Chapter 27
A rush of cold air met Liz’s skin as she unzipped her sleeping bag and crawled out.
Beside her, Joni slept with an arm flung behind her head, a flock of tattooed starlings migrating from elbow to wrist. Her breathing was light, lips parted, eyelids flickering beneath a dream.
Liz clambered from the tent, disturbing a shiver of water droplets that had gathered on the fabric. A blue sky hung above them, but the clearing where they had camped remained in shade, the sun yet to crest the tallest peaks.
Coffee. That’s what she needed. She set up the stove on the dew-studded grass, then carried the pan to the river.
She knelt on the bank, dew soaking into her trousers as she scooped up a pan of water.
The river was running slowly, tiny midges circling above it like dust motes.
A small fish darted out of a patch of weed, disappearing just as quickly.
She had the urge to call, Fish! like she would have done when the twins were younger.
She had loved the point-and-name stage—Look! Digger! Fire engine! Bird!—and the instant giddy joy it delivered. Already the phase was ending, folded quietly beneath the next layer of childhood.
A low feeling of gloom settled over her—the sensation of so much being behind her.
Had she given too much of herself to the clinic and her patients, rather than her family?
A memory landed: returning late from work to find Patrick lumbering across their lawn, the kids hanging from each arm.
The children were already in their pajamas as he called to her: “Found a couple of ferrets. What do you want me to do with them?”
Liz was standing in her work shoes on their shaded deck. “Much meat on them?”
“I’ll check,” he said, tossing them onto the grass and sizing up their limbs through squeals of delight.
She should have joined them, played and tumbled on the lawn, nibbled their bath-fresh skin, but something had been nagging her about a patient she’d seen earlier, so instead, she’d returned inside to write a note on her phone.
By the time she’d finished, the children were in bed and she’d missed their nighttime kisses.
Memories like that left her bruised. But she couldn’t cut corners as a doctor. Liz didn’t get to have an off day or not show up—the stakes were too high. She knew that.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge her introspective mood. She carried the pan to their camp area and lit the stove, a blue flame hissing to life.
From the tents, sleepy voices began yawning awake.
“Coffee’s on!” she called, ready for company.
There were murmurs of enthusiasm, and she set about locating everyone’s camping mugs, enamel clinking as she gathered them, dusting dirt from their bases. As she turned, something caught her eye.
She jerked back.
A large brown fish, the length of her forearm, had been laid over a rock by the burned-out fire.
It had river-green spots across its body, glistening and slimy.
It was dead—freshly so—its black bulbous eyes bright.
There was a thin line of red at its belly.
Leaning closer, she could see the clean slice across its underside, the guts already removed, a blood-red space left behind.
Hairs lifted on the back of her neck. She looked up. The clearing was empty save for their tents, but the tree line beyond was shrouded in darkness.
She jumped—but it was only the sound of a tent unzipping. Joni emerged, bleary-eyed, pulling on a sweater, a glimpse of toned stomach revealed.
From the adjacent tent, Maggie exited yawning, waves of auburn hair loose around her shoulders.
“Feel like I slept in a tomb,” Helena said behind her, kinked fringe stuck to one side of her forehead.
Maggie stopped when she noticed Liz’s expression. “What is it?”
Liz pointed at the fish.
Joni, rubbing her forehead, came closer to examine it.
“Vilhelm left it!” Helena declared.
“Keep your voice down,” Liz whispered.
Maggie hugged her arms around herself, glancing around the clearing. “You think he’s . . . listening?”
Liz’s gaze searched the tree line.
Helena whispered, “Why would he leave a fish here?”
“Maybe he caught more than he needed,” Liz suggested reasonably.
Helena looked unconvinced. “Why not give it to us, then? Why sneak around in the dark and leave a dead fish in our camp? I knew I’d seen someone last night!”
“What?” Maggie said.
“When I was peeing, I heard a rustling. Must have been Vilhelm.” She shuddered theatrically.
“What are we going to do with it?” Maggie asked.
The four of them stared at the fish.
Helena said, “There’s no way I’m eating that thing!”
“We might be grateful for it after four nights of noodles,” Liz said.
“You want to put it in your backpack?” Helena said.
“Chuck it in the river,” Joni suggested.
Helena folded her arms. “I’m not touching it.”
With a sigh, Liz stepped forward and picked up the fish by its spiny, wet tail. Arm outstretched from her body, she carried it to the river’s edge and tossed it in with a splash.
The fish floated on its side, belly gaping open, a swirl of blood dispersing into the river.