Chapter 21 – Anna

T.J. climbed onto the roof of the house and spread a layer of breadfruit sap over the palm fronds. “I don’t know if this will keep us dry. I guess we’ll find out when it rains.”

The house was nearing completion. I sat cross-legged on the ground, watching as he jumped off the roof, grabbed the hammer, and drove in the last few nails.

He had pulled his hair back in a ponytail, and he wore my cowboy hat and aviator sunglasses. His face was so tan he looked like he’d been born on the island. He had a great smile, with straight white teeth, prominent cheekbones, and a solid square jaw. I needed to shave him again.

“You look good, T.J. Very healthy.” He was lean, but he had well-defined muscles, probably from building our house by hand, and he didn’t show any outward signs of malnutrition, at least not yet.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m not sure how, but you’ve grown here.”

“Do I look older?”

“You do.”

“Am I good-looking, Anna?” He knelt down in front of me and grinned. “Come on, you can tell me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, T.J.,” I said, smiling at him. “You’re very good-looking. If we ever get off this island you’ll be quite popular with the ladies.”

He pumped his fist in the air. “Yes.” Then he put down the hammer and took a drink of water. “I can’t remember what I looked like before the crash, can you?”

“Sort of. But I probably haven’t changed as much.”

T.J. sat down in front of me. “God, I’m sore. Will you please rub my back?”

“Sure.” I massaged his shoulders, which were considerably broader than they were two years ago. His chest was wider too, and his arms were solid. I lifted his ponytail, kneading the back of his neck.

“That feels good.”

I gave him an extra-long massage and near the end he said, “You’re still beautiful, Anna. In case you were wondering.”

My face got hot, but I smiled. “I wasn’t, T.J. But thanks.”

***

Two nights later, we slept in our new house for the first time. We had decided on one large room, instead of two, which gave us plenty of space. I could dress inside the house, instead of wiggling into my clothes in the life raft. My suitcase and the toolbox sat in the corner, and the guitar case next to it held our first-aid kit, knife, and rope.

T.J. had removed the life-raft canopy – we had a real roof now – and made windows out of the mesh roll-down doors, which let in light and air. He used the nylon sides for shades that we closed at night. He nailed the tarp to the front of the house, stretched it out, and attached it to tall sticks he drove into the ground, then dug a fire pit underneath.

“I’m proud of you, T.J. Bones would be, too.”

“Thanks, Anna.”

We’d come a long way since our days of sleeping on the ground. Just a couple castaways playing house.

***

A seaplane landed in the lagoon while T.J. and I swam. The pilot opened the door, stuck his head out, and said, “We finally found you. We’ve been looking forever.”

I was fifty-two years old.

I woke up, drenched in sweat and stifling a scream, seconds before it flew out of my mouth.

T.J.’s side of the bed was empty. He’d been spending a lot of time in the woods lately, gathering firewood in the morning and again in the afternoon.

I dressed, brushed my teeth, and walked to the coconut tree. While I gathered them, one fell off a branch and almost hit me on the head. Startled, I jumped and yelled, “Dammit.”

When I returned to the house, I checked the water collector. It was February, the middle of the dry season, and there wasn’t much. I dropped it and burst into tears when the water spilled on the ground.

T.J. walked up with his backpack full of firewood. “Hey,” he said, putting down his backpack. “What’s wrong?”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Nothing, I’m just tired and mad at myself. I spilled the water.” Then I started crying again.

“It’s okay. It’ll probably rain again later.”

“It might not. It barely rained yesterday.” I flopped down on the ground, feeling stupid.

He sat beside me. “Um, is this like PMS or something?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. “No. I’m just having a bad morning.”

“Go back to bed,” he said. “I’ll come get you when I’m done fishing, okay?”

“Okay.”

I woke up when T.J. rubbed my arm. “The fish are ready,” he said, stretching out next to me.

“Why didn’t you wake me so I could clean them?”

“I thought you’d feel better if you slept a little longer.”

“Thanks. I do.”

“I’m sorry I asked if you had PMS. I don’t really know anything about that.”

“No, it was a fair question.” I hesitated. “I don’t get my period anymore. I haven’t for a long time.” I still had tampons in my suitcase.

T.J. looked confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m underweight. Stress. Malnutrition. Take your pick.”

“Oh,” he said.

We lay on our sides, facing each other. “I had a bad dream this morning. A seaplane landed in the lagoon while we were swimming.”

“That sounds like a good dream.”

“I was fifty-two when they found us.”

“Then we were missing a really long time. Is that why you were so upset?”

“I want to have a baby.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Two or three, actually. That was another thing John didn’t want. If they don’t find us until I’m fifty-two, it’ll be too late. Forty-two might be cutting it close. I can always adopt, but I really wanted to give birth to at least one.” I picked at a thread on the blanket. “It’s stupid, thinking about a baby when there are so many others things to worry about here. And I know having kids isn’t on your radar yet, but I really want them someday.”

“I have thought about kids. I’m sterile.”

His words were so unexpected I didn’t know what to say at first. “Because of the cancer?”

“Yep. I had a shitload of chemo.”

“Oh God T.J., I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Nothing like going on about having kids in front of someone whose fertility had been exchanged for survival.

“It’s okay. The doctor talked to me before chemo started. He explained that if I ever wanted to have kids someday, I had to bank sperm immediately because once I started the treatment it would be too late. I decided I wanted the option to have them.”

“Wow. That’s not a decision most boys have to make when they’re fifteen.”

“No, we’re pretty much thinking about not getting anyone pregnant. This next part might cheer you up. So my mom told me she was gonna drive me to my appointment at the sperm bank, and she handed me one of my dad’s Playboys – I had something way dirtier stashed in my closet, by the way – and she asked me, all serious, if I knew what to do.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” He started laughing. “I was fifteen, Anna. I was an expert at it, and I did not want to talk about jacking off with my mom.”

“Oh my God, I’m dying here,” I said, laughing so hard tears ran down my face.

“Yeah, the next time I had to bank sperm my dad drove me.”

I wiped my eyes as one last giggle escaped. “Do you want to know what your very best quality is?”

“Is it that I’m so good-looking?” he deadpanned.

I started laughing again. “I see the compliment I paid you went straight to your head. No, that’s not it. I want you to know that it’s almost impossible not to be happy when you’re around.”

“Really? Thanks.” He patted my arm. “Don’t worry, Anna. They’ll find us someday and you’ll have that baby.”

“I hope so.”