Chapter Eighteen
I wait for five solid minutes before indignation at being told to stay catches up with me. Truce or not, I’m not going to sit by myself on a road close to the middle of nowhere with no idea what’s going on. What kind of Wilderness Clarrie am I?
I open my door and step out of the car.
The road is silent in a way that even the depths of the forest wasn’t, and the crunch of my feet against the gravel feels too loud.
The bushes that Declan and Jed ran into are still, apart from the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.
For all my attempts to be Wilderness Clarrie in the last few days, there’s something exposing about the crisp, open stillness of the road.
Like a rawer version of myself might actually exist here.
I can’t see any sign of Jed and Declan, and the bush is thick enough that I’m going to have to duck and weave to make it through the treeline.
A hundred more possibilities of what could be happening run through my head, none of them good, and none of which are even remotely close to what actually happens next.
I move forward, tentatively pushing aside one of the branches and watching where I put my feet. I really don’t want to trip again.
‘Hello?’ I call into the silent trees. ‘Declan? Jed?’
There’s no answer except for the trees rustling more aggressively, as though they’re admonishing me for speaking too loudly. Then a car flies past on the road behind me and the sound of tyres makes me almost wet my pants.
Come on, Wilderness Clarrie.
I push the branches firmly to the side and start forward into the trees, wishing I had breadcrumbs to track my way back to the car. I mean, I know the witch was scary and all in Hansel and Gretel , but really things worked out pretty well for them in the end.
I move another branch, pressing forward through the clearest-looking passage. An errant stick scratches my cheek, the sting of it biting and then abating to a dull pulse.
Where the hell are they?
I duck under a branch to keep following the gap, only to run smack bang into a solid, warm chest. Hands come to rest on my bare arms and my heart flips involuntarily at the contact.
I can feel every part where our bodies are a whisper from touching, and I don’t need to look to know who it is. I swallow, my eyes travelling up Declan’s chest. When they finally meet his, my breath catches. There’s a gentle wonder on his face I’ve never seen before.
‘Clarrie,’ he whispers, and my stomach jolts at his use of my nickname. He leans closer and for a stupid, strange heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me.
He doesn’t – of course he doesn’t.
‘You’ll never guess what Jed found,’ he says.
It turns out he’s right – I would never have guessed what Jed found.
Because I don’t think I could’ve even imagined that someone would spot a bird – while driving – and leap from the car to take a photo of it.
Or that my travelling companion’s initial confusion would transform into an only slightly less fervent excitement.
But when Declan leads me through the forest it is seriously the closest to skipping that I imagine he gets. His walk seems lighter, his eyes are bright and his voice is full of the same enthusiasm he has when he talks about his book. As though his guard has been stripped away. By a bird.
‘A regent honeyeater,’ Declan breathes in correction the second time I ask him to clarify that we’ve stopped for a bird. Then he rests a warm hand against my upper arm in gentle warning that we’re getting close and I need to be quiet.
His footsteps are light, and when he touches the branches ahead of us, they seem to move without resistance. Like the forest knows him. Forget horse-whispering or van-whispering, this man is a freaking tree whisperer.
Jed is standing so still that if someone told me he was a tall, grey-haired statue in the bush I wouldn’t even hesitate to believe them. He has a large camera trained at the middle of a tree, but at the sound of Declan and I arriving he looks towards us.
I’m expecting to see him frowning at the little sound we’ve made, but instead, his face is alight with joy. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are as bright as Declan’s; you can practically see the excitement pouring out of him.
If you’d told me earlier that a man looking giddy over a bird would fill me with anything apart from mild alarm, I’d have laughed.
Or smiled politely, so as not to offend you.
But there’s something about seeing Jed’s raw emotion and Declan’s unfettered enthusiasm that is like a stab in my gut, a raw envy that these two men feel so passionate about something that it’s tangible.
And, like last night when we were spotlighting, I feel a wave of longing.
I felt like that once.
The thought trickles through me, along with a memory of Gran pulling a box out of the storeroom, her eyes twinkling. ‘Something came in today,’ she whispered, scissors sliding smoothly along tape. She cracked open a side and we both leaned forward, breathing in the fresh book smell.
