Sugar Sand Cay

"Oh!" Michelle's face stretched with her epiphany. "Why not just pump some of the milk, if you're so full?"

The girl always had something to talk about.

"The good pump is at home. The one I keep on the boat has a leak―which I discovered this morning, unfortunately," Rhonda said. She saw Caleb was asleep and noticed Michelle shifting uncomfortably so she went ahead and took him back. She bobbed him some till he went boneless, a sack of flour on her shoulder. Michelle appreciated the break. "I'll have to do something, though. Maybe do it by hand. It's bad to stay full for a long time since milk ducts can get inflammation."

"Little booger's knocked out. Heat must have got him," Michelle went to Rhonda's back and made kissy faces. Then, she resumed pace with the thirty-one-year old, holding Rhonda's open hand. "And see? You're full of breast milk and knowledge. This is the kind of stuff you could teach me. It's decided. I'm going to try and put these puppies to work."

Rhonda relented but continued deflecting unsuccessfully. "If you find a man like mine, he'll be very appreciative. Trust me."

"A man. . . or a woman," Michelle winked.

That, Rhonda hadn't considered. Well, she had, just not seriously—why hadn't she taken that option seriously?

Based on their talks, there were too many guy friends that Michelle wasn't dating, so it made sense for her to actually play for the other team. Girls didn't usually keep company with guys unless they were dating or sex prospects, so having so many platonic male friends should have been a giveaway.

In Rhonda's head, at least.

Still, having her niece come out to her so suddenly, Rhonda couldn't stop her eyebrows from carrying her surprise.

"What? I hadn't told you?" Michelle had an open-mouthed grin. "I'm so sorry, I totally meant to. Didn't you see those pictures on my socials last year?"

"I thought they were your birthday."

"It was my coming out celebration," Michelle glowed, hot as the beach, proud as could be. "And now I feel dumb for not telling your personally. Oh well, now you know."

Rhonda found her hand was still in Michelle's. She gave it a comforting squeeze and turned on the charm. "I always suspected."

"Oh, hush."

At that moment, thunder rolled over the beach. The two turned to the water. Purple-black storm clouds seemed to come from nowhere and were just a few minutes offshore. Rhonda's mind brought her a picture of her husband frowning at his weather radar just an hour or so prior. Popup showers, he'd mentioned.

An icy wind cut between them, launching their hair away from the beach toward the line of trees on their left. The updraft's strength and the chill that accompanied it were more symptoms of a strong, impending shower.

Rhonda was about to say they should turn back, but Michelle interrupted her. Her finger pointed to what looked like a cloud, but was angled too low to be referring to the sky. There, in the darkening water, was a polka dotted floating tube. It stood out against the darkening waters and angry sky, as did the set of legs dangling over the side of it.

"What is Ocean doing out there?" Michelle said, a line of distress in her voice.

Rhonda was quick on her feet. "Probably trying to get used to the waves. But this storm probably has some rip currents associated with it." The rest of the idea, she kept to herself. The currents could carry her miles and miles, dangerously far from the rest of the party who were probably loading up the boat to take shelter. Worse, Ocean didn't seem to be aware of her drifting. She didn't seem conscious at all.

"Rhonnie," Michelle whispered, becoming a child, gripping Rhonda's hand like it was the only thing sturdy in her entire world.

Then, Rhonda remembered she was only twenty-five and hadn't had much actual life that she'd lived. She was still, in many ways, a little girl. And her friend was in potential danger, floating steadily away.

"Michelle, would you do me a huge favor? I need you to take Caleb back. Mark'll be busy getting ready for the rain, but just keep an eye on the baby and lend a hand where you can," Rhonda pulled her son away and held him out.

Michelle's eyes flicked from the sleeping baby to his mother. Her features darkened, the shadow of the storm in the wrinkles of her face. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to get Ocean and I'll be right behind you. She's probably fallen asleep out there, poor thing," her smile came out to protect her niece. Unlike Michelle, Rhonda was very much a chameleon, and could fake resolve and confidence whenever she lacked it.

Michelle took her cousin but didn't leave right away. "Are you sure? Maybe I should tell Mark so he can bring the skiff around."

"You should do whatever makes you feel safe and comfortable. But chances are, I'll be back by the time you guys are done loading everything up. Really, there's nothing to worry about," said Rhonda, now a little ashamed of outright lying to the girl.

