Page 37 of Restoration
IT TAKES MOST OF THEmorning for me to make another pair of sandals—these sized to fit my own feet. But I have equal success with this pair and I tie them on, feeling very pleased with myself.
The sun is high in the sky. It’s got to be noon if not later. Edmund still isn’t back. I’m hungry and ready for lunch, but I don’t like to eat without him. So I wait.
Surely it won’t take much longer for him to finish that last SOS.
To kill time, I go over to inspect a pile of wood planks beside our hut. Three days ago, we found another piece of wreckage from the yacht washed up on the beach a good distance away. It was a small piece of the hull, and it didn’t include anything useful except the wood itself. We worked on breaking it apart into boards, assuming we might be able to use them for something eventually.
I’m leaning over the pile, picking out the tallest lengths, when Edmund’s voice behind me startles me.
“What are you doing?”
I straighten up with a jerk. “Oh. Nothing. Just killing time.”
He’s frowning at me just slightly. He’s gotten even tanner than he was a week ago, and he’s grown the start of a full beard. “Did you want to do something with that wood?”
“Well, I was thinking. We could maybe use some of these planks for support posts around the patio. Then I could try to weave a much bigger mat like our sandals and use it as a kind of awning.”
“Why bother?” He doesn’t look bad-tempered or annoyed. Mostly just curious and confused.
I shrug. “I don’t know. It would just give us more shade and protection.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Okay.”
I sigh, letting the topic drop for now.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that while most of my efforts this week have been focused on helping us survive and stay safe here, Edmund’s have been geared toward waiting for rescue.
Occasionally I want to shake him. Make him come to his senses. There was never much chance that anyone would find us, but the little chance we had was in the first few days.
Caleb would have known that something was wrong within twelve hours of the wreck since I’d been checking in with him twice a day to let him know where we were and that we were safe. When he couldn’t reach us, he would have immediately organized a search.
But our GPS beacon is no doubt at the bottom of the ocean.
That’s where Caleb—and thus everyone who knows and loves us—is going to assume we are too.
They’re not coming to rescue us now. If we’re saved, it will be purely by accident when someone happens to be cruising or flying near this island.
The reality makes me sick with dread and grief. I can barely think about what my parents and younger sister must be feeling right now. It’s too much to let fill my mind. It’s too deep and hard and painful. So my thinking mind has accepted that this is now my reality, and all the rest of the feelings have been forced back into a dark corner.
I’m not sure how else I can survive this.
Edmund has not been doing the same thing. No part of him wants to accept that this is real.
We eat lunch, and then since it’s very hot now and we’re both sweating, we take another dip in the ocean. This time we don’t do a lot of swimming. We stay close enough to the shore to keep our feet on the bottom and bob around in the waves, talking about possibilities for catching fish.
One protein bar a day is simply not enough protein to give us the energy we need.
When something brushes against my ankle, I squeal and jump toward Edmund instinctively, jerking my foot up.
He laughs and lifts me up in the water to move me away from whatever touched me.
“You shouldn’t laugh at me,” I tell him, although I appreciate his immediate reaction to help me. “I was traumatized by that spider.”
“I know you were,” he murmurs, peering down at the water. “But I think the culprit in this case is nothing more than a piece of seaweed.”
“There might be jellyfish. Or slithery water creatures.” I’ve blinked the water out of my eyes, and I’m gazing up at him from only a few inches away.
His hands are still on my upper arms. He slides them higher, over my shoulders until they’re gently curved around my neck. His face changes as he looks down at me.