Page 46 of Hate Wrecked

After we step into Gerald’s building for supplies, I call over my shoulder to Riley. “Are you ready to fish?”

Riley picks up what looks like a journal from a table by the door. “I’ve never fished before,” she says.

“It’s easy. And you like fish.”

“I do. You remember.”

“I remember everything, Riley.”

She smiles at me, setting the journal down. “I’m sorry I made everything so hard,” she says.

“You can make it up to me by not making anything hard now.”

She blinks at me, and I realize how that can be taken. I roll my eyes at her and reach for a fishing pole in the corner of the room.

We stay silent for a moment before I see Riley dart a glance out the window, to the trees. Before I can guess at what she heard, she’s running out the door.

I drop the pole, chasing after her, running into a table, cursing. “Riley, what the fuck?” I yell.

Her bikini top is yellow, and it’s the only way I can keep track of her as she disappears into the jungle.

She’s fast, long legs carrying her in a long arc. She’s behind the Hilton, circled back from the dense foliage, when I find her, eyes squinting into the trees by the shore.

“What the fuck, Riley? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I heard the cat,” she whispers as she walks toward the trees. I grab her before she can get very far.

“You can’t go running off without a fucking word like that.”

“What’s going to get me? A bird? One of the rats?” She pulls her arm out of my grasp.

“Just, please don’t do that again.”

“I make no promises,” she replies.

Behind us, I hear something move, and we both turn. A fluff of orange races out from behind a dense crop of foliage toward our camp.

This time, we both take off running, and Riley looks back at me. “You stay back. You’ll scare it!”

I slow my jog and come to a stop. It’s a lost cause; the cat is skittish and too swift for us, and eventually, I head back to the building we were in, watching Riley dart around from the window.

I gather everything we need to fish, and when I see Riley run by again, slower this time, I call out to her. “You’re going to have to let him come to you.”

“I hate that idea.”

I smile, shaking my head. “I have no doubt you’ll wear it down. You always do.”

* * *

I’ve always loved working with my hands, building things, and moving.

Riley and I stand on the dock, poles in our hands, waiting for a bite. She’s uncertain, glancing at the spot in the water where her line has sunk and then at me. I can tell she’s also watching and listening for the cat.

No doubt she will want to save a fish, if we catch any, for the feline.

I’ve often fantasized about living off the grid. That one day, I would retire alone on a small patch of land, a cabin somewhere remote. I often imagine my future in solitary, with no one. I am in love with aloneness, with the quiet of my mind. With books and the place they take me, I am in love with the idea of disappearing with someone.

If I could be stranded on an island with anyone, why not Riley?

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