"And jellyfish stings," the man said.

Joey reached up and gingerly touched her burning eyelids. A Portuguese man o'war must have brushed against her face while she was drifting.

"You'll be okay in a day or so," the man told her.

Joey groped under the covers. She was wearing what felt like a fleece pullover and light cotton sweatpants.

"Thanks for the clothes," she said. "Or I should say, thank your wife."

"Actually, they belonged to a friend."

"Is she here now?"

"Hasn't been for ages."

So they were alone in this place, Joey and the stranger who had rescued her. "I can still hear the ocean in my head," she said.

"It's right outside your window. You're on an island."

Joey was too worn-out to be afraid. She liked the man's voice. He didn't sound like a psychopath or a sex criminal. Then again, she had a history of getting first impressions wrong.

"Sit up," she heard him say. She smelled lemon and tasted strong hot tea when he held the cup to her lips. She drank every drop. Next there was vegetable soup and she finished that, too.

"I wish I could see what you look like," she told him, "since you've seen all of me."

The man said, "Sorry, but that's how I found you." Stark naked on a bale of pot, Joey thought ruefully. She shivered from the flooding warmth of the soup, and for a moment she feared she might throw up. The man took the cup and lowered her head to the pillow.

"Back to sleep," he said. "I swear I smell a wet dog."

"You do. He's a pain in the ass, but he almost never bites women." It hurt when Joey smiled, her skin was so taut and raw. "What kind is he?" she managed to say.

The man whistled and Joey heard the brisk click of canine toenails on a wooden floor. A clammy nose poked against her neck. She patted the animal's head before the man whistled it back to its unseen corner. "He feels like a bruiser," she remarked.