Page 23 of Shipwrecked

Mary looks relieved and nods. “I’m good with my hands.”

“True,” Charles agrees.

Mary slaps his thigh.

“Baby, I’m referring to your pottery skills,” Charles says. He meets her eyes and winks. “And other skills.”

He gets another light swat, and Charles cackles, kissing her cheek again. “Love you.”

“I can help Mary,” I say.

“No, you are—” Mathieu begins to object, but Cillian catches his eye and nods. Mathieu changes course. “You are allowed to help.”

I take the time to glare at them both. Cillian raises an eyebrow. Mathieu blinks bashfully and takes nothing back.

It’s decided that Seán will stay at the new camp to get it set up, Cillian and Willow will gather more food, and Darren and Yasop will walk the perimeter of the island to see if there’s anything we missed yesterday. Before they set out, everyone, excluding me, because Mathieu and Cillian are equally meddlesome, helps to carry the lean-tos over to the new camp.

A narrow pathway angles through the trees to a small clearing. The break in the trees leaves a small gap in the canopy, but it’s thick along the edges. The trees will be more than enough to protect us from the wind.

Mathieu, Mary, Charles and I remain to help Seán. Even though it’s Seán’s dominant right arm in the sling, he’s remarkably competent one-handed. He shows us how to create the walls, overlapping leaves orientated in the same direction. “So the water drains off to the side,” he explains. “Since they’re movable, we’ll be able to prop them against the lean-tos on whichever side the wind comes from.”

I sit with Mary, and we work together to weave fronds into the frame the others put together. I feel bad watching how hard a time the others are having just getting the resources for it all. I know from yesterday how annoying it is.

Before I know it, the sun has passed by overhead, everyone has stopped by for lunch with a bounty and gone again, and I’m so sick of bending leaves around branches that I want to throw it all away. I’m not sure where the intense frustration comes from. It’s hard to ignore.

Sweat runs off my forehead onto my working hands. I push the wall I’m working on from my lap. “I’m rinsing off in the water.”

The others are all at the bamboo crop.

Mary nods. “I’ll probably ask Charles to carry me down once he’s back.”

The sun beats down on me as I walk down the beach. The sand is white and soft underfoot. I walk straight into the water without pausing, advancing until I’m waist-deep, then sinking down. The cool water feels wonderful against my neck. I eye the yacht as I wash myself, using just my hands. Behind me, I hear a splash.

I turn to find Cillian wading in behind me.

“I’m not doing any heavy lifting. This is basically a holiday.”

His grey eyes track over every inch of me before he nods. He joins me in the water, shrugging off his shirt, revealing an impressive, tattooed physique. The Celtic designs that cover his arms spread further. Interlacing knotwork and spirals dominate his chest, his back, his sides. He must have sat for hundreds of hours getting inked. He’s so solid. Like that boundary marker that inspired his first tattoo come to life. The ink makes it impossible to tell whether the yacht left bruises.

He washes his shirt in the ocean and uses his hands like I did to clean himself. He dunks his head and emerges with wet hair, salt water racing down his skin in rivulets. They lead to the waistband of his shorts. Tattoos disappear mid-design beneath the band. Do they cover all of him?

He catches me staring.

“I think I could make that swim,” I divert.

“I will tie you to a tree, Jules. I swear to God.”

I like the way he says my name. It doesn’t feel like a curse, even though he’s exasperated.

“I didn’t say I’m going to. I just think that I could.” I drift closer to him, eyeing the yacht again. “We made it in, after all. If it’s calm like this, that’s an easy swim.”

Cillian stares at me like he has a whole lot to say. He juts his chin towards the yacht. “Do you see the way it’s sitting in the water? With the front end submerged like that?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s sitting on the edge of a shelf. Maybe it’s secure, maybe it’s not. And the water looks calm, but sometimes there are currents you just can’t spot from the beach.” Cillian scans the water. “If I thought it was safe, I would have swum out there first thing this morning.”

I start drifting away, a current pulling me out. Cillian catches me by the arm and gently tugs me back to him. He studies my eyes.