“A leash for the bitch,” Connie said.
“You’re all just horrible,” Thelma said. “How can you do this to me? I know I made a little mistake, but… I’m all beat up. It isn’t fair. You saw what he did to me. How can you tie me up? I saved you. I saved you all from Wesley, and… you’re treating me this way. You’re horrible.”
“Why don’t we put a gag on her?” Connie suggested.
“No!”
“Then do yourself a favor,” Kimberly said, “and stop whining.”
Thelma shut her mouth and turned its corners down.
Soon after that, we broke up. Thelma wanted to lie down, so Kimberly, Billie and I led her over to her sleeping place. We helped lower her onto the bed of rags. She curled on her side. With her tied hands up close to her chin, she looked like she was about to start praying. But then she plucked up the end of a beach towel—one of the several towels we’d brought along on the picnic—and covered her face with it.
“Don’t get up without asking,” Kimberly told her.
“Go away and leave me alone,” Thelma said through the towel.
Kimberly crouched beside her. “Look,” she said, “cut the attitude. We’re being damn nice to you, under the circumstances.”
“Like fun you are. Am I supposed to be grateful… ?”
With the flat of her open hand, Kimberly smacked her on the side of the head.
Thelma let out a startled yelp.
In a slow, steady voice that wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard from her before, Kimberly said, “You brought Wesley into our lives, sister. We warned you about him. You wouldn’t listen. You thought he was so damn wonderful. Now, my husband is dead. Dad is dead. It’s all because of Wesley—and Wesley is because of you. Do you get it? You did this to us! You!”
She gave Thelma’s head another slap.
Billie put a hand on Kimberly’s shoulder.
Kimberly raised her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears. As she looked up at Billie, she blinked. Tears spilled out and trickled down her face.
It’s amazing to see Kimberly cry. She is so tough, most of the time. But when she weeps, it’s like watching a heartbroken kid trying to act brave.
I choked up, myself, at the sight of her tears.
It made me remember Keith’s funeral, and how I’d sung “Danny Boy” like some sort of idiot, and how she had hugged me afterward.
The best hug I’ve ever had. All sloppy and sentimental, but coming from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known—not to mention that Keith’s shirt was open so I could feel all that bare skin against me, and the soft push of her breasts through her bikini.
I wonder if I’ll ever get another hug like that from her.
Who knows? There’s always hope, I guess.
I’d really like a lot more than a hug. I’d like her to fall madly in love with me, and seduce me.
Fat chance of that happening. I’m not much of a prize. Gals who look like Kimberly don’t give guys like me a second glance.
Though, who knows? As long as we’re marooned on this island, anything is possible. I am, after all, the only living male. (If you don’t count Wesley.) Maybe, eventually, all three of the gals will get after me.
Who am I kidding?
Anyway, it’s nice to imagine. Except that the fun of imagining such things has sharp edges that hurt.
With me as the only guy on the island, these gals would probably turn to celibacy or lesbianism before they’d throw themselves at my feet. That’s the kind of luck I have with babes.
What got me started off on this tangent, anyway?
Kimberly crying.
I would’ve liked to kiss the tears off her eyes.
Licked them off her cheeks.
Licked her everywhere.
I just stood there watching. She’d hardly begun to weep before she stood up, brushed the sand off her knees, and wiped her eyes. “Keep an eye on her, Rupe,” she told me.
“I will.”
Billie still had the hand on her shoulder.
Together, they turned away and headed for the water. They went back to spear-fishing. Connie had already returned to her shelter, and was lying down. I went to mine, took out my journal, and got down to business.
I started to write about Thelma coming out of the jungle.
But I was facing the inlet, which put Thelma behind my back. So I changed positions, turning sideways. Now, I’ve got Thelma off to my left, Kimberly and Billie in the water to my right, and Connie straight in front of me.
Connie is lying on her side, like before.
Facing me.
She is probably suspicious of the fact that I turned myself in her direction. It would never occur to her that I did it in order to keep Thelma in sight. She is sure to think I’m ogling her.
Every so often, she has opened her eyes and sort of gazed across the sand at me.
She hasn’t said anything, though.
No “What’re you looking at!” No “Fuck off!”
Getting beaned by Thelma’s rock really took the starch out of her.
I ought to give Thelma my thanks.
Anyway, I’m all caught up, now.
DAY SEVEN
My Visitor
With Connie out of commission and Thelma as our prisoner, the watch duty last night was being divided among me, Billie and Kimberly. Last night, they gave me first watch.
I stayed by the fire. After everyone else went to bed, I had nothing to do except sit there, sometimes toss in some driftwood, and keep watch.
I sat with my back to the inlet. That way, nobody would be able to come out of the jungle and sneak up on the gals without me spotting him.
I kept wondering if Wesley was really dead.
He had sure done a number on Thelma, no question about that. An awfully good reason to kill a guy, even if you weren’t especially bothered by the fact that he had murdered your own father.
I sure hoped she’d done it. If Wesley was dead, I could stop trying to spot him sneaking through the dark toward where the gals were asleep. I could stop glancing over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t creeping toward my back.
I kept wishing we’d gone ahead and checked on the body, right after Thelma came in and told us about it.
Then we’d know by now, one way or the other.
On the other hand, some of us might be dead right now.
Especially me.
I’d always figured I was next on the list. It stood to reason, considering that Wesley had killed off both the other males almost as soon as we got to the island. But now we’d had it confirmed by Thelma. Over at the falls,