It wouldn't be as easy as she made it sound, but she was still confident that she could handle it. Hard, but doable.

Michelle ate up the words. Obviously, she was hungry for reassurance. She nodded and turned, rounding a bend toward the landing beach, Caleb curled soundlessly in her arms.

Now, it was Rhonda and the waves. She'd been raised to respect the water, went to lifeguard school, worked as one for ten years, and was married to a boater. She knew the danger of what she was about to do. Thunder clapped above. Instead of stoking the fear, though, it hardened her will to steel. While challenging the maze of undercurrents was dangerous, so was letting a girl with seasickness drift indefinitely in storm-empowered waves. By the time Mark got around to this side of the beach, there would be no telling where Ocean would be. Would she wake up in a panic? Would her tube capsize somewhere?

Was she just asleep? Or passed out? Or somehow. . .

Rhonda was in motion before she could register it. The netted top was hooked over a spear of wood coming off a fallen palm tree. She had tucked her sunglasses under a heavy piece of driftwood nearby so they wouldn't blow away. The sting of icy water shocked her senses but she consulted her training and steadied her breathing as her arms churned.

It took more than she thought to reach the tube, as each time she set her eyes on it and ducked to swim harder, she found that it had slipped even further down the beach. A current, obviously. Dark, river of water. The waves so far out were much taller, and it was a fight to make it to deeper water where she wasn't being beaten over the head with salty white caps.

Her lungs were burning when she laid a hand on the rubber. Ocean didn't move. A streak of worry lanced through Rhonda so she called out the girl's name. "Ocean? Hey, you awake? Ocean!"

Time dilated. It seemed to take forever for her words to leave; minutes passed as she waited. But those long, smooth legs kicked out and the tube shifted as Ocean turned over and looked over the side at last. Their faces were close, noses nearly touching.

"What's going on?" asked the tubber.

Analytic eyes took in Ocean's bugged eyes, trembling lip, and occasional bodily shivers. She was cold, frantic, and out of sorts. She'd probably been asleep and was waking to her dire situation; seeing her nightmares.

It was up to Rhonda to be the solidity the situation called for.

"It's alright, sweety. We're fine. Just floating on a pretty strong riptide right now, okay?" Rhonda threw an arm over the tube, bracing some of her weight against it.

"Riptide! Oh no―shit, shit! No. . ." Ocean pleaded. She almost gave herself whiplash, searching for a direction to go.

Exactly the opposite of what she needed to do. "Hey! Listen to me," Rhonda dialed up her firmness while keeping what little kindness she could. "We're not swimming out of this. Fighting it is a wonderful way to drown, okay? We're going to have to ride it out."

"Ride it? You're crazy―where am I? Where's the boat and Michelle―oh God, is Michelle okay?"

Rhonda slapped a hand on the girl's thigh and squeezed. Ocean yipped but sat still. Underneath her palm, Rhonda could feel the jolts of rabid panic. It was like soothing a caged animal in a zoo, but without any food to help in winning her loyalty.

"Michelle is safe and sound. Probably sipping a martini as we speak. But you and me are stuck going with the flow till it lets us go. Should only be a few minutes longer. As long as we don't struggle and don't fight, we can make it back to the beach, okay?"

Ocean watched the sugary sand coastline like it was actually made of sugar, longing for the green apple taffy palm jungle and cotton candy white clouds behind it. When she turned to look and nod at Rhonda, it put the churning gulf and the thunderheads in view.

She agreed to calm down.

Rhonda's three free limbs flapped around gently behind her while the two rode the current. She was able to keep Ocean calm for a while with introductions and girlish chit chat. But when the sky dumped rain on top of them and thunder rolled like a timpani overhead, both women went silent. There was no shelter from anything. They were out in the open as bullets of water pelted their skin. When lightning struck, it sent volts through the air and water, making the hair stand on end. At any moment, mother nature or Ocean herself could do something completely unexpected and one or both of them could end up―well, Rhonda didn't want to think about it.

They had to make it back. There wasn't another option. She had a son and a husband and a vacation to enjoy.

But the tide didn't let them off in any timely fashion. It may have been the torrential rain making time linger and clog, but Rhonda could swear she saw the white and green and browns of the beachy cay disappearing. She herself felt true fear like she never had in her adult life. What if they were set adrift at sea? What if she was wrong about the riptide releasing them? Maybe they ought have been fighting all along, and her ignorance of the situation was what would eventually doom them.

