8. Billie

CHAPTER 8

BILLIE

O n the fourth day of Jens being on the island, I cave and take him with me into the wild.

All he’s done since he recovered from his ordeal is follow me around like a lost puppy. He’s constantly at my heels, wanting my attention. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he wants my affection too because there’s a rift between us about almost everything that’s pretty much impossible to bridge. But he will not leave me alone.

Plus, he seems kind of weirdly eager to learn about things — not just how to do things, but about my work, the island, the cabin. It’s like he’s an alien who arrived on Earth looking like a fully formed adult man but doesn’t have the first clue how to do anything that a real human does.

Thinking about it now, I don’t even know how old he is. Same as me, I assume — twenty-five or twenty-six. He doesn’t look like he can be any older, though he sure acts like he’s a hell of a lot younger.

Here’s a guy whose mother has done everything for him all his life, and he doesn’t realize that women aren’t there just to wait on him.

No, that feels unfair. I’ve met guys like that. I’ve dated guys like that — ones who think the whole world revolves around them, and you’re simply there to do all the cooking and cleaning without complaint. The kinds of men who get angry when you bring it up with them that maybe it’s their turn to do a chore, or let them know it might be nice if they’d listen to how your day went instead of whining on about how awful everyone in the office was all the time. The worst part about guys like that is they always start off acting like they care so much about you and make you feel so special, but somewhere along the way, the magic rubs off and you realize you’ve stopped being a girlfriend and started being a housewife.

So, no, I don’t think Jens is like that. He’s weird and annoying, but he seems to be desperate to prove himself to me. That, his wide eyes, and his dogged desire to learn what it is to be a real human man have completely intrigued me.

I might teach him something about foraging. Maybe I’ll just get him to carry my camera case.

I don’t think I trust him with the camera yet.

To my surprise, as I lead him around the island, he isn’t bothersome at all. He carries my stuff without complaint and doesn’t even make that much noise trampling through the undergrowth. He does make a fuss whenever he sees a bug, but he could be much worse.

“What’s this?” he asks, pointing at a bush with some pink fruit on it.

I walk over to the bush, its leaves rustling, and look more closely at it. “That’s cocoplum,” I say, standing back up. “You can eat it, it’s good.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what cocoplum looks like.”

“What if there were other ones that look the same?” he asks innocently. From anyone else, I would think they were being facetious on purpose, but yet again, I think it’s a genuine curiosity and desire to know more about the world that’s shining through.

I’m certain that I should find his behavior really annoying, but somehow he amuses me.

“Here, try one,” I say, plucking a fruit from the bush and offering it to him. I take another and eat it myself — I love these things. They’re sweet and fresh and utterly delicious.

Jens narrows his eyes suspiciously, but takes it from me and places it carefully into his mouth. He frowns, but as he eats it, he starts to nod in slow approval.

“That’s actually okay,” he says, and somehow that feels like the highest of praise.

We continue through the forest. Overhead, some birds launch from the branch they’re perching on, and Jens stares up at them in wonder, his bright blue eyes wide as he takes in the beauty of the natural world.

“How do you know where to look for what you’re looking for?” he asks as he follows me.

I shrug. “I don’t really. A lot of nature photography is just about getting lucky. There are certain hotspots that I like to hit. I do a full scout of the area I’m staying in before I start shooting, and usually I have a pretty good clue of habitat the animals I’m aiming for like to live in. But knowing… you never can know for sure. All you can do is hope for the best.”

“What happens if you don’t get any good photos?”

“Usually I manage to get at least one or two. But generally, especially if I’m working at the request of someone else, they’ll pay me to come out here, and I’ll charge them a set rate depending on days, location, difficulty, stuff like that. The thing with naturalists is they understand that the animals don’t always want to come out. Often they have lots of stuff on their wish list so that they can get at least something out of my trip. Then sometimes I sell photos independently as well. I like to get funding to go on trips, but I don’t always have to anymore, which feels nice.”

He nods as I talk, taking in all the information. I get the sense that he’s formulating another question, but before he can say anything, a rush of noise overhead startles us both as well as half a dozen more birds who take flight from the bushes.

“Damn,” I mutter. Overhead, a helicopter races past before heading back out into the ocean.

“I take it that’s not a common sight?”

