Rosalind
Orlando takes my hand and helps me up to the summit. There's a field of beautiful flowers, but nothing else.
"Gorgeous flowers," I comment.
"That's what you notice?" he asks.
"What? I like flowers. And these are gorgeous. I love them." I shield my eyes from the glare of the sun and look around, out onto the island and beyond. Orlando was right about it being a good vantage point. It's the highest point on the island, and I can see everything.
Orlando's also right about us being screwed. We're on a rinky-dinky island, like a New Yorker cartoon. There's a thick umbrella of foliage in the interior and a beach that circles the island, broken up by two lagoons, one bigger than the other.
For as far as I can see, there isn't another island or a boat anywhere. It dawns on me how l
