New Year Island (23 page)

But what could they do for Jordan? Could a person eat raw kelp?
Ew-w
. Probably not. The crew would now be aware of the situation, and they would have to do something about it.

Or would they? Her thoughts drifted back to the dead elephant seal they had left lying on the beach. Julian’s crew hadn’t intervened then, despite the danger.

She couldn’t get the picture of the dead seal out of her mind. The way it had looked, just lying there, so still… They had caused its death—all ten of them together. It was her fault, too. Camilla tasted acid in her mouth, and swallowed.

“What about this other stuff we found?” She pointed at Mason’s duct tape and bear spray. “What’s to stop someone from taking it?”

“Everyone knows who has what. If something disappears, it’ll be pretty easy to find the culprit.”

“Unless they stash it in someone else’s room.”

Mason grinned. “You’re giving me ideas.”

“Veronica left the toilet paper in the outhouse for everybody. Even Juan left us six of the space blankets that you traded him. He put them on our doorstep.”

“Your point is?”

She pointed at the water jugs stacked next to his cot. “When are you going to share that water? If people start running out, it’ll be a magnet for trouble. You can’t guard it all the time.”

“We can trust our teammates for now,” he said. “Later, maybe not so much.”

J
ordan crouched on the rocks by the water’s edge, next to the dock where they had spent the first night, and faced the open ocean. A seagull overhead pierced the air with its lonely cry. There was no one else in sight, which was perfect because she wanted to be alone.

She splashed a double handful of seawater on her face and tipped her head back to let the chilly trickles run down her neck and ears. It felt good—distracted her from the gnawing emptiness in her stomach. This kind of hunger was a new experience, and not one she liked. Cupping her hands, she poured water on her face again and let it soak down her chest and belly, wetting her blouse. The cold was refreshing, tightening her skin almost painfully. She did it again, not caring how soaked she got, and smoothed her wet hands down her stomach.

Hiking up the knees of her capri pants, she extended her legs and let her calves dangle into the water. The cold water hurt at first, then it numbed her injured feet. She sighed, and looked at the green-brown kelp floating in the water and strewn on the rocks. Glistening in the sun, the slimy leaf blades tapered to translucent air bladders. The kelp stipes knotted and coiled on the rocks like garden hoses and varied in size, from pinky-width to the circumference of a soda can. Gross. Just gross.

She needed to wash her hair, too. How would that work?

“Hey, Blondie.” Travis’s voice came from nearby.

She slowly pulled her feet out of the water but she didn’t turn around. His boots clumped to a stop on the rock right behind her.

Too close.

“Thought you might be interested in this,” he said.

Still seated, she turned her head. Her eyes widened. Travis stood less than a foot away, his belt buckle at the level of her face. The thumb of one hand was hooked into the pocket of his jeans, his fingers trapping a red and white plastic bag against his thigh. Beef jerky.

“Oh my god,” Jordan said. She reached for it.

Instead of releasing the packet when her hand closed around it, Travis tightened his fingers to hold it in place.

“Yep, I thought we might be able to work something out…,” he said, bringing his belt buckle an inch closer to her forehead. “…first.”

They were alone. Even the seagull was gone now.

She looked up at his face. He was grinning, but his eyes were cold. Distant.

Her gaze dropped to his boots. He shifted his feet wider. The silence stretched to fill the air between them.

Then she laughed—a high, bubbling tinkle of genuine amusement.

“Oh my god, that’s just so pathetic,” she said. “The saddest part is, you’re probably serious.” She pulled her feet under her and stood up in one quick motion, almost smacking him in the jaw with her head.

He stumbled back a step but didn’t release the beef jerky. His mouth twisted into a snarl.

“This ain’t some safe little sorority house, Blondie, where you can just mouth off to me like that.” He looked left and right. “This island’s a dangerous place, and I don’t see anybody in charge. Accidents can happen. People can get hurt.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, they can. How about I yell rape, Travis?”

She took a fast step toward him, and he backpedaled. Shoving her face into his, she spoke in a fast singsong hiss: “Oh my god, guys, help, he tried to rape me, oh my god, he hurt me, oh, I’m so scared, help me…” She raised her voice. “How about we try
that
?”

With a savage jerk, she tore the bag of beef jerky from under his grip.

Stepping back, he raised both hands, palms out like a traffic cop. “Now, wait just a minute—”

Jordan threw the bag in his face. Hard. The smack of plastic on skin echoed from the rocks. “Pick that up and get lost, you disgusting slimebag. Before I actually get mad.”

Travis scooped up the beef jerky and backed away fast, boots slipping and skating on the rocks.

She glanced down at the kelp. No matter how gross, it was only seaweed—like the wakame salad at sushi places. Let them all think she was starving; she could eat
that
.

Travis’s voice echoed off the rocks. “You’re a fucking bitch.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she called after him. “Truly no idea at all.”

“Y
oung lady, come here.” Veronica gestured toward the open doorway. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Even though Camilla knew she had done nothing wrong, she had trouble meeting Veronica’s eyes. She followed her out of the blue team’s house, and together they walked to the edge of the bluff overlooking the main beach.

She calls Jordan by name,
Camilla thought.
Why am I always “young lady”?

Barks and yelps drifted up to her ears—the seals on the beach below jostled and pushed, huddled together, settling into their places for the night. A chill breeze blew off the channel, and the skin on her arms shrank into goose bumps. The sunset lit Veronica’s face beside her, painting her pale eyes yellow-orange.

Camilla started. “We’ve somehow gotten off on the wrong foot—”

“Right.” Veronica cut her off. “I had a talk with Brent. About you.” She looked away, shifting her piercing gaze toward the mainland, and her lips compressed.

“Why?”
And what business of yours is it to talk about me, anyway?

