Chapter 12 Joel
JOEL
I’m awake before Brooke and I lie silently listening to her breathing.
I could have kissed her last night. I would have, if she hadn’t pulled away.
My eyes trace the beams in the ceiling as I listen to her breathe, remembering the feel of her hand on my arm, the heat of her, and how the scent of chamomile and citrus on her breath made my head spin.
How her emerald eyes widened with surprise and desire, telling me she feels this thing between us too.
It’s been so long since I was last attracted to a woman that I’ve forgotten what it’s like, but I am absolutely sure it’s never felt like this. The heady feeling of wanting to fall into her, to taste her lips, feel her softness, and press her body against mine.
There’s a stirring in my pants that has very little to do with it being morning and more to do with the woman sleeping almost within arm’s reach.
The woman who is my daughter’s teacher.
The thought of Dana has me crashing back to reality. If she knew what I almost did with her teacher while the students were in their cabins, she’d never speak to me again. No matter the attraction I feel towards Brooke, I can’t act on it. Not yet.
Instead, I silently slip out of bed. My sweatpants catch on my erect cock, and I push it down painfully. I slip out of the cabin, but not even the cool mountain air tames it.
The rain stopped sometime in the night, and I set off through the woods, pushing myself hard and trying not to think about the woman sleeping in the cabin.
We take the bus thirty minutes up the road to Willow Farm. I offer to drive, giving Bruce a chance to help clear up the storm damage. And it gives me a reason to put some distance between myself and Brooke. I don’t trust myself not to touch her if we sit together.
The road winds through the mountains, and I pass small slips, evidence of last week’s storms. I pull onto a gravel road, and a few minutes later we reach a cluster of buildings. I skirt the bus around the potholes in the driveway and park on a flat area away from the mud.
An elderly woman in homespun clothing meets us as the students climb off the bus.
We use their communal room as a base, and I lug the equipment in there. There’s a coffee station in the corner, and I put a pot on to brew.
While I wait for the coffee to filter, I watch Brooke. Strands of hair have escaped from her ponytail, and they dangle over her cheeks. I clasp my hands together to stop from going over there and sweeping them off her face.
She competently pulls camera gear out of boxes and distributes it to the students. She helps a small boy with dark hair set up a light stand in the corner, ready to interview someone.
Dana chooses a small DSLR camera and grabs a smaller case. She slings an audio kit over her shoulder and sets off on her own.
I pour my coffee into a takeout cup and follow her down the steps.
“Let me give you a hand.”
She turns slowly, her movements made awkward by the gear she’s carrying.
“It’s okay, Dad, I got it.”
I back off a step and watch her, a one-woman team. She has got it, carrying the gear she needs and heading confidently across the grounds.
“Where you headed?” I catch up with her and fall into step, not offering to help again.
“I set up an interview with Marge and Dave. They live off-grid in one of the community buildings.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
She eyes me skeptically, and I hold my free hand up. “Just to watch. I’m curious to see what you do.”
She nods once. “Okay. But don’t interfere. I want to do this on my own in my own way.”
“Got it.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Being invited to watch my daughter do the thing she loves feels like a small victory.
I glance back at the other students setting off in ones and twos.
Brooke told me they each have interviews set up and their own schedules.
They have free range of the farm and the community area here.
The residents have been generous and welcoming to them.
I won’t be missed by spending an hour with my daughter.
Then I’ll make the rounds and check in on the other groups.
There’s a cluster of buildings set away from the farm, and that’s where we head.
“Why did you choose this couple?” I ask Dana.
She pulls her lips together, thinking. “They seemed interesting. They arrived here separately as seasonal workers on the farm, met, fell in love, and never left. He left a corporate job in New York for this life. I want to find out what they saw here, why they stayed, why they put down roots here.”
She’s done her research, and I’m impressed. My sassy daughter, who spends half her life online, seems to have an instinct for people and their stories.
There’s a wooden gate, and I hold it open for Dana so she can get through with her equipment. A middle-aged woman wearing soft linen trousers, a plain gray t-shirt, and a worn straw sunhat comes out of a wooden cabin with a tin roof.
“Lock the gate behind you so the chickens don’t get out.” She smiles, and it makes her eyes twinkle. “Damn things will escape any chance they get.”
Her gaze passes over us, open and friendly. “You must be Dana.”
She introduces herself as Marge and offers to show us around the property.
The cabin has solar panels on the roof and a water tank sits behind it. There’s a generous vegetable garden, and beyond the fence an orchard with various kinds of fruit trees.
“We share the gardens and the orchard,” she explains, motioning to five other buildings dotted around the area, “with the other full-time residents.”
We’re joined by Dave, a fit man in his sixties wearing shorts and gardening gloves. He takes them off and shakes our hands firmly. This energetic couple is not what I expected from people living off the grid, but if Dana is surprised, she doesn’t show it.
I hang back as she sets up her equipment for the interview. She chooses a love seat on the porch of their cabin, and they sit side by side, their bodies molding together in a familiar way that only comes with years of intimacy.
Dana sets her camera up on a tripod and from the case selects a lens. She slips it onto the camera and adjusts the tripod’s position until she finds the shot she wants.
I stand back, watching my daughter, wondering when she became so competent. And when she became so at ease speaking with strangers.
It seems like only yesterday she was a little girl, giggling as I pushed her on the swings, begging me to go higher and higher until she was almost flying. Then she’d leap off the swing and into my outstretched arms. Now she’s almost a young woman, sure of herself, not needing her dad to catch her.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket and holds it up. “I’m going to have my phone camera running as well, so I’ll have two angles, but the main camera is this one.” She taps the DSLR.
The couple nod, and Dana pulls a smaller tripod out of her knapsack. She drags over a small table and sets the phone on top of it.
The interview begins, and I fade into the background.
Dana starts with easy questions to get them comfortable, asking about the cabin, and their set-up. As they start to relax, she gets to the bigger questions. What brought them there, how they met, why they stayed, the challenges of off-grid living.
She’s empathetic and draws the story out of them. By the time the interview finishes, I have a new level of respect for my daughter.
Marge heads to the kitchen to make coffee, and Dave goes to check on the chickens.
Dana quietly packs her audio equipment away. “Where did you learn to do that?”
She looks up, and her expression is soft. There’s no hard teenager here, just a girl who’s enjoying herself. “Brooke taught me the basics of the gear, and I watched some videos online.”
“No, I mean the interviewing. You really had a connection with them.”
She shrugs. “Brooke taught me to listen and to watch. Most people want to tell their story; you just have to give them the space to do it.”
She makes it sound easy, but it’s not a skill everyone has. “You were great, Dana. Really good.”
She beams at me, and all of a sudden her arms go around my neck she grips me in a hug. I’m stunned. I can’t remember the last time Dana hugged me. My arms go around her, and I pull her close.
“You’re doing good, kiddo.”
Marge comes in with a tray of coffee and cookies, and Dana pulls away. She’s back to her equipment, and I have to turn away to hide the emotion in my eyes.
Coming on this camping trip was definitely the right thing to do.
I leave Dana filming Marge feeding the chickens while I head back to the farm. There’s a warmth inside my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I know Dana’s going to be okay.