Chapter Twenty-one #2
He laughs and then buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in.
“I know.” His smile tugs at the tender skin of my neck, telegraphing promises for later.
I catch Lori watching from shore and brace for lovebirds-based teasing, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, she smiles and turns to add a few more items to the laundry line Brent put up while Willow pitched their tent.
With the shorter paddling distance, we have some time to relax before dinner.
Lyle strings a hammock between two trees, perches his glasses on his nose, and settles in with his field journal to make notes.
Mitch declares her intention to take a canoe out and see what’s biting; Sloane decides to tag along.
It’s a good sign that Mitch feels comfortable leaving Lori in camp.
The two of them seem relaxed and peaceful, able to enjoy the trip even through the bittersweet knowledge that they’re doing something for the last time.
Sloane turns out to be excellent at fishing, much to the annoyance of Mitch, who had to teach Sloane how to bait a hook but didn’t get a single bite herself. For dinner, we grill fat rainbow trout on the fire-safety-compliant portable stove.
Sloane accepts the ceremonial first serving of buttery fish paired with a big scoop of rice from the preseasoned packets we stashed in the barrels—like any proper camping food, it’s fast, easy, and doesn’t weigh much.
She takes a bite and chews reverently, eyes closed.
“This isn’t better than Jasvinder’s food, but somehow… it is?”
Wordless sounds of agreement echo around the firepit as we fork up the freshest fish we’ll ever eat.
After dessert—camp coffee and squares of dark chocolate—people linger at the firepit, speculating about tomorrow’s surprise expedition.
I sneak off for a quick dip in the lake.
I towel off my hair while standing outside the golden circle of light from the portable lantern Lyle situated in the firepit.
Babe sprawls on the sand nearby. Our problem children, Brent and Willow, sit side by side on a bleached log, his arm around her.
He’s listening without a single well, actually as she chats to Sloane, Mitch, and Lori.
Whatever kind of article he writes, I don’t think it will be the one he imagined.
Trevor and Petra sit apart from the main group.
Despite this morning’s détente, they lean away from each other, their bodies stiff.
I can’t hear them, but I can see Petra talking rapidly, gesturing at the other guests, then falling silent as Trevor talks over her.
She clasps his hands, making an obvious appeal; he won’t meet her eyes.
Finally, he stands and pulls away from her, heading toward the clearing where we’ve pitched the tents.
A cool finger of this morning’s dread draws a line across my heart.
I drape my towel over the clothesline, then head to where Lyle’s double-checking the boats, making sure they’re drawn up far enough from the water.
“You busy?”
“Nope,” he says easily, pulling his canoe up last. “But you’re very far away. I can hardly hear you.” He scoops me up in the crook of one arm and plants a quick kiss at the corner of my lips.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Did you just give me a peck ?”
“That I did,” he says with lazy satisfaction. “It’s what engaged people do.” He stretches his neck upward to do it again, lingering this time.
I haven’t seen him from this angle since last year, at the concert. So much has changed since then, but my heart recognizes both images, layering them—one over the other—into a single picture.
Lyle.
He looks like everything: Love and sex and kindness and belonging, strength and generosity and fun. Our past, our pres ent, and all the painful things in between that give this moment a beauty so piercing I may cry.
He’s looking at me like I’m all those things, too.
I’m in love with him.
Maybe I’ve been in love with him since the moment he pulled me off the ground and asked if I was all right on a day when I really wasn’t.
I put my arms around his neck and my lips on his and don’t take them off until I’m flirting with the idea of abandoning the guests for a special tandem canoe ride.
“I’m glad we waited,” I whisper. “I’m glad you waited for me.”
“It was a long wait,” he says back. “But worth it. For you.”
I kiss him again, a true peck this time. “We shouldn’t court distraction until lights-out. I came down to talk about Petra and Trevor.”
“Ah, that’s a shame,” he says, after I’ve filled him in on the relationship theater. “But it doesn’t have to be a failure. They still learned something about themselves. And canoeing.”
I love him for being idealistic, and I’m damn glad he has me to be hardheaded. “You and I can appreciate that, but they might need some time to get there. For now, I don’t want them to leave with a bad taste in their mouths.”
He makes a considering sound. It’s low and slow, a lot like the sound he makes when he’s above me, on his elbows. I wonder how quiet we can be in the much smaller campsite we’re in tonight. Or in a boat.
“They could be worried about damaging their friendship. Especially because they’re colleagues. We could focus on that angle,” Lyle muses. “Tomorrow, we can each debrief one of them individually. See if we can help them move forward.”
“I haven’t done anything like that before,” I say, uncertain. “I’ve barely debriefed with the group.”
“I have some thoughts in my field journal. You can read while I heat the evening wash water. We can work up a strategy by breakfast.”
We walk past the firepit on our way to the tents. I notice Petra sitting silently at the edge of the conversation. Her hands are pinned between her thighs, her shoulders rounded and tense.
I hope Lyle has a miracle in that journal.
I’m reaching for the zipper of our tent when Petra skids up to us.
“Hey! Hey, here you are!” She’s breathless, eyes wide.
My mind immediately starts cataloguing dark possibilities. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”
She laughs brightly. “No! Oh my god, sorry, nothing like that. We need you two for a sing-along.”
I press my hand to my racing heart, relieved. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
“No!” Petra blurts. “I mean, can you come now? We have something planned. Um, a song. A very special song we wrote, and we need you both there.”
“Is this a prank on me and Lyle?”
“Nooooo,” she says, too nervous for it to be anything else. Whatever—I’m up for it. If they want to dump a barrel of lake water over our heads, I’m willing to stand there and look honored. It’s got an old-fashioned summer camp flavor that will make a lot of memories for everyone.
“All right. Let’s hear this song.” I elbow Lyle.
“Right on. Let me grab something real quick.”
“Don’t go in there,” Petra yelps, raising a hand in a stop gesture. “I mean, if you don’t come right now the surprise will be ruined.”
There’s… something in her voice.
I look hard at Petra the way I’ve failed to until now. She forces a wobbly smile, while Lyle’s wearing a deepening frown.
This doesn’t feel like a prank anymore.
“You good, Petra?” Lyle asks slowly.
“Fine. Great. We just miss our instructors, and it’s our last night.”
She’s talking too loudly. There’s something she doesn’t want us to hear. Something she wants me to agree to ignore.
For a second, I want to hold on to the illusion she’s offering, the one I’m horribly sure I’ve been falling for all along.
I lean toward the tent, listening. There’s a slow, low-pitched sound from the inside, like the rumble of a zipper someone’s trying to open very, very quietly, one tooth at a time.
I reach for the zipper pull, knowing I have to be fast.
“No, wait! Stellar, don’t—”
I open the front of our tent, throwing the flaps wide.
Halfway out the back door, Trevor freezes, Lyle’s field notes in one hand, his cell phone in the other.
Trevor’s texting app is open, the name “Alan Fisher” visible.
He’s sent a batch of photos, the top one a bright rectangle of white covered with Lyle’s apple-shaped vowels and arrowing capital letters.
All I can think is It’s happening again .