Libby squints at the comment about cars. Given all the wreckage that seems to be around this end of the island, it’s not out of the question, the thought of a mangled car on the beach. But she’s been up and down this shore and hasn’t seen – “Oh! You mean that big metal thing near the water? That’s not a car,” Libby laughs, but it’s goodnatured, not condescending. “That’s a plane. They’re like… the cars of the sky. They’re not what’s on the roads. And yeah, in comparison, they’re huge. I didn’t really tell you about those because, well… guess they never came up.” Thirty years of conversation and they never covered planes. Libby will give her teaching skills the benefit of the doubt here – there were plenty of things to be taught.
Briar’s comment about the sky earns a hum of understanding from Libby, though her green-eyed gaze lingers on the kid’s anxious hands in the sand. All tell-tale signs of being overwhelmed for Briar. And who could blame her? In an attempt at soothing, Libby pushes a stray lock of dark hair behind the girl’s ear, lips pursing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you,” she says genuinely. Her distraction from Briar had been unexpected to say the least, and though she certainly doesn’t regret spending the time with Tomas, she does feel a pang of guilt. She and Briar rarely sleep far apart from one another – or at least they hadn’t in the jungle.
(Except, of course, for those few weeks they don’t speak of anymore.)
“We can get you a window of your own, I’m sure, but I can think of a few to show you next time it rains.” Her nod is sincere though she barks a laugh at the threat of frozen feet. “Atta girl,” she grins, draping an affectionate arm over Briar’s shoulders despite her own diminutive height and the scolding about the tree.
“I know they don’t. Water and trees – there’s plenty of that to go around. We’ll find you somewhere that doesn’t have too much sky.” Nearness to the farm won’t do, then, as much as it would reassure Libby to know that Briar would be close to so many resources. Though God knows the kid would try to squirrel them all away… it’d been Libby who taught her that sort of self-preservation. She’s not sorry for it.
“No more moving – it’s a crazy concept, isn’t it?” Libby leans against the kid as they contemplate, though the mention of alcohol makes her laugh. “Yeah, no, I can’t say I’m especially enjoying it. But I’d just told some pretty shitty news to the lady who gave it to me so I felt a little too bad to refuse. Don’t get into that habit,” she warns before taking another bracing sip of the alcohol again, sticking her tongue out against the burn. Once that’s reeled back in, Libby nods with sincerity. “Good. We can handle some weird looks, can’t we? But if it gets worse, let me know – oh!”
Libby stands upright then, offering the younger woman a hand to join. “I’ve got something for you.” She grins proudly, hoisting Briar up then nodding in the direction in the farm for her to follow. As they meander up that path, Libby points out buildings. “That’s the warehouse – in late morning, apparently you can stop in to get some food. Whatever you want. And it happens every day, so you don’t need to worry about stocking things away, alright? It’ll always be there for you to take from.”
They duck into the aforementioned building, where Libby herself has done some squirreling – she ducks into a dry corner behind some sacks of God knows what and emerges proudly wielding a blue raincoat. “Isn’t this perfect? I know you mentioned my parka being too hot sometimes, and this – well it’s lighter, see? And it’s your size, maybe a little too big, but it’ll do.” Libby holds out the offering to her pseudo-daughter. “I think it’ll suit you, Bee, and it’ll keep you really dry. No cold clothes. Seriously. Go ahead, try it on.”
“What, they aren’t cars?” she demands, abandoning all pretext of sitting calmly, twisting in the sand to face Libby with a look of shock on her face. It’s hard to keep a straight, unconcerned face when someones says fantastical things. “The way Fi used to make things fly? You’re telling me they took that hunk of... of metal or whatever it is... and they managed to make it fly? Holding people? In the sky?” Each word tastes more foreign than the last. Cars already sound impossible, let alone flying machines. She flops back down again, rubbing her forehead; the idea sounds so ludicrous she doesn’t even flinch at the mention of Fi, a first in a long time.
“It’s not your responsibility to hold my hand,” she tells her, a little grumpily, though she tries to keep it out of her voice. It’s not Libby’s fault that the beach comes with a strange, sick feeling. “This place makes me feel I wandered away from the camp for the first time all over again. Not... that time, but the very first time.” A child, stepping too far into a direction on her own. Not lost for long before someone yanks her to safety, but left along long enough to feel as though she’d never find another person again.
The island doesn’t scare her on its own. But she can’t help thinking one day she’ll be the last one walking among it. Everyone else came from somewhere, and maybe the island will spit them out where they last were, but where did it send her?
She shakes her head briskly. “Do they have some around here? Or... the car-- the plane-- that thing had something like that on it. Maybe I’ll sleep in that next. Someone said it’s wobbly, though,” she comments, leaning into Libby, the tension easing from her shoulders at the familiarity. Tension returns slowly as a thought occurs, but she no more opens her lips before Libby is moving, tugging her along from their spot on the jungle edge to a well-traveled path along the farm. While Libby seems to be in her element, moving with certainty, Briar finds her head spinning, looking this way and that, nodding along with each of Libby’s words without processing them until the two reach a warehouse.
“Oh, so they can share,” she notes, following Libby into the building, arms crossing as she rubs her elbows. She pokes around as Libby disappears again, though she’s only snagged a single apple when she reappears again brandishing a raincoat. Briar sets the apple down, reaching for the raincoat and running her hand down the front of it. “This is mine? I can just... have it?” she asks with some wonder, scrunching the material in her hands and holding it close to her chest, as if daring someone to snatch it away. The castaways try, she knows, to give her something of her own, but necessity doesn’t always allow it. But this is hers.
She pulls it on over her thin shirt. It is a little big on her, but she’ll take it over the weight and heat of Libby’s parka. “It’s perfect,” she says, a thumb tracing over the seam of the material. She chews at her lip, letting the sleeves fall over her hands until only the tips of her fingers are exposed to the air. “Hey, Libby... are we all going our separate ways now? I thought, you know, we were just waiting to build something together.” But she’s barely seen some of the others. Libby, too, has been absent, off with the dark haired man who had snared her attention from their arrival.