I can remember my heart skipping a beat when I saw Kate DiCamillo’s name stamped in bold type across the top, then the cover Gran had shown me on the computer a few weeks ago.
‘Can I read it?’
Gran opened the box wider, then nodded to the books inside. ‘Go on, then.’
I’d spent the rest of the day curled up in the corner of the bookshop, oblivious to the world around me. The next day Gran and I sold two copies. It was the highlight of my holidays.
Declan leans in closer and points to the tree, pulling my awareness back to the present.
‘Can you see it?’
His voice is a breath against my ear, and a shiver scatters down my side. I ignore it, instead nodding and doing my best to focus on the beautiful black and gold bird he’s pointing to in a knot in the tree ahead of us.
It seems completely unaware that it is causing such a stir, ruffling its wings and pecking at something on its chest.
Jed lifts his camera again, and there’s the soft clicks of about a million photos being taken. He takes a step forward and a stick cracks loudly beneath his foot, startling the bird away.
There’s a pause – a moment of reverence as we all watch the majesty of its flight.
Then Jed whoops, galloping over to where Declan and I are standing. At the bird’s exit it’s as though sound returns to the clearing, a show that’s been paused for ten minutes on a pertinent moment and then starts playing again.
‘A regent honeyeater!’ Jed exclaims, wiping his eyes, shaking his head and looking back at the empty tree in wonder.
Declan grins, his whole face breaking open.
‘I can’t believe you spotted it,’ he says, and his voice is so full of joy that it makes my breathing catch again.
He reaches out a hand to clasp Jed’s in his.
Then he turns to look at me, and I’m half bracing for his tone to change, but it doesn’t.
‘I went on a birding tour a few years ago, and one of the women was desperate to find a regent honeyeater, but we didn’t see even a hint of one the entire ten days. ’
Ten days? He watched birds for ten days ? What’s weirder still is that I don’t even want to find a way to mock him about it, or to message Yumi about this. I want to keep alive whatever this mood is, whoever this person is. I want to have gone on that tour. I want to read his book.
‘How did you even see it from the road?’ I ask Jed, because, seriously, the bird is about the size of my hand.
Jed taps the side of his eyes. ‘I’m always watching,’ he says.
Which I fully believe. He opens his camera and flicks through his pictures, and Declan moves closer to peer over his shoulder.
They’re both so intent on pointing out the bird’s features that I’m fairly certain we could be right here until night falls or the camera battery dies.
We stand there for what might be twenty minutes before Jed eases the camera back into its case and then strides ahead, looking back over his shoulder impatiently as though we’re the ones holding him up.
Declan half smiles again, like it’s easy.
‘After you,’ he says.
I follow Jed through the bushes, much more aware of the dark-haired, green-eyed man behind me than I’d like to be. He doesn’t say anything else as the three of us walk single file back to the car, but there’s an easiness in the air. A joy that feels like a bubble around us.
‘Do you want me to drive for a bit longer?’ asks Declan when we reach the car.
I nod, because speaking still feels like I might break something, and climb into the passenger seat while he gets in behind the wheel. He glances down at my legs, which fit much more easily around the snack bag than his do.
‘Do you have any nuts in that bag?’ he asks, and I can’t actually hold the silence any more.
‘Nuts?’ I exclaim. ‘Are they to throw out the window so you can lure more birds to look at? Or are you looking for a snack?’
‘Shut up,’ says Declan.
He starts the ignition and I pass him a packet of pecans, and for the first time since we’ve been in a car together the quiet is easy.
‘Are you working on anything at the moment?’ I ask after a while.
‘Not right now,’ says Declan, ‘given the whole driving situation.’
‘Very funny,’ I say.
He clears his throat. ‘Actually, there is this new idea I’m working on,’ he says.
‘Playing around with the philosophical question: if a tree falls in the forest, but there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?
’ Declan keeps his eyes fixed ahead. ‘But, instead of a tree, I was thinking of using a girl snoring, as a metaphor.’
He says the entire thing with a straight face.
‘You’ll probably need to find someone who snores loudly, then,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you out with that one.’
‘You can’t?’ says Declan mildly.
‘This is why your first book did badly, by the way,’ I tell him after a moment. ‘Your metaphors are terrible.’
‘That’s not what the New York Times said,’ says Declan, and I can’t help the snort that comes out.