She wished she wasn't so tired. She wished the headache from rain smacking her across her neck and head would stop. She wished to see Mark and Caleb and Michelle.

Rhonda wished and wished into a small pocket of air beside the float, reinforcing her will with thoughts of family, till she was so deep in her head that she confused Ocean's touch for more rain. When her head rose, she saw that the black ink above her head was shattered into gray smokestacks. Rain was a drizzle. The sense of motion parallel to the sand was gone―actually, waves seemed to be pushing them closer to shore. Her toes touched the sandbar.

"About time," was all Rhonda could mutter.

"It's over. That had to have been a typhoon or something," Ocean said.

Rhonda began pulling the tube ashore. Ocean slipped through the middle hole once her feet could touch the ground and helped trudge the rest of the way. They both collapsed into the sand once they were beyond the breaking tide. For a long while, they both lay there. Ocean on her stomach, Rhonda on her back, they listened at distant thunder and bonded over their knife's edge encounter with the gales and floods of tropical storms.

When she could command her muscles to move, Rhonda pushed herself up. Grits of dirt clothed her but she never bothered to dust it off. Instead, she crawled toward Ocean. "It can still rain. We need to start making our way back. Feels like we drifted for quite a while." She didn't say it, but at the speed they were being carried away, she measured that they could be miles and miles down the beach.

Ocean lay outstretched like roadkill. Something about it wasn't dramatic, though. She looked legitimately spent. "I-I can't move my legs," her voice was a tremble. "I'm too weak. I can't move anymore."

"Not at all?" But she'd just waded to the beach. Was that all the energy she had left? Rhonda had to ask twice as thunder clapped loud enough to block the first question. "C'mon. We didn't go through that storm to go all limp on the beach. Now's when we really knuckle down."

"I-I'm just too exhausted," the girl groaned.

Rhonda felt a vein throbbing over her temple. The need to nag was swallowed physically in a mighty gulp just as she got down on her knees and helped Ocean flip over. Once she saw the girl on her back, the blonde woman could reason why Ocean might be weak.

"When's the last time you ate?" Rhonda spoke.

"Breakfast. It wasn't much, though."

"Anything to drink?"

"A little water," Ocean coughed at the end of her answer.

"Are you in any pain?"

"Just weak, that's all."

Rhonda couldn't believe that. She surveyed Ocean's body. Her twists of black hair exploded into dyed blues―probably inspired by her name. Her olive-toned skin was gaunt and clammy and her full lips lacked a certain sheen. Her hair, bikini, and eyes all matched for color: blue, blue, sapphire blue. But her eyes would only flicker open occasionally, when the lightning cracked. Her bikini held her body tight but revealed a stomach that was too concave―skinnier than skinny.

The sound of Ocean's sea sickness rang in Rhonda's memory. The girl had spent the better part of the ride over the side railing. There probably wasn't an ounce of solid, nutritious food inside her. She was dangerously dehydrated, too.

Ocean needed something to eat. Food was miles and miles away, though. Without some calories, she would need a doctor and an IV. Unfortunately, those were miles of water away too. There were no nautical ambulances.

Despite the critical nature of the moment, Rhonda couldn't keep her eyes off the tall, sculpted cheekbones, the exotically rich skin, and the gentle slopes of femininity in all of Ocean's corners. Her hand moved before she could clock it as she moved a hook of hair out of the younger woman's face.

Ocean was so, so pretty. At once, the connection between her looks, her concern, and her suffering on a boating trip despite terrible sea sickness all came together.

"Hey, Ocean. Are you and Michelle. . ." Rhonda trailed.

But Ocean didn't answer. Her breathing made her chest soar and her eyes were closed, jittering as if she was falling asleep. Rhonda gave her a nudge which did summon a bit of noise from her. Not much was happening on its own, though.

Shit. This was no time to think. Rhonda had to act.

Rhonda heard the roll of thunder and immediately changed plans. Her body churned like it hadn't since she was much, much younger. In a way, it felt good to just focus on her limbs and breathing, noticing the world around her change in tiny alterations but mostly being nested in a singular direction. It took twenty minutes for her to scout for a location, to gather some supplies from the jungle around them, and to clear a space. Unfortunately, the cay had no rock faces that she could remember, so she had to put in the work of creating a lean-to with a low branch on one of the trees. Using palm fronds, she topped the structure, but by the time another fit of rain forced her to take shelter, she'd only partially covered them and drops of water started pooling at the back of the base. Some mismatched sticks as a floor kept them off the wet ground, too.

