Trapped in a Island with James Tullos

Chapter 8

I hurriedly made my way back to James with my salvaged materials – a plastic hummus tub, an empty coke can, a couple of sticks, and a ball of tangled fishing line, all wrapped in a plastic boat cover, along with a broken piece of glass in my hand. I was anxious to focus on something, to busy my hands and mind and keep my thoughts from drifting. I approached James, keeping my distance so I wouldn't startle him accidentally. After his head turned in my direction, I moved slightly closer so that he could see me without tilting his neck uncomfortably, set my bundled cover in the sand, and knelt down.

"So, I have everything I need to make a splint. We c-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" James snapped. "There's no way I'm trusting you after what you did. Don't fucking touch me."

My heart sank. Of course, he had every right to feel the way he did. But I'd hoped he wouldn't.

"...Right. Of course, I won't- I mean, if you don't want me to, which you obviously don't, so, uh..."

James glared at me. Had my ears been sunburned already? They felt burning hot.

"...Sorry."

I turned away from him to watch the waves but quickly realized that I was probably blocking James's own view, so I picked up my bundle and stood. But where to go? I didn't want to go to far away from him in case he needed help, but he clearly didn't want me around. I settled for the shade of the tree line about thirty feet away – close enough that I'd hear him call, but enough distance to give him space. There was a downed palm tree here, large enough to act as a seat. It had fallen inwards towards the forest and was angled towards the spot where James was laying, so I could easily keep an eye on him. There was a slight depression in the sand in front of the log, closer to the beach than the forest.

I sat, and I sighed.

How did I fuck this up so badly?

I was stuck on an island with a person who, at least in the abstract, was one of the coolest, smartest people I'd ever spoken to, and I'd managed to fuck up any chance at getting to know him in... twenty minutes? Less?

Great move, Cass.

The sun beat down mercilessly, not a cloud in the sky to provide relief. I stuck one of my bare feet into a sunny spot, feeling the warmth before pulling back and pulling it back in the shade and pushing it down into the relatively cool sand. My thoughts turned again to James. If I was sweating in the shade, he couldn't be comfortable laying in the hot sun. He was already miserable. I didn't want sunburn to be added to his list of grievances. If I could just convince him to let me splint his arm, it would be safer to move him, and he could join me in the shade. Not likely. But... if I couldn't bring him to the shade, perhaps I could bring some shade to him.

Might as well give it a try. It's not like he could like you any less at this point.

I pulled off my hoodie and walked towards James.

"Hey."

My admiration of him was not misplaced, as James was a superior communicator, even without words. For instance, in this moment, his face told me that if he could break my own arm in retribution, he would. I knelt beside him and offered him the hoodie, draped over my hand.

"Seemed you might be getting warm in the sun, so I thought that you might want to use this."

His expression didn't change, and he made no move to take it from my hand. I shifted my weight. I'd assumed he'd want it and had prepared no backup plan for a refusal.

"Uh... it'll... help stop you from getting sunburned?"

Why did I say it like that? That's not a question.

James moved his unbroken arm slowly towards me and snatched the hoodie from my hand. He continued to glare, and said nothing.

"I'll...leave you to it, then."

I stood and walked back to my spot shady spot and took a seat on the fallen tree. I watched as James arranged the hoodie to block the sun, with one sleeve covering his broken arm and the hood covering his face. It must have been sweaty and far too warm under there, but better than turning into a lobster.

I fidgeted, tapping my toes in the sand, scratching at the bark beneath my hand.

Why aren't the rescuers here by now?

I had thought for sure that someone would show up by midmorning. Noon, at the latest. But so far, I'd seen no sign of anyone. My stomach clenched, hot and agitated, no doubt exacerbated by the fact I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday. My skin felt dry, itchy, and too tight. Filthy, covered with sweat, dirt, and grime. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to shed that old, spent layer like a snake, and emerge fresh and new. I could take a dip in the surf – it would at least help me to feel cleaner. But the salty water would only dry out my skin further. I frowned and clenched my hands into fists to stop myself from scratching. The last thing I needed was an infection. I unwrapped the bundle and grabbed the fishing line. I needed something to keep my hands busy.

I moved from my seat and laid on the sand, resting my head against the log and placing the ball of line on my stomach. I inspected it, looking for an end I could use to start untangling the unruly mess, but the lines seemed to endlessly loop on themselves. I tugged at sections, but I made the knots tighter just as often as I made them looser, ultimately making no progress. I sighed and folded my hands on my chest. My arms were getting tired anyway. I glanced up at the palm fronds above my head. The way the sun shone through the thin, green leaves was not only pretty, but practical. I was shaded enough to be unconcerned about sunburn, but enough light passed through that the area was pleasantly warm. My head felt heavy. I closed my eyes, just for a moment.