Withering Hope by Layla Hagen Read Free Book Online Page B

of him at all. Memories of Chris—of us—don't belong in this alien place. They belong in our splendid apartment in L.A. and our favorite restaurant on the beach. Or in my old apartment and car. But not here. I can't keep the memories safe here. I can't allow myself to miss him. Missing him is debilitating. And I need all my strength to be able to survive.
    The third week, my conscious efforts to distract myself from thinking of Chris pay off, and I find myself thinking of him less often. My constant reminder is my beautiful engagement ring, but I can't bring myself to take it off. There is one moment when the thought of Chris is inevitable. In the morning, when I make the signal fire and look up at the sky. Though there has been no sign of a plane, I still hold the dwindling hope that we will be rescued. Since the chance of that happening is near zero, we walk down the hill regularly to check the water level. It's as high as ever. Tristan says it'll be a little over three months before it recedes enough to try to walk back to civilization. We have to survive until then.
    It’s also in this third week that I insist we build a fence around our plane. Just the idea of having a perimeter—s omething—s eparating our space from the forest makes me feel better. Tristan doesn't see the point of a fence, since we can't make one strong enough to keep big predators out in case they decide we're interesting, but eventually he gives in, and we start building one from the bamboo-like tree. The process is arduous and tiring. I'm not used to physical work, nor skilled at it.
    Tristan becomes a bit more talkative, but his answers remain mostly monosyllabic. I want to respect his privacy. I really do. Unfortunately, at this point, I am too starved for human interaction that doesn't consist of working together for food procuring or wood gathering not to push him for more. So while building the fence, I make another attempt. "What did you do before working for Chris? Were you an airline pilot?"
    Tristan sighs, and I brace myself for a yes or no answer.
    "You should concentrate on what you're doing with that knife. You could cut yourself, Aimee."
    I wince at the sound of my name.
    "Are you all right?" Tristan asks with concern, his eyes darting to the knife in my hand.
    "Yeah, perfect. It's just… it's weird, but when you called my name right now, I realized I haven't heard it in the three weeks we've been here." Goes to show just how starved for human interaction I am. "It feels good."
    "I can do it more often if you like," he says, shrugging.
    Tristan and I jump as a sound splinters the air. It sounds like thunder. That is usually a sure sign a storm will follow.
    Usually, when that happens the canopy protects us, and even when the sky explodes in thunders, we have enough time to make a run to the plane before the rain soaks us. The first wave of raindrops floats on the leaves in the canopy, only small ribbons of water trickling down to the floor of the forest. But as more water falls, its weight bends the leaves, and everything gets soaked. That’s the usual course.
    But this time, there is no rain. We listen for a while—no other thunder sounds.
    "I'd like that, you saying my name."
    "It's a nice name, by the way. It means loved in French, right?"
    "Yeah. My mom spent some time in France and loved it. She spelled my name the French way."
    "Aimee," Tristan says, in the same accent my mom did. I wince again.
    "Yep, you nailed it."
    He grins. "I'll call you like that if you stop pestering me to talk."
    I grin too. "No deal. We need to talk, or I'll go insane. I'm used to being surrounded by people all day in the office. And talking to them."
    "I'm used to being on my own either in the cockpit flying Chris all over the country, or in the driver's seat in the car. I'm used to silence, so I’m good."
    I blush, ashamed that I didn't try to talk to him more often when he was driving me. But he always seemed so unapproachable, so preoccupied