It wasn't Mark's luxurious boat, but it helped them keep dry-ish.

That's where Ocean woke up again. She was warm somehow and the smell of fresh rain water was therapeutic to her dizzy mind.

"Where am I?" she whispered, voice light as a bell.

The answer, to her surprise, came from above. "We're taking shelter. The rains might get worse before they get better and I don't know how far away we are from the others."

"How will they find us if we're in the jungle?"

"We'd hear the boat engine. It's a sprint to the beach."

"Rhonda? Where are we?"

Rhonda couldn't resist a smile. "We're waiting to be rescued. How do you feel?"

"My eyes can't focus. I'm so hungry I can't see straight."

Rhonda smothered her grumbling tone. Food was so low in priority―it might as well not be on the list at all. As hot as the beach had been, the rain was frigid. There was nothing dry around for fire. A lack of heat would make for a long night. A cold night, mixed with rain, could spell sickness, too. And even if the rain stopped, there was the issue of fresh water. Rhonda would be fine for a few days, but Ocean? All her vomiting had to have left her dry as a desert. The rig Rhonda had set up by recycling a discarded plastic water bottle would be a morale boost later. It wasn't even close to sustenance―not for two people.

Positivity was harder than counting stars―ones that couldn't be seen for the clouds. Everything was falling apart. Nothing had gone the way Rhonda had wanted from the very beginning. A pukey ride over, her son refusing to relieve her, the rain, the current carrying them so far away. It took its toll on the thirty-one year old, who found the darkness creeping in at the corners of her world.

She dropped her head and happened to find Ocean, paralyzed and shivering from cold and fear. The woman curled further up Rhonda's thighs, pressing her cheek into her lap, shielding herself from a crash of electric power breaking above them.

Rhonda rediscovered her strength. Ocean was still just a girl. Like Michelle. Rhonda wasn't much older, but her life had matured her. She knew what being the rock meant; how to have people lean on her emotionally―physically as well, in this case. More importantly, she knew why.

"I could use a veggie burger," Rhonda sighed, injecting nonchalance into her voice. "Fresh off the grill with a crispy leaf of iceberg lettuce."

"Stop! Veggie burger? Oh no. I need the real deal," Ocean croaked, though her smile tinted her words with joy.

"With cheese and a little mustard."

"You disgust me," Ocean squirmed. "Who eats that healthy? You need all the essential condiments: ketchup, mustard, mayo, and barbeque sauce. Lettuce, tomato, onion―the holy vegetable trinity. American cheese, swiss cheese, pepper jack cheese, six strips of the finest bacon, and a beer drilled from twelve feet beneath the Antarctic ice cap. That's what I want."

"Where do you even put a meal like that? You're so thin."

"Goes to my tits," Ocean answered flatly.

It made Rhonda blush, though she knew there was no reason to. They were two girls, alone, distracting themselves from their doomed state. "Scientists should study you. If they could figure out what gene to turn on to send all excess fat to the right spots, could you imagine the money they'd make?"

"I can imagine the breast augmentation industry suffering. So many plastic surgeons out of their jobs. And what will we do with all the warehouses full of breast implants?"

Rhonda spoke before she realized what she was saying. "It isn't just the fullness, though. It's connective tissue. Like, I know no matter how great my chest looks now, I'll start sagging way earlier. It's what happened to every woman in my family."

"I don't mind saggy boobs. Perkers are overrated. So long as they look full, it's okay to have naturally low-hanging fruit."

Rhonda blushed at that as well. This time it was warranted. Ocean couldn't know what she had just admitted to. Rhonda should have known better than to take a starving, delusional girl's trivialities as anything more than chatter, yet her body reacted and she couldn't ignore it.

Once she stopped breastfeeding, she figured that was it for her traditional beauty. She'd hit the wall. That's what Rhonda had been trying to warn Michelle; be happy for tight and lithe and trim, because once you get big, it's literally all downhill from there. (Without surgery). Yet, despite her resignation, Rhonda had a tiny blip of hope that being huge and a little saggy would be manageable. She didn't expect to hear that part of her spoken to, praised, or even acknowledged―by a stranger. There was still something of value in a full chest gracefully succumbing to nature's pull. That's what Ocean thought. And Rhonda knew she'd thought ill of the girl too soon.