“My head. Behind my eyes. Everywhere.” He stayed still and didn’t say anything else.

I waited a while and then I tried some more Tylenol. I worried that he would throw up again, but they stayed down this time. “You’ll feel better in a little while,” I said, but when I checked a half hour later, his forehead felt even hotter.

All through the night, he burned with a fever. He threw up again, and he couldn’t stand for me to touch him because he said it felt like his bones were breaking.

The next day, he slept for hours. He wouldn’t eat and he’d barely drink. His forehead felt so hot I worried the fever would fry his brain.

This wasn’t cancer. The symptoms had come on too suddenly.

But if it isn’t cancer, what is it? And what the hell am I going to do about it?

His fever didn’t go down, and I never wished for ice more than I did then. He was so hot and the T-shirt I dipped in water and wrung out was probably too warm to cool his forehead, but I didn’t know what else to do.

His lips were dry and cracked, and I managed to get some water and Tylenol down his throat. I wanted to hold him in my arms, comfort him, smooth the hair out of his eyes, but my touch caused him pain so I didn’t.

He broke out in a rash on the third day. Bright red dots covered his face and body. I thought maybe the fever was close to breaking, that the rash signaled his body was fighting the illness, but by the next morning the rash was worse, and he felt hotter. Restless and irritable, he slipped in and out of consciousness leaving me panic-stricken when I couldn’t rouse him.

The blood started trickling from his nose and mouth on the fifth day. The fear washed over me in waves as I wiped the blood away with my white tank top; by late afternoon it was red. I told myself the bleeding had slowed down, but it hadn’t. Bruises covered his body where the blood pooled under the skin. I lay next to him for hours, crying and holding his hand. “Please don’t die, T.J.”

When the sun rose the next morning, I gathered him in my arms. If he felt pain at my touch he didn’t show it. Chicken scratched at the side of the life raft, and I leaned over and picked her up. She plopped down next to T.J. and wouldn’t leave his side. I let her stay.

“You are not alone, T.J. I’m right here.” I brushed the hair back from his face and kissed his lips. Drifting in and out of sleep, I dreamed that T.J. and I were at a hospital and the doctor told me I should be happy because at least it wasn’t cancer.

When I woke up, I put my ear to his chest, crying in relief when I heard his heartbeat. Throughout the day, his rash faded, and the bleeding tapered off and finally stopped. That evening I started to think that maybe he would live.

The next morning his forehead was cool when I touched it. He made a sound when I tried to rouse him, which I thought meant he was sleeping and not unconscious. I left the house to gather coconut and breadfruit, filling several containers with water from the water collector and stopping frequently to check on him.

I made a fire. I didn’t have any way to time myself but if I had to guess, I’d say it took less than twenty minutes.

Not bad for a city girl.

I brushed my teeth. I really needed a bath – I hadn’t been near the water in days – but I didn’t want to leave T.J. alone that long. In the late afternoon I lay beside him, holding his hand. His eyelids fluttered, then opened all the way. I gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and said, “Hi there.”

He turned toward me and blinked, trying to focus. He wrinkled his nose. “You stink, Anna.”

I started laughing and crying at the same time. “You don’t smell so hot either, Callahan.”

“Can I have some water?” His voice was scratchy. I helped him sit up so he could drink from the water bottle I had waiting for him.

“Don’t drink too fast. I want it to stay down.” I let him drink half the bottle and then eased him back down on the bed. “You can have the rest in a few minutes.”

“I don’t think the cancer is back.”

“No,” I agreed.

“What do you think it was?”

“Something viral, otherwise you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get you some coconut. Sorry, there’s no fish. I haven’t been down to the water lately.”

He looked surprised. “How long was I out?”

“A few days.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Tears filled my eyes. “I thought you were going to die,” I whispered. “You were so sick and there was nothing I could do except stay by your side. I love you, T.J. I should have told you before.” The tears ran down my cheeks.

He pulled me close and said, “I love you too, Anna. But you already knew that.”

Chapter 32 – T.J.

I drank water while Anna went fishing. When she came back, she cooked the fish and fed them to me in bed.

“You made a fire,” I said.

She looked proud. “I did.”

“Did you have any trouble?”

“Nope.”

I wanted to shovel the food in but Anna wouldn’t let me.

“Don’t eat too fast,” she said.

I paced myself, letting my stomach get used to having something in it.

“Why is Chicken in bed with us?” I asked. I hadn’t noticed her at first, but she sat in the corner of the life raft not making a sound and looking very comfortable.

“She was worried about you, too. Now she just likes being up here.”

Later, Anna and I walked down to the beach to take a bath, stopping twice so I could rest.

She led me into the water and soaped up her hands, running them over my skin. When I was clean, she washed herself. Her hipbones poked out, and I counted every rib.

“Didn’t you eat while I was sick?”

“Not really. I was afraid to leave you.” She rinsed and then helped me to my feet. “Besides, you weren’t eating either.”

She held my hand and we headed back to the house. I stopped walking.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That boyfriend you had must have been a complete dick.”

She smiled. “Come on. You need to rest.”

Taking a bath wore me out so much I didn’t argue. When we reached the house, she helped me into bed and stretched out beside me, holding my hand until I fell asleep.

I didn’t have much energy for the next week and Anna worried about a relapse. She constantly checked my forehead to see if I had a fever and made sure I drank plenty of water.

“Why do I have so many bruises?” I asked.

“You were bleeding from your nose and mouth and apparently under your skin. That scared me the most, T.J. I knew you could only lose a certain amount of blood, and I didn’t know how much.”

Hearing that freaked me out. I stopped thinking about it and concentrated on nicer things, like kissing Anna and pulling her T-shirt off.

“You really are feeling better,” she said.

“Yeah. You might have to be on top, though. I don’t have the strength for anything else.”

“Lucky for you I like being on top,” she said, kissing me back.

“Lucky’s my middle name.”

Afterward, when I held her I said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘I love you, too.’” She snuggled closer and laughed. “You heard me the first time.”

***

In June of 2004, Anna and I had been on the island for three years. We hadn’t seen any more planes since the one that had flown over two years before. I worried they would never find us, but I hadn’t given up completely. I wasn’t sure if Anna could say the same.

***

“This is the last of the soap.”

Anna held a bottle of shower gel in her hand. Only a few ounces remained. The shampoo and the shaving cream were long gone. She still shaved me, but we were on our last blade and it was so dull it took a toll on my skin, drawing blood no matter how careful she was. We rubbed sand on our scalps – our version of dry shampoo – and it sort of helped. Anna talked me into burning off some of her hair. I torched the ends and doused her head with water, shortening it by eight inches. The smell of singed hair lingered for days.