Chapter 10 Nicola #2
A muscle in Greer’s jaw twitches at his unwillingness to take the hint, but his protectiveness, the fact that he’s clearly taken my side over hers, emboldens me. I’m not the one who should be nervous; I’ve done nothing wrong. I turn toward him. “You can head inside.”
“It’s no problem—”
“Really. I’ll catch up.”
“You sure?”
I nod, then redirect my attention to Greer. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I’m—” She cuts herself off, annoyed. “Oh my god, I’m not going to strangle her in the backyard, if that’s what you’re worried about.
” Zach’s still hovering by the screen door.
She points to the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping around the kitchen.
“You can watch from in there if you want, but I promise, she’s safe with me. ”
He reluctantly pushes the door open.
“Oh, and Zach,” she calls. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry. About your dad.”
“Yeah, well.” He looks back over his shoulder; I’m taken aback by the resentment in his eyes. “Happens to the best of us, right?”
He slams the door behind him. Greer looks like she’s just been slapped. A few months ago, I would’ve asked what was wrong, but now, I simply say, “I tried calling you.”
She shakes her head, pulls herself back to the conversation. “I know.”
“Many, many times.”
“I didn’t have my cell phone.”
Like that matters. “You had my number. It was on the release form.” I’m about to tell her off, the same way I did on all the voicemails she never listened to, when a shout comes from the front porch.
“Greer!”
Connor’s standing by the railing, tablet in hand. “We need you inside.”
She stares at him in disbelief. “Yeah, kind of in the middle of something here.”
“It’s important.”
“So’s this.”
He raises the tablet. It’s hard to see the screen from here, but I catch a flash of color pulsing in a corner.
Greer wavers, conflict clear in her eyes.
Choose me, I want to say. Choose me, choose me.
But even as the words swell in my mind, she’s stepping toward the front porch, putting what feels like miles of distance between us.
“This’ll only take a few minutes,” she says. “Promise.”
Before I can argue, she’s bounding up the stairs, boots pounding heavily against the wood, and slipping through the open door. Connor gives me a stiff nod before following her inside.
Leaving me all alone.
I glance over at the windows, only to find all the club members watching the scene unfold.
The moment they realize I’ve noticed, they go back to piling food on their plates, taking their seats at the table.
Just like that, I’m back to being a reluctant television star, all my problems reduced to nothing more than other people’s entertainment.
I need to get out of here. I turn and march into the woods.
Greer made me wait months to talk to her, but she couldn’t make Connor wait the few minutes it would’ve taken to finish our conversation?
Seriously? Pinecones lay scattered across the ground; I kick one as hard as I can.
It cracks against the nearest tree trunk, bits exploding off like wooden shrapnel.
Slowly, I begin to calm down. I’ve only walked a few yards, but the lodge already feels far behind me.
Do I really want to be out here, feeling sorry for myself, or back with the others?
I can’t blame them for being curious; I would be, too, if the roles were reversed.
At the end of this weekend, I’ll be forced to return to Oliante, where dinner with friends isn’t even an option.
I should be enjoying myself while I have the chance.
It’s only then that I realize how dark it’s become.
Driving up here took hours, and the pines have eradicated most of the remaining light.
I reach into my pocket for my cell phone, then remember Connor confiscated it back at the airport.
No flashlight. I’m about to hurry back when a noise—not a snap, but a rustle—passes on my left.
I spin around and catch a flash of red, like the flames from the bonfire, before it disappears. I ease myself closer.
A fox’s pointy snout peeps out from behind the trees, and I immediately relax.
It creeps out and stands in front of me, both of us refusing to so much as twitch a muscle.
It’s like we’re held outside of time—the connection between us, as we look into each other’s eyes, trapping our feet to the ground.
Then something else snaps behind me, the bonfire probably, and the fox unhinges its jaw and screams.
It’s the same sound a teenage girl might make as she’s being stabbed.
Memories surge through me—not mine, but my father’s. What I imagine my father’s memories look like. The rustling of garbage bags as they’re dragged through the mud. The rippling shimmer of headlights on the creek. The frigid water spilling into his boots as he steps deeper into the current.
I shake them out of my mind as the fox darts farther into the woods, out of sight. The connection’s broken; the moment’s lost. I take a step—
And notice the footprints on the ground.
At first, I think they must be mine, but then I realize there are two distinct sets. I follow the unfamiliar ones. They stop behind a thick trunk at the border of the backyard before fleeing back into the shadows.
“Nicola!”
My head shoots up. Imogen stands on the porch, scanning the woods. “Nicola, are you out there?”
I take one last look at the footprints. It must’ve been one of the club members—Imogen or Connor, maybe.
Someone needed to gather all the kindling for the bonfire, right?
Through the window I see that the others are now focused on their meals, their conversations with one another.
So why is the back of my neck prickling like someone’s still watching me?
“Nicola!”
I ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach and walk back to the lodge.