"Like fun you are. Am I supposed to be grateful . . . ?"
With the flat of her open hand, Kimberly smacked her on the side of the head.
Thelma let out a startled yelp.
In a slow, steady voice that wasn't like anything I'd ever heard from her before, Kimberly said, "You brought Wesley into our lives, sister. We warned you about him. You wouldn't listen. You thought he was so damn wonderful. Now, my husband is dead. Dad is dead. It's all because of Wesley -- and Wesley is because of you. Do you get it? You did this to us! You!"
She gave Thelma's head another slap.
Billie put a hand on Kimberly's shoulder.
Kimberly raised her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears. As she looked up at Billie, she blinked. Tears spilled out and trickled down her face.
It's amazing to see Kimberly cry. She is so tough, most of the time. But when she weeps, it's like watching a heartbroken kid trying to act brave.
I choked up, myself, at the sight of her tears.
It made me remember Keith's funeral, and how I'd sung "Danny Boy" like some sort of idiot, and how she had hugged me afterward.
The best hug I've ever had. All sloppy and sentimental, but coming from the most beautiful woman I've ever known -- not to mention that Keith's shirt was open so I could feel all that bare skin against me, and the soft push of her breasts through her bikini.
I wonder if I'll ever get another hug like that from her.
Who knows? There's always hope, I guess.
I'd really like a lot more than a hug. I'd like her to fall madly in love with me, and seduce me.
Fat chance of that happening. I'm not much of a prize. Gals who look like Kimberly don't give guys like me a second glance.
Though, who knows? As long as we're marooned on this island, anything is possible. I am, after all, the only living male. (If you don't count Wesley.) Maybe, eventually, all three of the gals will get after me.
Who am I kidding?
Anyway, it's nice to imagine. Except that the fun of imagining such things has sharp edges that hurt.
With me as the only guy on the island, these gals would probably turn to celibacy or lesbianism before they'd throw themselves at my feet. That's the kind of luck I have with babes.
What got me started off on this tangent, anyway?
Kimberly crying.
I would've liked to kiss the tears off her eyes.
Licked them off her cheeks.
Licked her everywhere.
I just stood there watching. She'd hardly begun to weep before she stood up, brushed the sand off her knees, and wiped her eyes. "Keep an eye on her, Rupe," she told me.
"I will."
Billie still had the hand on her shoulder.
Together, they turned away and headed for the water. They went back to spear-fishing. Connie had already returned to her shelter, and was lying down. I went to mine, took out my journal, and got down to business.
I started to write about Thelma coming out of the jungle.
But I was facing the inlet, which put Thelma behind my back. So I changed positions, turning sideways. Now, I've got Thelma off to my left, Kimberly and Billie in the water to my right, and Connie straight in front of me.
Connie is lying on her side, like before.
Facing me.
She is probably suspicious of the fact that I turned myself in her direction. It would never occur to her that I did it in order to keep Thelma in sight. She is sure to think I'm ogling her.
Every so often, she has opened her eyes and sort of gazed across the sand at me.
She hasn't said anything, though.
No "What're you looking at!" No "Fuck off!"
Getting beaned by Thelma's rock really took the starch out of her.
I ought to give Thelma my thanks.
Anyway, I'm all caught up, now.
----------—
Day Seven
-----------
My Visitor
With Connie out of commission and Thelma as our prisoner, the watch duty last night was being divided among me, Billie and Kimberly. Last night, they gave me first watch.
I stayed by the fire. After everyone else went to bed, I had nothing to do except sit there, sometimes toss in some driftwood, and keep watch.
I sat with my back to the inlet. That way, nobody would be able to come out of the jungle and sneak up on the gals without me spotting him.
I kept wondering if Wesley was really dead.
He had sure done a number on Thelma, no question about that. An awfully good reason to kill a guy, even if you weren't especially bothered by the fact that he had murdered your own father.
I sure hoped she'd done it. If Wesley was dead, I could stop trying to spot him sneaking through the dark toward where the gals were asleep. I could stop glancing over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure he wasn't creeping toward my back.
I kept wishing we'd gone ahead and checked on the body, right after Thelma came in and told us about it.
Then we'd know by now, one way or the other.
On the other hand, some of us might be dead right now.
Especially me.
I'd always figured I was next on the list. It stood to reason, considering that Wesley had killed off both the other males almost as soon as we got to the island. But now we'd had it confirmed by Thelma. Over at the falls, Wesley had given her orders to nail me with that rock.
Sitting there by the fire, though, I wasn't especially worried about myself. The danger to me didn't seem as important as my duty to watch over and protect the women. I felt very protective of them.
While they were asleep and I was on guard, they were my flock.
I occupied my mind, now and then, with some gallant fantasies about rushing to their rescue. With other fantasies about them, too. I won't get into that stuff.
Anyway, about an hour into my watch, Thelma came over.
When I first saw her getting up, I thought she might be making an escape attempt. Instead of running for the jungle, though, she stepped cautiously away from the sleeping area, and walked toward me. The leftover rope hung between her legs and dragged behind her.
None of the others stirred. Which convinced me that they were asleep. Kimberly would've raised holy hell if she'd seen Thelma up and around. The same goes for Billie and Connie.
Looking back on it, that's what I should've done -- raised holy hell.
It's what I almost did.
My first inclination, when I realized none of the others would be putting a quick end to the situation, was to shout for Thelma to halt.
A shout would bring the whole gang running. (Except maybe Connie.)
But I kept quiet.
No need to wake everybody up. I can handle this on my own.
That's what I told myself.
It wasn't the whole reason I didn't shout, though. There was also the fact that I was curious. What did Thelma have in mind? Why was she coming to me? I wanted to find out.
As she walked closer, I grabbed the ax, stood up, and stepped around the fire so it wouldn't be in the way if I needed to get at her. I held the ax in both hands, at waist level, to let her see that I meant business but didn't have any immediate plan to chop her.
Neither of us said anything until she was just a few paces away. Then she stopped and said, "I couldn't sleep. I mean, I was asleep, but I woke up a while ago and . . . I couldn't get comfortable." She raised her bound hands. "I don't guess you'll untie me?"
"No, I can't."
She shrugged and winced a bit. "I didn't think so. No harm in asking, though. You oughta try to sleep with your hands tied together like this."
"Did you try sleeping on your back?" I asked.
"On my back? Have you seen my back? No, I guess you haven't."
I didn't correct her.
"Wesley whipped me. My back is so sore and tender . . . everything is. He really hurt me, Rupert. He hurt me everywhere. There is no comfortable position to lie in. It's a wonder I was able to fall asleep at all."
"I'm sorry about that," I said.
"It's not your fault. I'm the one that was fool enough to marry him."