Gilligan and Mary Ann had been gone for five days, the Skipper for four. (His message in a bottle had washed ashore, assuring them he was fine and the wedding would be soon, probably by the time they got the message.) Life went on, not the same as before, but it went on. The Professor had taken over the fishing on the island, and Ginger did most of the cooking, unless Mr. Howell felt like experimenting again. Mostly he and Mrs. Howell sat on their deck chairs, as if waiting for Gilligan to bring them drinks with little umbrellas. There had been a time when Ginger would've done it, back when she cleaned the Howells' hut in hopes that Mr. Howell would help her career when they returned home, but she no longer bothered to do anything extra. It wasn't bearable without Mary Ann at her side.

She couldn't believe how quickly the loneliness had set in. And it wasn't as if she were all alone on the island. But the three warmest, nicest people were gone. She'd never been close to the Howells and, much as she cared for the Professor, it was very hard to get him to open up about anything. She reminded herself that she would be back in Hollywood soon, maybe in a week, maybe in a month. But then she realized that she had had no real friends there, and her shallow friendships would probably be impossible to revive after so long away.

She was hanging the laundry on the line. There was less to do than usual because it was for only four people, not seven. And she didn't realize she was crying until she reached out for one of the Professor's shirts to dry her eyes on.

"Would you prefer a handkerchief?" the Professor gently asked. She hadn't heard him approach.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be drying out your shirt, not soaking it."

He didn't laugh at her feeble joke. Instead he asked, "Would you like to talk about it?"

She wanted to cry on his broad shoulders and not talk about anything. And how could she tell him what was bothering her when he was part of what was bothering her?

Then she found herself confessing, "I don't know. I guess I'm just lonely."

"Lonely?"

"Yes, you wouldn't understand. You like being alone. But I miss the others. Especially when I go back to my dark, empty hut and there's no one to talk to."

"I do understand," he said quietly. "In fact, I think I have a solution."

"A solution?" How could he solve her loneliness? He couldn't bring back the Skipper, or speed up Gilligan and Mary Ann's voyage.

"Yes, I'll show you tonight, if I can stop by an hour after dinner."

Was he offering what she hoped for, longed for? Impossible, after all this time. And she didn't want him coming to her out of pity. She reminded herself that this was the Professor, he never thought in those terms. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Good. Excuse me, I've got something to attend to right now."

"Of course."

He didn't head towards the lagoon, although he was carrying bait and a fishing rod. Instead he headed back to the huts.

She wondered what he had to attend to and if it was related to the "solution." She felt comforted already. He'd given what sympathy he was capable of, and it was foolish to want more. She finished hanging up the laundry and then started thinking about what she could serve for dinner if the Professor didn't catch any fish that day.

She decided on Spamburgers, since she'd come across some cans of Spam that were about to expire. She served them on rolls that Mary Ann had made before her departure, with lettuce as the only topping. Neither of the Howells cared for the meal but she bit her tongue as they complained. She was doing her best and it bothered her that they hadn't taken on much of the work, leaving almost all of it to her and the Professor. She was tempted to say that Mr. Howell could take over the cooking full-time, not just when he had a whim to. But she didn't want to quarrel. There were so few of them now and it was more important than ever to get along.

The Professor gave her a quick, sympathetic look and that helped her keep her temper. He understood, at least a little, how she felt. He was her friend, not a close friend like Mary Ann, but a friend.

After dinner, she did the dishes. Sometimes she and Mary Ann would take turns, and sometimes they'd do them together, one washing and the other drying. She decided she would get a roommate when she got back to Hollywood. She didn't want to live alone.

She went back to her hut to wait for the Professor. She thought of changing her clothes, freshening her hair and makeup, but she decided against it. It wasn't a date. He was just dropping by to talk.

An hour passed, and then another. She decided he wasn't coming. He could be absent-minded at times, caught up in his research. She could go to see him but didn't want to. Instead, she undressed and slipped into bed.

She hadn't always slept in the nude, but it had felt right after she was shipwrecked. Mary Ann used to tease that Ginger had "gone native," even on an uninhabited island. She did feel closer to nature here and she liked feeling the tropical air against her skin. Mosquitoes and other insects were a problem sometimes but netting at the windows helped with that.

Whenever someone woke the girls at night, Ginger would wrap a blanket around herself. No one ever remarked on her bare shoulders and legs, not even Mrs. Howell, although Ginger was sure she disapproved. But Ginger was allowed to be somewhat unconventional because she was an actress.

When she heard the knock that evening, she wrapped the blanket around herself, even though she knew it was probably the Professor. She could probably answer the door naked and he wouldn't notice!

She opened the door. "Hello, Professor."

"Hello, Ginger. I'm sorry I'm late, but it took longer than I thought."

"It?"

He held out a device. "This. It's a night-light."

She couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. Instead she said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He explained that it was a challenge since they had no electricity of course. But he'd recharged a battery and it should last at least till the rescue. "...Research has shown that light therapy makes a difference. Even a small light like this one can improve someone's mood."
"Well, thank you."

"Is this wall a good place for it?"

She sat on her bed. "Yes, that should be fine."

He attached the light to the wall and she could see its gentle glow. She didn't think it could make up for the emptiness in her heart but there was something a little comforting about it. And she thought maybe this was the best he could offer. He did mean well.

Then she started crying.

"Ginger, what's wrong?" He sounded surprised, and why wouldn't he be? She knew it was crazy to cry over a night-light.

She waved her hand as if waving away the question. She knew she couldn't explain. He would just think she was irrational.

Then he sat beside her and handed her his handkerchief. She tried to smile. "Thank you."

"I know I'm not the best listener, but believe it or not I do have a degree in Psychology."

She knew that. But right then she didn't want his mind or his ear. She wanted his arms. "Could you hold me?" she asked softly.

"Uh, yes, if you like." His arms went awkwardly around her. It wasn't as if they'd never hugged before, but maybe it felt different being alone in her hut at night. And maybe he wasn't as unaware of her nudity under the blanket as she thought.

And then she kissed him. It wasn't like past kisses, trying to get some response out of this unemotional man. She kissed him because she had to, whether or not he returned her feelings. She wanted him to understand what she could never find the words to say, the way she felt about him, unrequited or not.

He kissed back at first but then his mind seemed to reassert itself. He gently pulled away and said, "Ginger, I understand you're lonely, but I don't want to be kissed out of loneliness."

"Professor, I would want to kiss you even if I had Rock Hudson, Cary Grant, and Gregory Peck trying to break down my front door."

"Oh, well, in that case," he said and started kissing her passionately.