Chapter Three #3
For the rest of the morning, everyone acts like we’re beaten.
Jasvinder tucks his long, dark-brown hair into a tight knot and furiously rechops the wood even smaller, his tall, wiry climber’s frame tight with disappointment.
He was hoping to parlay his work here into a foothold in the insanely competitive Grey Tusk market; no doubt he’s wishing he backed a different horse.
McHuge hardly smiles when the raven he’s been taming comes to eat his apple core at lunch. Babe sticks close by, leaning into his leg at every opportunity.
Those two may not be able to see a difference in me, since my emotional baseline is smoldering rage, but I’m not fine, either.
If the Love Boat folds, I have nowhere to go.
Literally. At this very moment, Br!an is probably lying on my couch, feet propped on the signed sublease agreement.
I refuse to turn up on Liz’s doorstep— again —when she has a new frickin’ baby .
Any place I could rent on short notice would be insanely expensive, which is why Br! an was so eager to lock down my place.
This is the end of the road. It’s this job or moving someplace affordable and far away.
Liz and I would promise to keep in touch.
She’d text me as much as she could, which might not be very much, if the past few days are any indication.
We’d video chat weekly at first, then less often as time went on.
She’d call other people to babysit or watch a rom-com or pick her up when she forgets to charge her car battery.
She’ll pin someone else with that direct gaze and make a joke so dry it takes them a full five seconds to laugh.
It’s those little things that cement relationships together like a thousand tiny drops of glue. Without them, the bond can’t last.
By unspoken agreement, McHuge and I don’t go canoeing in the afternoon. I’m guessing he feels what I feel, that the way the camp looks suddenly matters more than ever.
At four o’clock, I finish sanding the log chairs and take a break to retrieve the afternoon snack Jasvinder left after he rechopped his kindling, unloaded his supplies, and headed back to town.
On my way to find McHuge, I take in the pale-gray afternoon sky screened with green boughs that whisper in the river breeze. The forest is alive with birdsong, still damp from last night’s rain.
It felt like I was catching my breath here.
I was sleeping well for once after working my ass off all day, drifting off to the sound of McHuge turning pages in the tent next to mine.
Sometimes he’d murmur through the nylon walls to Babe, who prefers curling up in a sheltered spot underneath McHuge’s rain fly to sleeping in the tent.
The first night, I asked whether he was worried about bears, but he laughed and said both the bears and the dog were too smart to tangle with each other.
I have to admit Babe is nothing if not sensible, which makes her dislike of me into a pretty stinging indictment of my character.
It actually seemed possible McHuge and I would get past the awkward, polite stage and maybe have a decent working relationship. I didn’t realize how much I missed talking to someone at work, beyond the brief, goal-oriented interactions with customers or food workers.
I like this job, surprisingly enough. And I love Liz. I love Pendleton. What would I do to protect the only things I let myself love?
Anything. I’d do anything.
The hit piece could still do damage. We need a celebrity endorsement and a way to neutralize the last criticism in the article.
And I know how to do it.
I find McHuge stretched sideways across one of the hammocks, feet dangling off the side, Babe curled against him. He looks up but doesn’t say hello.
I hand him the snap container of food, not greeting him either.
“I might have someone who can endorse us. She’s not a psychologist. And she’s not as famous as Renee.
” Hardly famous at all since she left Cow Pie High , the teen show she starred in until well into her twenties, but that will almost certainly change soon. “But she’s better than nothing.”
McHuge sits up fast, setting the hammock swinging. “Really?” His voice is half agony, half hope. Fair enough—I deliberately gave him every impression I was here to work hard, get paid, and leave the business of caring to him. I’d be surprised at me, too.
“No promises, but I can make a call. We’re not going down without a fight.”
And the other thing. I have to make myself say the other thing.
He won’t like it; god knows I’m not thrilled, either.
It violates everything I promised myself about keeping my distance from him and everything I promised him about being professional and avoiding entanglement.
Every hard thing about this job will instantly ratchet up in difficulty.
But Sharon said we have to be windproof and waterproof. There’s one more hole we have to sew shut for that to happen.
“And the article criticized you for being single. We’ll neutralize that by getting you a partner.”
He deflates somewhat. “Launch is in three days. I can’t just go to the outdoor store and pick out a partner, Stellar.”
“There’s no time for shopping, McHuge. So I’m going to be your fiancée.”