Once Upon an Island

15

I bendover and pick up another plastic bottle from the rocky beach.

My trash bag is nearly full. There are bottles, toothbrushes, shoes, plastic toys, and other random items that floated onto the little pebbled cove. I see that Arya, Kate and Renee have also nearly filled their trash bags.

It’s nearing noon, the sky is cloudless, and the sun is high. It’s about time we retreated to the shade. A trickle of sweat drips down my forehead and I swipe at it.

Michael is farther down the beach, standing on a sloping pile of coral rocks. When the waves roll over the rocks and then retreat, the rocks clank together and give off a tinkling, musical sound. He looks up, sees me watching, and waves at me. I wave back. I’m not sure this is exactly what he had in mind when he brought me the daisies, but he’s been a good sport.

I promised everyone a picnic lunch at the cove if they agreed to help with the cleanup. Trash floats in on the ocean currents and ends up on the shore of the island all the time. I like to do beach cleanups at least once a month, but I wanted to do another this weekend in penance for kicking off my shoes when Declan and I swam to shore.

Declan. Argh.

I’ve decided that the best way to deal with any thoughts of Declan Fox are to ignore them. Soon, I’ll forget all about him. He came to the island, stayed for a short while, and then left.

In fact, he was sort of like a case of the chicken pox. He came, made me itchy and uncomfortable, and then he left. Now I’m immune to him. If he ever shows up again, I won’t break out in itchy, unsightly bumps, I’ll have no reaction to him at all. Pretty soon, I won’t even think about him.

I wave at Michael again, probably more enthusiastically than necessary, and then bend down and grab a plastic container. I make sure to bend over as prettily as possible, making sure that Michael has a decent view.

“Did you crick your back?” asks Arya, coming up behind me. “Can’t you stand up?”

I turn and squint up at her. The sun’s getting really bright.

“Shhh,” I say. “I’m trying to show off my bum for Michael.” I wore cut-off jean shorts that show my curves when I bend over.

“Huh,” she says. She looks at my butt and then turns back toward Michael. “He’s not looking. He’s talking to Kate.”

“Oh.” I humph and straighten up. Sure enough, Kate has her arm looped through his and she’s leading him on a stroll across the coral rocks, pointing out sea fans and conch shells.

I stretch my back, arching backwards, and then roll my shoulders. Now that Arya mentions it, I am kind of sore from posing so long with my bum in the air.

“Can I ask you something,” Arya says. She seems hesitant and a little embarrassed.

“Of course you can. You can ask me anything.”

She fiddles with the drawstring of her bucket hat. Then finally she says, “Let’s theoretically say that I sent Percy fifteen…no…seventeen texts and left three voicemails since he left…”

She tugs on her hat drawstring and looks dejected.

“Theoretically?” I ask.

She blows out a long breath then drops her hands to her sides.

“If I did happen to do that, and Percy didn’t respond to any of them…what do you think is the probability that he either, a) died in a freak accident and would like to respond but can’t because he’s a ghost, b) was abducted by aliens and had a mind wipe so he can’t remember me, c) received an urgent call to go on an Antarctic birding expedition and doesn’t have reception to call me back, or d) he got all my messages, but won’t respond because he actually didn’t have any feelings for me, and I misread him, and he’d like me to stop texting and calling?”

I blink at Arya and try to assimilate everything she just said.

“Well? What do you think?” she asks.

I blink again and then say, “So…you’re asking, what’s the probability of a Percy ghost, an alien mindwipe, Antarctica or major jerkhood?”

“Yes,” she says.

I think through the options and then say, “One percent, ten percent, point one percent and six percent.”

Arya nibbles on her lip and tabulates my numbers. “Wait a minute. You think the alien mind wipe is most likely?”

I grin at her and look up at the sky. “Just think. Right now, Percy is having his brains shuffled around by little green men.”

Arya punches my arm.

“Ouch.” I rub my arm and stick my tongue out. “You asked.”

She sighs. “I guess so. You think I should stop texting?”

I nod. “You should definitely stop texting.”

“Stop texting who?” Renee comes up and drops her full trash bag onto the rocks next to us.

“Percy,” I say.

Renee levels Arya with a firm, no-nonsense look. “Please tell me you haven’t been blowing up his phone.”

Arya looks down at her feet. “Only theoretically.”

Renee snorts. Then she says, “Don’t text him. Don’t call him. Your dignity as a woman is on the line. Stop now.”

Arya’s shoulders slump. “But I love him,” she whispers.

Ouch.

Renee shakes her head. “You loved that he loved boobies. That’s all Arya. That is all. Trust me, there are plenty of men in the world who love boobies.”

Oh boy. “Not the time for booby jokes,” I whisper.

But Arya snorts, then she starts to laugh. I look at her in surprise, because this is the first happy laugh she’s given since Percy left.

Arya fell in love fast and hard. Hopefully she can fall fast and hard out of love.

“Can we have lunch now?” Renee asks. “I have about twelve hours of work to do today. I need some rum cake to fuel the hours of toil ahead.”

“Definitely. But first”—I turn to Arya—“it’s only been a short while. I don’t think you were wrong about Percy. It was obvious to everyone that you two were meant for each other. Maybe he’ll call. Maybe he’ll be back. This could all be a misunderstanding.”

She looks at me hopefully, “You think so?”

“No,” Renee says. She tugs at the collar of her striped business shirt. Even on a beach cleanup day, Renee dresses like a lawyer. “He’s ghosting you. He’s either spineless or a prick.”

Arya looks at me to see my response to Renee’s assessment.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Sorry. I wish I had the answer.”

“What would you do?” she asks.