15
Day 30 – Juliet
I smiled at Lillian, hoping the tremble to my hands and the quake of my smile didn’t alert her to anything. She’d already been concerned for my nutrition. I was beginning to worry about my sanity. Letting her know I’d had a jungle fever could end the experiment. One stipulation of the process was not to deprive me of modern amenities. There was no reason not to have a supply of acetaminophen for a fever or a headache. Tack must have found my stash, as that’s what he forced down my throat in order to help me. The thought softened my forced smile as Lillian stood under my tree house.
“We missed you at the dock. Where were you?”
“I’d gone for a soak,” I lied, realizing the most obvious sign would be wet hair, which I didn’t have. Tack’s too-large shirt hung off my shoulder, falling just above my knees. I smelled like him—man and sunscreen.
“Whose shirt is that?” Her eyes narrowed and a thin-lined smile crossed her lips.
“My uncle’s,” I said, too quickly. Lillian knew me well enough to know I’d own nothing of his. I didn’t even want to see him at the hearing or the restorative trial, but I had to have a family member present as a witness to my acceptance of the program. I didn’t want him there any more than he wanted to be there, but as my only living relative, he fit the need. If I died, I needed a family member to claim the body. I laughed at that stipulation in the contract. He’d rather let me rot than collect me.
Her eyes questioned my response but refocused on my face.
“You look thin.” It wasn’t said as an insult, nor a compliment. Lillian was concerned. She knew I’d stopped eating after what happened. Starving myself was a sign of depression, and she worried at moments that the experiment was too much. As excited as she was to promote my case to the restorative circle, she was equally nervous I would relapse once I was alone. As I wasn’t alone, there wasn’t much chance of relapsing.
“I’ve been a little under the weather,” I said, trying to assure her with a larger smile that all was well presently. Telling her about Tack was on the tip of my tongue. The information clawed behind my teeth. I had so many questions, so many emotions. I was confused by his attention to my illness, grateful for his rescue from the snake, but I still feared he’d retaliate against me. Rick had. Why wouldn’t Tack?
One thing I’d noticed about Tack, despite his sense of entitlement and I’m-better-than-the-world air, was a sadness to his eyes, and a touch of panic. He didn’t like to be alone, but he didn’t trust himself to admit it. I wanted to believe his apology last night was deeper than simply saying he was sorry for forcing me to swallow pain medicine and demand I sleep next to him. However, I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t trust him.
“Do you need to leave?” Lillian asked. “We could rethink your sentence.”
“No,” I answered too quickly. I’d been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter. Ironically, Brandon came to my defense, exposing what he’d seen as my reaction at the bar. He’d walked in on Rick reaching for me, after asking if I liked what he’d done. When I stabbed him, Brandon immediately said it was self-defense, and I was convicted of the lesser offense.
“That’s what I’m going to say,” he whispered, as he called the police while blood trickled down my arm. While I hadn’t planned to go in the bar and kill Rick that day, nothing stopped me from reacting to his presence—his nearness alone was a threat to my being. The tape mysteriously appeared during the trial, and the men were exposed. The defense wanted to prove I had the intent to kill. The prosecutor proved the tape showed a previous crime had gone unpunished. Two men were visible on the tape. The rest didn’t get their turn. Brandon’s interruption to that initiation party lasted long enough to distract Rick and deflate the intention of the gathering. I’d dulled my thoughts by then, resigned to what was happening.
My body rippled, releasing the thought, chilled despite the heat. A fever could linger or spike again, and suddenly, I was exhausted. Lillian eyed me suspiciously.
“Is everything okay here? Do you feel safe?” I found the questioning odd, considering Lillian assured me it was safe to be here. I nodded in answer. For some reason, I didn’t feel threatened. After all that Tack had done for me, taking care of me, I wasn’t ready to leave. Strangely, I felt protected on the island. Lillian was giving me an out, but I wanted to keep going with the experiment. I wanted to know where the island would lead me.
“I’m fine, just tired and a little shaky.” My fingers did tremble as I held them out for Lillian to see.
“Your tree house looked like a small disaster.” Lillian smiled, comforting me with her concern. “Franco and I cleaned it up. Let’s get you back to bed. I want to exam you myself.” With a tender hand, she reached out for my shoulder, prodding me toward the ladder and I followed her, allowing her to mother me.
+ +
Lillian decided to spend the night. The driver of her boat, Franco, camped under the tree house while she perched in a seat next to my bed. She sponged down my body and gave me more fever reducers. She made me warm broth and fed me. At moments, tears came to my eyes, remembering my own mother doing the same thing when I was sick as a child. Then I thought of Tack and his attempts to make me drink water from a spoon. I smiled slightly at the thought.
“Pleasant dreams,” Lillian asked, staring at me. “You drifted off for a moment. Where did you go?” Again, the desire to tell her about Tack and how different he was from the man at the club fought within my mouth for release. I didn’t want to be fooled, though. Tack from the island and Tack of The Front Door were still the same person.
“Just remembering my mother,” I said softly. Lillian smiled, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness and sympathy.
“My mother called life an adventure,” she said. “She taught me to explore everything. And everyone.” She chuckled as she winked. I’d heard these things before from Lillian. While my idol was Margaret Meade, hers was her mother, another famous anthropologist who studied urban life instead of the lives of the Samoans. Both women were before their time, with open ideas about sexuality and the role of women.
“I’ve been doing some self-exploration.” I had been doing some deep soul-searching. Was I angry at Rick or myself? In many ways, there was no excuse for a man like Rick Fontaine, but I was angry with myself for being in a position to be captured like I was. Women are taught to never take the blame. No means no, and it does, unequivocally. But all my life, I’d been cautious of men and aware of my surroundings. My guard was down that night, and I knew why I was distracted.
“Sometimes the things we learn about others come from looking at ourselves as individuals first,” Lillian said, patting my arm. The touch soothed me, and I smiled more genuinely at her words of wisdom. I admired her and appreciated her help with my case.
“Get some rest, honey,” she said, but I’d slept enough lately. It was time for me to wake up and take charge of my life again. I needed to finish my sentence on this island and get back to reality.