Page 47 of Hate Wrecked

I imagine us in a story, living a life away from the world.

Riley’s voice cuts in, making the images dissolve.

“What?” I ask.

“I said, what are you saying?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were doing that thing where your lips are moving.”

“Oh,” I reply, looking down at my feet. I get lost in my head, far away, and sometimes I forget the outside world. As images and stories fly through my mind, I often move my lips with the story I’m creating. I do it when I write, as well.

It’s an intimate thing, something I only do when I feel safe. And often, I have felt that warm feeling with Riley. So I straighten, looking out into the lagoon, pushing everything away.

“I was just thinking,” I say, reeling my line in a little.

“About?”

“Retirement.”

“What?”

“In the future, years from now. I don’t know. I would like to live where no one can find me.”

“On an island?”

I shake my head. “I’ll hardly be rich enough to buy my own island.”

“You could still live on one.”

“I’m not fantasizing about living on an island right now, Riley.” I glare at her, and she presses her lips in a thin line.

“You might be retiring early here.”

I laugh. “Dramatic.”

“Always,” she says.

We stand in silence, our thoughts taking us away from each other. Then, when Riley’s line gets a tug, I coax her through the process of reeling in the fish.

She watches in horror as I take the lure out, placing the fish in our bucket filled with ocean water.

The morning goes by slowly as we catch a few more fish. Finally, we get enough for lunch and dinner.

I place a lid on the bucket before carrying it to our campsite. Riley collects our poles, securing them at Gerald’s house.

I venture to the building, looking for anything I can use for a stable table. Once I find a good spot to work, I filet the fish. Riley stands by at my request, watching. I walk her through everything, and after each step, I ask, “Got that?”

Eventually, I annoy her so much that she cuts me off with, “Yes, I got that.”

I stop asking and let her watch me.

Riley grabs a bowl from the supplies at my request and washes the fish. We need to collect more rainwater so we plenty to work with.

I divide the fillets into two portions. One for lunch and one for dinner.

In the distance, I can see the orange cat watching. I point to him, and Riley turns. Then, after a moment, she turns back, smiling.

---