Chapter 15 #2
It seemed like it came out harsher than he was expecting, but, nevertheless, Noah doubled down. “You and I have a business arrangement. I help you. You help me. End of story.” It was like he wasn’t just reminding me; he was reminding himself.
“Noah, wait. I didn’t mean …”
But he was already moving, stuffing the trash into a carry-out bag.
Screwing the top back on the thermos with enough elbow grease to seal it permanently.
“We should head back.” He practically yanked the end of the blanket out from under me, stuffing it back into his pack.
“The trail gets busy later in the morning, and we don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than we have to.
“Noah …”
“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. I know I do.”
My heart sank as he whistled for Yeti, his wolf-dog happily frolicking after a butterfly. For a moment there, I thought we were actually getting along. No coffee was spilled. No one had been stranded. Maybe, possibly, something even more than just “getting along.”
I sat there for a moment wondering what I had done wrong. Noah didn’t even look back as he slung his pack over his shoulder and headed back down the trail. Just like that, Grumpy Noah was back and grumpier than ever.
The rest of the hike stretched in silence, broken only by our footsteps and Yeti’s occasional snuffling in the underbrush.
Just as eager to get back as he was, I matched Noah’s pace, despite the aches and pains.
At least the descent felt easier with the sun warming my shoulders and the wind at my back.
When the Jeep finally appeared through the trees, Noah still hadn’t spoken another word to me. Clearly, I’d stepped on a landmine I hadn’t known existed in our conversational battlefield.
I headed for the passenger door handle, but Noah beat me to it, stopping me in my tracks with another glare.
“I know, I know, you’re not being a gentleman.”
“It sticks,” he grunted, throwing his shoulder into the metal. The door groaned in protest before popping open with a screech that sounded like bear claws on a chalkboard. “There.”
“Charming vehicle you’ve got here. You do know you can buy a new one of these, right?”
“New doesn’t mean better.” Noah stepped aside so I could wiggle into my seat, another feat of strength and skill that would have benefited from continued Pilates lessons.
Yeti jumped into the back, and Noah slid behind the wheel, stabbing his key into the ignition like a knife. He turned it. The engine made a sad whirring sound.
“Shit.”
Another turn had the same result.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
After the third time, the whirring was followed by a loud CLICK that seemed to echo through the forest.
Noah closed his eyes. Perhaps praying. Probably cursing.
“Come on, girl.” He tried one more time. More whirring, more clicking, then the solemn silence of mechanical betrayal.
I looked over. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Noah threw me a look that could have flash frozen a mountain river.
“When’s the last time you had this thing serviced? Or is this part of your normal client hiking experience, too?”
“Must have jarred a wire loose when we hit one of those bumps.” He popped the hood and jumped out.
While Noah checked the engine, I checked my phone. No bars again. “Great.”
Yeti leaned forward into the front half of the Jeep, tail wagging, slobber drooling, as Noah messed under the hood. He muttered words I couldn’t hear but could definitely categorize.
“Try it now!” he called.
I pushed Yeti’s face out of the way and slid over to the driver’s seat. I turned the key. Nothing.
“Again!”
Click.
Click.
Click.
The sound of imminent doom.
Noah slammed the hood shut. “Battery’s dead. You turned the light off when you finished looking in the mirror, right?”
“Um…” Before our hike, I’d asked Noah if I could turn on the interior light to check my makeup in the mirror. “I thought it turned off automatically?”
“Does this vehicle look like it has automatic anything?”
I couldn’t post selfies with an imperfect face, could I? I made the wise choice not to say that part out loud. “Good thing you brought those flares with you, huh?” I mimed a flare shot, or at least my imagining of what shooting off a flare would look like, since I’d never actually done it.
Noah’s eyebrows sank even lower. “We’re not using the flares.”
“Satellite phone then?”
Noah came around to my side of the Jeep and yanked the door back open, the metal protesting like it was being summoned from the dead. “We’re not calling for help either.”
“Air lift it is.”
Noah pointed to an opening in the trees, a narrow path barely visible through the undergrowth. “We walk.”
“Great. More hiking.” To say Noah was unsympathetic would have been generous.
“Come on, Yeti.” The wolf-dog sprang from the back of the Jeep as if she’d been waiting for this opportunity her entire life. She plunged down the path, a wolf-dog on a mission.
Noah grabbed both backpacks from the rear, slinging them over one shoulder. “Good thing you changed those shoes.”