Page 47 of Totally Wrecked
But it really did. Soon we have a fully-sized campfire burning steadily. We both scout around for more driftwood.
“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Harvey says to me, “I thought you had no chance.”
“Honestly, same.” Silently I give thanks to Mam and her obsession with Tom Hanks. Having fire success makes me more optimistic about fishing. I show Harvey the wonky fishing net I’ve put together. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Yeah, do it,” Harvey agrees. “I’ll stay here and feed the fire.”
???
My Da and I spent plenty of time at the river when I was young. I draw on the memory as I scout around looking for a place to fish. I decide laying on my stomach over the large tidal pools is the best position to start this operation. It’s going to be an uncomfortable business.
I’m holding the net just above the water, and when a medium-sized silver fish swims below me, I swoop the net down, then up again.
The net surfaces and is completely empty.
Weird, the fish was right there. How did I miss it?
I put my hand into the water, and realize the pool is way deeper than I thought. The refraction of the water was throwing off my depth perception. Lesson learned.
The afternoon is baking hot, there is not a breath of wind, and the boulders are almost scalding to lie on, but I’m going to stay here until the fish return, then I’ll try again. My plan this time is to already have my net in the water, then when a fish swims into it, I just have to yank it out.
It isn’t long until a bunch of tiny fish return, but I’m looking for something bigger. I stare into the water and my reflection stares back at me. I wonder what the chances are that I’ll die on this island? Probably pretty high. Ma must be out of her mind with worry. I wonder when they’ll give up and hold a funeral for me. My mind goes through the list of my friends; who will give the eulogy? My sister will organize the whole thing—she’s an organizer.
Everyone will get drunk after, that’s for sure.
I wonder if Stevie would go? I think about the last time we talked.
We met up in a park. While I sat on the bench waiting for her, I pictured me and Stevie laying on a blanket with the baby, having a picnic in the park. Then I removed myself from the image and put Brett in my place.
“How long have you known, Stevie?”
“Known? Since conception, I guess,” she says.
“So why string me along all these months?”
Stevie has the decency to turn her face away. Her hair is newly high-lighted, shiny and smooth. Becoming a mother has just added to her beauty. From being a pretty girl, she now looks back at me as a beautiful woman.
“Because I didn’t know if Brett would stick around. I needed you on the back burner.”
“And I was willing to go all in, so you had me—us—as the back up plan.”
“I guess I saw you as my alternate. But he’s not your baby. There is no us. There was never any us.”
That’s true, but when she’d first told me, I’d immediately said I’d happily co-parent, even though we’d just been feck-buddies. I mean, I’d fecking packed in my job and taken the first plane back to New York.
She tucks some hair behind her ear and I see the rock on her finger. “You have to let it go, Killian. Don’t make me get a restraining order.”
Restraining order? Up until six weeks ago I thought Stevie and I were waiting for the birth of our first child. A fling that was turning into something much bigger due to the life we had created. I’m just trying to get a little closure.
A man jogs by pushing a child in a stroller. I stand up and put out my hand. “Good luck, Stevie.”
She smirks a little. “I don’t need it, I have Brett and Timothee`.
Timothee? She didn’t call the poor bastard Timothee!
Maybe I was well out of it after all?
It was the day after when Maurie had called me.
