She looked around the cave. “We have to assume we’ll be here for a little while longer.” She pointed to a dark corner. “I can hold on to the wall.”
Trent scouted the area she considered, and dug into the sand with his shoe. He’d never been more happy to be a man than at that point. He returned to Monica’s side and handed her his cell. “You light the way.”
He lifted her as carefully as he could.
She still whimpered.
“Are you OK?”
She nodded, but even her nod lied.
Every step was carefully placed until he’d crossed the room and helped her stand on one leg. She kept the damaged one suspended.
“What can I do now?”
“I’ve got it.” She braced a hand on the wall and handed him his phone.
Uncertain if he should stay and hold her up, or if she could actually accomplish the task without him, he hesitated in releasing her.
“You can let go. Unlike guys, peeing is a solo thing for girls.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, Barefoot.”
He released her slowly and waited for her to collapse.
She didn’t.
He turned his back on her and she cleared her throat. “Uhm, can you ah, not look but point that light this way?”
A few paces away he lifted the phone in her direction and stood by.
“Talk to me. Tell me a joke… anything. I can’t do this with you listening.”
He smiled in the darkness and said the first thing that came to him. “Did you ever wonder how the professor on Gilligan’s Island kept the radio working? It’s not like they were hoarding batteries on the Minnow.”
Laughter met him from her direction. “Someone told me there was an episode that explained the working radio, but I never saw it,” Monica said.
“And what about the ‘costumes’ they always managed to come up with?”
“Or the never-ending makeup Ginger always wore… hey, Ginger. Is that who you named your dog after?”
“Yeah. I guess I answered the age-old question, Ginger or Mary Ann.”
“Do you think Mary Ann hooked up with Gilligan or the Professor?”
“Popular opinion is Gilligan.”
“That leaves the Professor and Ginger.”
Trent shook his head. “I think the Professor was g*y.”
Monica laughed in the dark. “Oh, I don’t know. He always seemed to have his eyes on the ladies. Besides, maybe Ginger and the Skipper hooked up.”
“Eweh.”
Monica giggled and the sound warmed him. “OK. I’m done.”
Trent handed her the phone again and lifted her in his arms. “Good thing I don’t weigh two hundred pounds, eh?”
“I bench press more than you weigh.”
“Oh, now you’re just bragging.”
He lowered her to the blanket and didn’t let go when she squeezed his shoulders. The ambient light of the phone gave him the proof he needed about her pain level. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was biting her lip. “Where are those Motrin?”
“Backpack,” she said between her tight lips.
He removed the phone from her grip and fished through her things until he found a ziplock bag with medicine inside.
“Which ones?”
“The orange ones.”
He plucked them out of the bag and handed them to her with a bottle of water. She took them without complaint and handed him the water after barely a sip. “Thanks.”
The phone indicated they still had an hour before any sun would filter through their skylight. After making himself comfortable beside her, he shut the phone down, determined to save the battery for as long as he could.
“I think Mr. and Mrs. Howell were the fortunate ones.” He continued with their conversation. “The happily married couple stranded on an island together.”
“All the money in the world and no way to spend it.”
“All the clout and no one to care.”
“Puts life in perspective. And here I thought it was just a sitcom. Thirty minutes of mindless entertainment. Guess I was wrong.”
Trent ran his fingers down her arm, giving her a little massage.
“That’s nice,” she told him.
“Take your mind off your leg?”
“It helps.” Translation: not really but don’t stop. There that smile was again on his lips.
“Do you think they’re looking for us yet?” Monica asked.
“I do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jack tried to talk her out of coming but there was no way she was staying in Texas when her sister was missing on an island in the middle of the Caribbean.
“There aren’t any hotels to stay in,” Jack had argued.
“I don’t care. I’ll sleep on the plane. I’m not staying here.”
Katie and Dean flew to Houston with their young daughter, Savannah, and were staying with Danny at Gaylord’s ranch. Jessie’s father-in-law, Gaylord, was notified of Monica’s disappearance but he was in Tokyo on business. His plan was to meet Jack in Jamaica to aid in the search.
Then there were Trent Fairchild’s brothers. Between Katie and Jessie, they’d already learned where the Fairchild men lived and Katie had obtained a business phone number. Jack spoke with the local authorities and ascertained a phone number for Jason Fairchild, Trent’s oldest brother.
The phone call Jack delivered to Jason was just as difficult as the one they’d received earlier that morning.
Jason and Glen Fairchild were en route to Jamaica and would be arriving within the same hour Jack and Jessie were due.
The pilot informed Jack and Jessie that they were on their approach, and to fasten their seat belts. Jack sat beside her, holding her hand firmly in his. “We’ll find her,” Jack kept saying.
“I know.” She wouldn’t lose hope. She couldn’t even consider the alternative. Yet when the island appeared in the window, and the rough edges of the land displayed evidence of the tsunami that had destroyed much of it, a tiny bit of that hope chipped away. She swallowed the shock and simply stared out the window as the plane landed.
Before the pilot rolled the plane to a stop, and before the door was opened, Jack turned to her and captured her head between his hands. “Promise me something.”
“What?”
“If there is any threat to you, to our child, that you’ll stay here with Roy.”
“What kind of threat?”
Jack pushed a lock of her hair from her eyes. “There are sanitation issues and illness is spreading because of… because of the dead.”