Page 117 of Adrift

“I want to talk to you about a new shelter.” Zane eats more of the citrus fruit.

“Did you move the raft?”

“Yeah, but not on purpose.” I really, really don’t want to talk about it with Calvin.

“We needed to take the top off and let it get some sun. It was really wet in there after the night of rain.” Zane stops. “Right. Where did you sleep last night? It really seemed like Easton didn’t want to tell us.”

“Easton and I stayed in a small cave near a waterfall. If we’re going to build a shelter using the wood from the fishing boat, maybe we should just build it by the mountain. There are caves. Or rather, a cave. It’s super small. Easton and I barely fit in it together. But I think we should systematically explore the mountain. We might find another one. Bigger. But if we don’t, I still think we should move inland for the rainy season.”

Zane purses his lips. “Maybe. I’ve got some ideas.” He excitedly told me about them while we were getting the last side of the roof of the raft back on. If we can build it, it will be really nice. But part of me is torn. Moving away from the beach, putting so much effort into a new structure, means we’re giving up on getting rescued. I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t know if I can let go of the dream of going home again. Indoor plumbing and nachos. I’m a fan of both. Pizza, ice cream. Hell, I’d murder for some roasted Brussels sprouts.

“Zane’s plans sound fantastic. Being up in the map tree with the breeze. Think about it, Calvin, no plastic when we roll over at night. It could be fantastic.” I blink up at Calvin. He’s holding the cat up to his face.

“Okay. We should talk about it. This little guy”—he flips the kitten over—“galhas the bluest eyes. Almost the bluest I’ve ever seen.” Calvin gives me a wink. “We can talk about the shelter placement later.”

Now I can hear the subtext of the big old fat no, the one I had expected about the kitten. “Calvin, we’re going to really talk about it. Make the decision together as a team, as a family.”

“Family?” He laughs. “This is one messed up family.”

“It doesn’t have to be. With some work, it can be great.” I rub the kitten behind her ear, and she purrs.

“You’re right, Haley, with some work. I’m willing.”

That was at least something. A start.

“Where are the others?” Calvin plops down on the log next to the fire. He puts the cat on his lap and plays with its belly. The little thing flashes its paws at him. I’m dying inside from all the cuteness.

I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever seen Calvin sit during the day. Normally he’s twitching, gathering firewood or plants, whittling us a new something, almost anything. But not sitting.

“Easton and Dante took off for the fishing boat. Dante hasn’t seen it yet, and he wanted to take a look.”

“Good.” It’s a quick word, but I see a flicker of relief in Calvin’s face. He’s as happy as the rest of us that Dante feels good enough to go exploring the island. “And how’s your foot?” Calvin turns to Zane.

“I’m going to make it. I haven’t changed the bandage yet today. I’ll do it when Easton gets back.” Zane pokes at the fire.

“Is your ankle doing better, Haley?”

I nod.

“Good. Good. I should show you guys the waterfall. Have you seen it yet, Zane?”

“No. But I think that would be good.” Zane picks up a stick from Calvin’s pile of straight wood. “What are you doing with these?”

Calvin has kept his pile of straight sticks away from the firewood. Each one is sharpened on the end. We all leave his supplies alone, even without being told to.

“Fishing weir. I have almost enough to make a small one. The posts get stuck in the sand at regular intervals in the tidal area. Fish swim through them, the tide goes out, and they don’t.”

“Whoa, that’s cool. How did you ever learn about that?”

“From an archeology class.” Calvin stands and puts the now sleeping kitten in Zane’s lap. The groggy thing looks up at Zane but closes its eyes again. “Want to help me set it up, Haley? Low tide is the perfect time.”

I want to say no. I want to make him sit back down and be still. “Sure.”

Calvin hands me a small pile of the sticks and takes the rest himself. Down at the shoreline, he stops. “Here should be good. Space them out, one every few inches. Push them in at least eight inches. Deep enough the waves won’t knock them down. No worries if it does. This is going to take some experimenting.”

I slide a few in. “Like this?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” We work together for a while until we have four rows that curve up to where the high tide mark is. It’s something to look at, like an incomplete fence protruding out into the ocean. “Here.” He hands me the last stick. “Do the honors of finishing it up.”

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