Page 4 of Survivor
Chapter Two
Taylor
Summer 2006
“Don’t go far, Taylor, dinner will be ready soon,” Valerie Stone called out to him as he bolted out the back door and ran toward the beach.
“Yeah, yeah,” he responded. As soon as his feet hit the sand, he kicked his flip-flops off while pulling his T-shirt over his head, tossing it on the ground beside his shoes. The sun was setting and as he sprinted toward the water, his feet not burning like they would have a few hours earlier. Once he was knee-deep, Taylor dove under and swam out as far as he could before rising to the surface for air.
Taylor floated as the gentle waves slowly rocked him side to side, watching as the sun fell lower on the horizon, in absolute awe at how close it seemed to be to him. Almost in reach, but always just a little farther away. The beacon shone brightly on the lighthouse in the distance, reminding Taylor that Frank and Caleb had promised to take him to that side of the island to tour the lighthouse the following day.
Their trip to Galveston Island back in Texas a couple of months before had been the highlight of Taylor’s young life. Frank had accompanied them, which made it so much more fun for Taylor. They’d gone water skiing and snorkeling, things he knew his foster parents wouldn’t necessarily want to do. Maybe that was why they’d asked Frank to go with them, so Taylor would have somebody to do stuff with. Valerie and Charles Stone weren’t boring; they did things with Taylor all the time—took him places and bought what he needed to play baseball. But they weren’t as agreeable with some of the activities he and Frank enjoyed doing.
After that, Frank invited Taylor and the Stones to come and spend a couple of weeks at his family home on the beach, and Taylor got to ride in a plane for the first time. The nice lady that showed him what to do if the plane crashed brought him peanuts, pretzels, and three Sprites. But then he had to go pee a lot and he hated the bathroom on the plane—it was tiny and it smelled funny, and if the plane bounced, he missed. It was just really gross and it creeped him out. So Taylor decided that when they flew back to Texas the following week, he wasn’t going to drink anything on the plane.
A seagull flew overhead, cawing, and Taylor looked up, covering his eyes to block the last few rays of sun. This place was amazing—the best place he could ever remember being and he never wanted to leave.
“Hey, Kid, Val sent me to get you; dinner’s ready.” Taylor turned when he heard Frank call out to him. He always had the most fun when he was with Frank, but did he always have to call him kid? Taylor didn’t care for the nickname.
Swimming to shore, he begrudgingly snatched the towel Frank held out for him. “Hey, what do we say?” Frank placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping Taylor from moving farther away.
“Thanks,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, his arm attempting to wriggle free of Frank’s hold.
“Wait, what’s wrong, Taylor?” Frank knelt down in front of him, concern evident in both his eyes and tone of voice.
“I don’t like being called kid.”
Frank chuckled. “What? Since when?”
Taylor stomped his foot, certain that would make his point firmer. “Since now!”
“Okay, okay.” Frank stood, hands in the air. “No more kid.”
Taylor wrapped the towel around his shoulders, smiling and nodding; he could never stay mad at Frank. He was the best friend Taylor ever had.
After dinner, Taylor took the trash out and was heading back into the house when he saw Frank sitting outside alone. There were two chairs and a small table made of wicker that sat in the backyard of the cottage, and he’d seen Frank sitting by himself at night a couple of times since they’d arrived. Taylor hesitated, wanting to walk over and sit down with Frank, but uncertain if it would be okay. Sometimes his foster dad would sit on the swing in their backyard at home and Taylor wasn’t supposed to bother him. “Charles just likes to be alone every now and then; that’s all, sweetie,” Valerie had told him when Taylor asked if he could go play in the backyard and was told, “Not right now.”
“You can come sit, Kid…sorry, Taylor.” Frank called him over, chuckling. “I won’t bite.”
They sat there quietly for the longest time and while Taylor normally didn’t much care for sitting around doing nothing, he realized he was actually enjoying the quiet time. He thought about his mom and dad, remembering swimming on a beach somewhere with them, though he couldn’t remember names or places. His mom, Emily, had packed a bag with towels, sun tan lotion, and a blanket that she spread out on the sand when they got to the beach. His dad, Sean, had carried a cooler with water, sodas, and snacks in one hand, a Nerf football in the other.
That was the last good day he could really grasp on to, remember, and keep fresh in his mind, and that made him sad. Looking down at his hands, Taylor wondered if they looked more like his mom’s or his dad’s. Throwing the football that day at the beach, he could remember clearly how large his father’s hands were. Sean Langford was a big man, as big as Caleb, and when he held that ball, drawing back to throw it, his hand was almost completely wrapped around the width of the foam toy. His mom was pretty tall too. At least, he thought she was.
Behind his eyes, in the crevices of his mind, Taylor saw an image of his parents that day at the beach: his mom leaning into his dad, head slightly upturned as they kissed briefly before turning on Taylor and chasing him into the water, the three of them laughing and splashing each other.
“Hey, Taylor, you okay over there?” Frank asked.
“Huh?” He shook his head, looking over at Frank. “Yeah, just, tired I guess.”
“It’s okay to think about them, to remember them. I think about my mom all the time, especially when I’m here at the beach.” Frank’s mouth lifted like he was supposed to be smiling, but it looked funny.
“Really?” Taylor wasn’t sure about that.
“Of course.” Frank sat up straight, tucking one leg underneath him and pointing to the garden beside them. “You see the rosebush over there?” Taylor turned his head slightly, his eyes catching on the bright blooms. He nodded.
“My dad and I planted it the day after my mom’s funeral. That bush wasn’t much bigger than this table here, but it grew and flourished and now it takes up half the backyard.”
Taylor was amazed at what Frank was saying. “Wow, that’s so cool. My mom liked roses too, the red ones, though. Dad used to bring them home for her all the time.”