I shake my head. “No, Isla Mostaza is about as as tranquil as an island can get. Sometimes this happens, but usually only when they’re looking for something or someone…” I trail off, realizing what that means.

Jens goes quiet. I reach out as if to take his hand in comfort, but pull away before I make contact. “You can use the emergency phone if you want. Let people know you’re alive.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m here now. I’ve made my choice.”

I want to say something else, but I can’t figure out what, and then it’s too late, because Jens adds, “I want to go back to the cabin now. Please.”

I don’t question it and lead him back, and I don’t see him for the rest of the day.

The next day, I take Jens out with me again. Despite his general incompetence and bizarre way of thinking, he’s a decent conversationalist, and at the very least it’s nice to have someone to hold my camera case.

I’m a little bit concerned about it raining, but we head out anyway.

“I can always bring umbrellas to hold,” says Jens just before we head out, which makes me giggle.

“I don’t have an umbrella,” I say. “When it rains here, I stay inside.”

“Isn’t that boring?”

“I always have work to do.” I hold back from adding not that that’s something you would understand , because it feels unnecessarily nasty. “If it starts raining, we’ll just head back.”

Jens shrugs and doesn’t ask any more questions. We head out, skirting along the edge of the tree line on the beach. I’d love to get some pictures of birds in the sea today — the turbulent skies could make for some really dramatic shots. Plus, if it does start to rain, we can run back to the cabin without having to worry about crunching through the trees.

“How do you cope with getting all this sand in your shoes?” Jens whines as we walk, stopping to shake his feet every two seconds.

I turn to roll my eyes at him. “First of all, sneakers really are the wrong kind of shoes to be wearing in this place. Second, I don’t know. You just kind of deal with it. Surely you must have been to a beach before.”

“Obviously,” he scoffs. “I just usually don’t have to do this much walking.”

“Sure — you have your own personal donkey to carry you around.”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish. I probably shouldn’t have said that. “Some of us like to sunbathe, that’s all.”

“If I wasn’t at work, I’d agree with you completely.”

“You would?”

I stare at him, my eyebrows drawing together. “You really think I’m just some kind of scruffy, outdoors girl who doesn’t care about my appearance at all, don’t you?”

Wisely, he decides not to say anything to that, just shakes his head in a way that I can interpret however I want. I decide I’m bored of this conversation and don’t say anything else either.

We walk in silence for a long few minutes. I’ve no idea what he’s thinking about or looking at, but I’m too busy scanning the surroundings to pay attention to Jens and his hurt feelings. If he wanted to be babied, he should’ve started following someone else around.

I spot some birds in the branches and gesture to him to stand still and be quiet. To his credit, he does exactly that. I grab my camera, crouch down, and set it up, then get in position, lining up my angles on the birds.

And then it starts to rain.

I get a few shots in, but I don’t want to get my equipment too damp. “Come on,” I say to Jens, standing up and reaching out for my case. “We should head back.”

His face falls like he’s genuinely disappointed. “Oh. Okay. We haven’t been out here very long.”

“No, but this is the wrong weather for it. It’s coming into storm season out here.”

Jens nods slowly, and trails after me as I walk back towards the cabin. “What are we going to do for the rest of the day?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think there’s a we ?”

I’m half-expecting him to look disappointed again, but instead his smile twists into one of confidence, like he’s sensed a challenge. “There must be games or something back at the cabin, unless you have work to do…”

“Yes, I do have work to do!”

When we get back, it takes twenty minutes before I cave and teach him a card game. He’s pretty slow to learn, which fascinates me. Didn’t he ever play cards as a kid? Didn’t he have any friends?

Maybe my friends and I were just weird, because we used to have a whole betting ring at recess.

But eventually he gets it, and the first time he wins, the light that illuminates his face is radiant and captivating. It’s like seeing a lightbulb turn on behind his eyes — and it should be so smug, but somehow it’s not.

“Good job,” I say, trying to be gracious in the face of his victory.

“Let’s go again. I’m sure that was just a fluke.”

“Maybe not. You’re pretty good at this.”

He dips his head, almost embarrassed by the compliment. “All right then,” he says. “Let’s go again so I can beat you.”

Despite his fighting words, he doesn’t. But the light in his eyes doesn’t go out, and by the time we go to bed, I’m left wondering more than ever about where he came from.