around barefoot.”
“I agree.” He smiles back at me. “Quite brilliant really.”
I flush again—with pleasure this time. “I have my moments.”
“You have a lot of moments.”
***
OUR LUNCH CONSISTSof a protein bar each and splitting a coconut. Since we’re better at breaking them open now, we’re able to save most of the water inside in our bowls so we can drink it.
After lunch, we play around some more with Edmund’s shoes to see if we can improve them. Then we take a swim in the ocean and stretch out on our towels to rest afterward.
Edmund lies in the sun, but I settle in the shade even after applying more sunscreen.
The last thing I need is a bad sunburn.
I still have a ball of anxiety in my gut—I’m not sure it’s going to go away as long as we’re stranded on this island—but otherwise I’m feeling okay. I’m able to relax enough to actually doze off.
I must have rolled over onto my stomach in my sleep because that’s how I’m positioned when I’m next aware of anything.
There’s something itching my back. It’s irritating me. I’m trying to muster the energy to reach around and scratch at it but haven’t quite woken up enough yet.
I manage to open my eyes and am suddenly aware of something else. Edmund is there. Right there. Crouching beside my towel.
He’s reaching over toward my back. He has a small stick in his hand.