He grins in response, and my stomach somersaults.
He keeps his eyes on the road, his smile gradually fading.
‘I’m working on something,’ he says softly. ‘But it’s not going quite as well as I’d hoped.’
I don’t really know what to say in response.
It doesn’t seem helpful to tell him that I’m sure things will get better soon – but it also doesn’t seem right to make a joke.
So, when he turns to look at me again, I sort of half smile.
He doesn’t say anything either, just quirks the corner of his mouth and then looks back at the road.
Whatever’s been shifting between us crystallises into something solid, and a wave of nausea hits me in the gut.
I like Declan Archer.
Before I can even digest the thought, my ringtone bursts into the car. I pull my phone out of the side of my bag to see that it’s my mum again.
‘You can answer it if you want,’ says Declan, when I sit there for more than a few seconds just staring at the screen.
I cancel the call and slide my phone back into my bag. ‘It’s my mum,’ I tell Declan. ‘I’ll call her back later.’
And I’m not sure what’s in my tone this time, but he doesn’t ask any questions; he just mutters something about mothers under his breath that makes me feel like he might understand a little.
We switch not long afterwards. After double checking that my ankle is definitely okay, Declan takes a nap.
He is honestly the most silent sleeper I have ever met in my life.
It’s like he’s not even breathing . I consider poking him, just to make sure he’s still alive, but despite the ease in the mood between us, that’s a level of comfort we definitely haven’t reached yet.
I’ve been driving for almost two hours when we pass the sign for a town called Milson.
Someone has crossed out the M and changed it to a W, and I spend a solid thirty seconds trying to work out what the joke is.
I’ve never heard of ‘Wilson’ being used in a rude context, which makes me wonder if Yumi is right and that, actually, I am old.
I’m tempted to ask Declan if we can swap drivers so that I can text her – if anyone knows what a Wilson is, it will be her.
We’re right behind Jed’s van, and he slows down to a crawl as we pass through the main street.
His indicator lights up just as his arm appears out of the window to point to the side of the road.
When he’s definitely, absolutely sure that I’ve got the message and I flick my indicator on as well, he pulls into an empty parking space.
I want to believe that because we’re in the main street of a small town he’s not about to chase down an animal, but with Jed it’s actually kind of hard to be sure.
I swing in beside him and turn off the car, then send a quick message to Yumi. The second the engine clicks off, Declan wakes, looking exactly the same as he did when he went to sleep. The only concession to the fact that he’s just spent almost two hours napping is that he blinks once.
‘Where are we?’ he asks, his voice normal and conversational.
‘Milson,’ I tell him. ‘Or, as the locals have affectionately re-signposted it: Wilson.’
‘Why Wilson?’ asks Declan, and I feel a surge of comfort that if I’m old, he’s old too. I think about raising my eyebrows like he’s missing something, but then I risk the possibility that I’ll have to explain what he’s missing.
‘No idea,’ I say instead.
Jed appears by my window, and I swear he’s impatiently tapping his foot against the concrete.
‘Welcome to Wilson,’ he says when I step out of the car.
‘Is the town called Milson or Wilson?’ Declan asks, looking around at the shops. I follow his gaze to see that at least half the businesses go by Wilson and the other half go by Milson.
‘I’m glad you asked,’ says Jed, looking . . . well, glad that he asked. His eyes light up and he straightens his shoulders like he’s about to give a presentation.
‘The town was founded by the Wilson family. Rumour has it, the husband was in his cups when he named the town, and he wrote an M instead of a W by accident. His wife was so mortified that she died of the shame of living in a town that wasn’t her name.’
‘That seems extreme,’ I mutter, but quietly, because I don’t want to risk interrupting Jed.
Jed just nods. ‘Half of the townspeople still go by Wilson, out of respect to her.’ He claps his hands together, then points down the street. ‘Most importantly, though, the Wilson bakery has the best salad sandwiches this side of the equator.’
‘You’re a Wilsoner, then?’ says Declan.
‘I will always side with the ladies,’ says Jed, and then he winks and saunters down the street.
‘What just happened?’ I whisper. ‘Did Jed just make me swoon ?’
‘No idea,’ says Declan. ‘But I think I might be swooning too.’