“Brent’s concerned about you.” Veronica continued to stare into the distance. “He told me Travis tried to push you around, but you stood up to him. He thinks you antagonized Travis unnecessarily.”

Camilla stared at her in surprise. Brent was unhappy with her? But she had thought…

“Brent and I don’t agree about that,” Veronica said. She placed a hand on Camilla’s forearm for a moment—a kind gesture, almost affectionate. Veronica continued to scan the distant shore across the channel, but her eyes were softer now, defocused. There were faint lines at the corners.

“I think I might have misjudged you, Camilla.”

Veronica pointed across the water at something—Camilla wasn’t sure what. Then she crossed her arms. “Most of the women I take in at Safe Harbor are silent victims,” she said. “They’re afraid, which is understandable, but their abusers take advantage of that fear—often for years and years, until something finally snaps.”

She turned and met Camilla’s eyes. “If Travis ever bothers you again, you talk to Brent and me about it. But don’t ever be afraid to stand up for yourself, either. A woman’s got to be self-reliant.”

Camilla felt something relax inside her. She smiled at Veronica, glad to have finally earned her respect. What Veronica did for a living every day—it made her own job in animated film seem so frivolous and self-indulgent.

“Come on, let’s head back before we miss something,” Veronica said. “But I’d like to talk more later—get to know each other a bit. Jordan likes you a lot, you know.”

Camilla’s face split in a big grin. She and Jordan got along great, but she had never been sure how Jordan really felt about her. Following Veronica back toward the houses, she could see movement through the plastic-covered windows of the red team’s Victorian quarters—everyone was probably gathered there now, hoping to hear from Julian. A faint orange glow flickered in the windows, throwing shadows on the plastic sheeting. Someone had started a fire.

She turned to Veronica. “I want you to know I really respect the work you do.”

“Thank you.” Veronica pursed her lips, holding the Victorian house’s door open for her. “But don’t you also do something similar, for children?”

Camilla nodded. She didn’t like to talk about her foundation, her kids, but she would have to overcome that now, wouldn’t she? One of the implications of Vita Brevis’s publicity was that she would have to take an active front-person role, speak in front of crowds and cameras. And if she managed to win the five million dollars—ten million counting the matching grant—she would be able to make a real difference in the lives of so many more. She swallowed.

“Tell me about it,” Veronica said, stepping into the hallway.

Camilla realized that this was perfect product placement opportunity. The hidden cameras were rolling. Oh god, she should have thought about this, had something prepared to say…

“I take kids who have lost both their parents to Disneyland,” she said. “It’s easy to lose hope when you’ve had everything snatched away from you. What these children need more than anything is—”

“Disneyland?” Veronica’s voice turned harsh, rising in pitch and volume. “
That’s
your big contribution?
Disneyland?
”

The murmurs of conversation next door stopped. Camilla froze as faces appeared in the archway. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, and she knew that the cameras were getting all of it.

“You don’t understand…” Again she heard Avery wishing he were dead, and her eyes began to sting. She could see all their little faces in her mind’s eye right now—a whole parade of her kids, pale and quiet. Some were defiant at first, most only sullen and withdrawn, but she reached them all in the end. She held them through their tears, taught them it was okay to laugh again, to be happy again. The bond she shared with her kids was special, forged in her own childhood pain, and right this second, she was failing every single one of them. She forced the words out. “What they
need
is a reason to believe again.”

Veronica snorted. “And you give this to them how, exactly?”

“I take them on rides…” She stopped, realizing how lame that sounded. “I mean, the ones where—”

“Rides? Really.” Veronica swept an arm behind her, glaring. “I’m saving women’s lives out there, and you’re going on
rides
? What are you, seven years old?”

Behind Veronica, pale ovals filled the gloom beyond the archway—Brent, Juan, Jordan, Lauren, Mason—all staring at the two of them. Mason seemed to be grinning. Camilla’s eyes blurred, and she couldn’t make out expressions anymore.

“How dare you patronize me!” she shouted at Veronica. “You don’t understand what it’s like. They… I…”

She drew a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “No, wait. Listen, why don’t we just—”

“I think I’ve heard quite enough.” Veronica’s voice was a calm, velvety purr now. Turning her back on Camilla, she pushed past the others and disappeared through the doorway.

Following her into that room was hard, but Camilla made herself do it.

C
amilla studied the scoreboard, avoiding the eyes of the other contestants. Her face still felt hot. She refused to look at Veronica, who stood nearby, talking easily with Natalie and Lauren. Part of her wanted to shrink into the floor and disappear, but the back of her neck was tight with anger. The way she had embarrassed herself and made her charity foundation look like a joke… well it hadn’t been an accident.

Veronica had set her up.

Camilla wanted to march over to her now, say the things she should have said the first time, instead of babbling about rides like she was brain-damaged. She would talk about the kids. How their little faces would light up, their dull eyes would become bright again. How Walt Disney’s imaginary magic could turn into real,
healing
magic.

But she knew what would happen if she tried. Veronica’s silvery, contemptuous gaze would freeze her, and her words would dry up in her throat. Again. Then Veronica would say something patronizing in that velvet voice edged with broken glass—maybe ask her if she was feeling all right, or if she perhaps needed to go lie down for a bit—and Camilla would look even sillier. So instead, she focused on the scoreboard while her face burned, and tried not to hear the conversations around her.

Camilla’s thirty-five wasn’t a surprise; she had kept track of her score in her head as she scanned the caches. But she was surprised to see that only Jordan had a score higher than hers. Sure, she had looked like an idiot in the hallway with Veronica, and Julian would certainly play it up for laughs in the final edited footage. But if she did manage to win the grand prize, then none of that mattered, did it? Her foundation would get the money regardless.