Lucky?

Katrina stared in disbelief at the bay in the moonlight. Only a few hours ago she had emerged from the sea, dripping. She remembered the feel of the hot sand under her feet as she walked from the water to Jack, who lay languidly on the beach thumbing through an old magazine.

But now Lucky---and Jack---were gone. She looked to the right and just managed to catch a brief glimpse of the boat as it sailed off, motor full-throttle, heading back to Jamaica.

Damn Jack! She had known she was in trouble when they had stopped in that café in Jamaica. She and Jack had been on his sailboat, Lucky, for five weeks, stopping at various Caribbean islands to restock the galley. While she had loved learning how to change the sails to catch the wind, Jack had usually preferred using the motor. They had been island hopping, spending time drinking local rum punch, dancing to the whale song of steel drums, and making love in the sand of hidden coves.

But yesterday she had seen Jack eyeing the waitress at the cafe. When she came to take the order, he had shown more than his natural friendliness. He had been flirting with her. He had then watched the waitress’s hips sway as she moved across the restaurant to place their order, and had barely listened to Katrina over lunch. 

Jack always got what he wanted. And now she was here alone on this deserted Caribbean island where they had stopped to camp overnight. She could see it all clearly in hindsight: Jack had planned this the minute he had seen the island from the boat. Suddenly he had been in a big hurry to spend the night on land. 

He had said that it was not even on his map, that they could be explorers charting new territory. “It will be good for us to spread out a bit overnight. Lucky’s feeling small. Maybe we’ll stay there for a few days camping out,” he had declared. Thinking back, she could now hear the false note of excitement in his voice. And like an idiot, she had bit the bait and enthusiastically jumped at the chance of adventure.

They had lugged all the gear ashore in the dinghy, set up camp, and had had a wonderful dinner of fresh caught fish cooked over a fire. Jack had said he was tired and turned in early, but Katrina had taken a great walk down the long stretch of the beach before she had crawled into the tent and curled up next to Jack. 

She wasn’t sure what had woken her up when she found him gone, but now she knew she was in real trouble. She had enough food and water for a few days---Jack wasn’t a total jerk---but after that, she was going to die. No one would ever know she was on this island. 

She stared into the last embers of the fire they had made on the beach and let her mind drift to the first time she had met Jack. He had walked into Jillian’s party late, and immediately been surrounded by people. Jack was like that. Everyone loved him. She had been finishing off her beer, gazing intently out the apartment window. She had hoped to appear interested in something outside, in an attempt to avoid having to make the requisite party small talk. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Jack break away from the group to head to the kitchen where the drinks were, and like the proverbial moth to a flame, she had followed him there. 

“Are you a friend of Janine’s?” he had asked, his voice surprisingly deep for a tall wiry guy. 

“Yeah, we were roommates in college our sophomore year, and have remained friends for the last five years since we both work as teachers, though in different schools,” she had replied, wondering if that was too much information. She often babbled when nervous.

“Cool. Want a beer?” He had raised one eyebrow as he pointed to the empty bottle she was still sucking on. 

“Sure,” she had responded, feeling her face flush.

Somehow she had found herself talking to him the rest of the night. She never really remembered what they had been talking about. He had walked her home, and for the next few days she could not stop thinking about him: His unruly blond curls, long tapered fingers, and that mischievous smile. 

She had been surprised when he had called her two days later. She could not imagine that she was his type. Then they had been dating for four months when he had suggested sailing in the Caribbean on his boat for her summer vacation. Apparently he was loaded, though it was a little unclear if he was working at some fantastic job or just had inherited wealth. She hadn’t cared. She had just felt lucky to be on Lucky.

Unable to sleep all night, she watched the sunrise over the island. It really was a beautiful place, just not somewhere to be all alone with limited supplies. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Jack had pursued her just because, as a teacher, she would be off in the summer and could play with him for two months, unlike most of their other friends who worked year-round and could never get two months off. He was a guy who always needed to be with someone. She was the sucker who had been his “someone” for a few months.

Katrina ate a power bar, peed behind a patch of sea grapes, and decided to climb the cliff overlooking the beach to see if there was any chance to find fresh water and perhaps berries or some other food to keep her alive for a few more days.

The last part of the climb was the worst. She was sweating hard as she clambered over the rocks. She could feel her face burning from both the sun that had risen strong and fierce and the scratches from the dense foliage at the start of her climb. She looked out over the beach at her small tent and viewed the vast ocean stretching before her. Her heart sank. 

Then she turned around.

To her astonishment, a village lay before her on the other side of the cliff. She could just make out the tiny figures of people in the streets. OK. So maybe she wasn’t going to die after all. Tomorrow she would pack up the campsite and head to the village. 

That night, under the stars, Katrina imagined hitching a boat ride back to Jamaica the next day. Then she pondered her options for a weapon of destruction. She had none. Pouring sand through her fingers, she suddenly smiled. It was amazing how sensitive motors were to sand. Although she had loved her floating home, Lucky was about to get unlucky.