Chapter 18 Hudson
The principles of “leave no trace” are ingrained in me the same way I know to look both ways before crossing the street, but watching Derrick kiss Mira, his big hands clumsily reaching for her, I forget everything I’ve ever learned about fire safety as I drop my flaming marshmallow onto the dry grass.
Although I know a hundred different ways to stifle the flames beneath my feet, I allow them to consume the stalks beside me until a wave of glowing sparks shoots into the sky and I yell the word “Fire!” as loud as I can.
Derrick’s instincts kick in immediately as he pushes himself off the lawn to come sprinting towards me.
My sigh of relief that he’s away from her is cut short as he rips off his shirt.
He falls to the ground, pumping his arms back and forth to smother the flames in front of me until he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and I worry that I might have just turned him into a fucking Harlequin romance hero.
I glance back to where Mira was sitting, in the hope that she too isn’t gazing at Derrick in awe, but she’s not there.
“You really need to be more careful,” Derrick scolds me, as I spot Mira stumbling down the gravel path.
I leave him to bask in his glory as everyone gives him congratulatory pats on the back, while I catch up to Mira.
“Wait up,” I call. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“I don’t need your help, Hudson,” she barks angrily, and stops to gain her bearings. She corrects her direction, changing course from the adventure guide camp to the Big Barn.
“I know that,” I assure her, taking no offense at her outburst. Unlike Katherine, who needs assistance with almost every task—doing her taxes, opening jam jars—Mira is fiercely independent.
Running her own business, living alone, and shutting down assholes at the bar.
I’ve never doubted that she can do anything.
She assesses her surroundings before reorienting herself, a task easier now my phone flashlight is illuminating the path.
“I’m not drunk,” Mira argues.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But I know you’re thinking it,” she replies, pressing her finger to her temple.
“Actually, I was thinking about what you had to eat today.”
Since the bears disrupted her meal earlier, I’m certain most of her daily calories today have come from sugar and alcohol.
“Vanessa gave me a granola bar,” she announces, and my heart sinks. I have a car, I could have gone out and got her something instead of sulking upstairs. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own feelings, I haven’t done the one thing I want to do—take care of her.
I consider asking her to go with me to find a late-night taco stand or twenty-four-hour diner, but I doubt a place exists here.
“Come on,” I say, guiding her towards the Big Barn. “I think I saw a vending machine earlier.”
“Tried it already,” she says, threading her arm through mine. “All I found was a can of Surge and a bag of 3D Doritos.”
My pulse quickens as she leans into me, her body warm against mine. I keep my voice steady. “I thought they discontinued those in the early 2000s.”
“They call them preservatives for a reason,” she says, her voice reverberating through the thin walls. I usher her towards our room.
“I bet we could sell them on eBay,” she states, holding up a finger in a eureka moment. “There are collectors out there who will buy anything.”
“Is there really a market for moldy chips?”
“If they’re shaped like Jesus,” she laughs as I unlock the door.
Even though everything is still a mess between us, returning to our typical banter gives me a glimmer of hope that I might be able to salvage this.
“I think I get it now,” she says, kicking off one of her shoes.
“Get what?” I ask, keeping a watchful eye on her as she balances on one foot to remove her other shoe.
“Why they call them Sloshies.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I am sloshed,” she giggles, bumping into the dresser with a clang, and placing her hands on the frame of the bunk bed to steady herself.
“How about we get you to bed?” I say, leading her towards the bottom bunk.
“I’m not tired,” Mira protests, like a child, her arms across her chest. Even angry at me I can’t help but think how adorable she is.
“If you get into bed, I’ll tell you a secret.”
It’s a long shot. A game we played on particularly boring nights at Finn’s.
An elevated version of twenty questions that allows the secret-sharer to decide what they are ready to disclose without having to evade unwanted questions.
It’s how I found out that she never learned how to ride a bike after falling off one when she was five and spraining her ankle.
And that her secret comfort show is Hannah Montana.
“You do have a lot of those,” she scoffs, as a heavy creak rings out through the silent room. I expected her to roll onto the bottom bunk, or stake her claim to the queen bed, both of which I’d award her gladly, but I turn and see her climbing the rungs of the ladder towards the top bunk.
Standing behind her, I keep my arm below her back, at the ready to catch her in case she falls. With each step, her toned legs move upward, until her perfect ass is in my face. I turn away, silently praising the inventor of spandex, and wait for her to get settled.
Once she’s completely horizontal, I take my place underneath her in the lower bunk.
I stare up at the graffiti scribbles on the slats above me.
Typical teenage vandalism. A graphic doodle of a penis.
An assortment of rainbow stickers. And a heart with the words “Heather and Ashton 4Ever.” I consider if Ashton and Heather are still together when the bed creaks above me.
“Hudson?”
“Yeah?” I ask, desperate for her words.
“Everything is falling apart.”
There’s a crack in the usual hard cadence of her tone and the softness rips me in two. I hate that I’ve put her in this situation. I hate that I’ve caused her pain. And more than that I hate that I can’t be the one to take it away.
She takes a breath, readying her words, and I wait for retribution.
“I let someone else drag me into this career because I thought they cared about me, that they wanted what was best for me, that they’d be my support system.
And now, I’m stuck fighting for a reputation I don’t know if I even want.
And I really thought this week could fix everything.
And now . . . I feel like I should give up. ”
As I’ve gotten to know her, Mira has confessed minor irritations about her job, but I had no idea that she was struggling.
This omission makes me want to stand up, crawl into her bunk, slip my arms around her, and assure her that everything will be okay.
But I keep my hands at my sides, gripping the fabric underneath me.
“Think of all the great moments you’ve immortalized with your art. Those memories matter to people.”
I think back to her page. The way her photos inspire emotion in anyone who views them, whether they know the subjects or not. As someone who’s seen a lot of flat images in his life, I know how special Mira’s gift is.
“That’s the thing . . . without my camera, I’m nothing to these people. And now that it’s gone, what use am I now?”
“Mira. Don’t say that,” I whisper, hating that she’s been silently battling these feelings. That I might have exacerbated her anxiety.
“I’m going to have to tell Meredith I can’t shoot her wedding.
” She’s crying now, her voice breaking into fragmented pieces, and I can’t let her suffer alone.
Scooting out of the bunk, I step on the bedframe, resting my arms against the guardrail so that we’re eye-level.
She’s cradling her pillow, her mascara-streaked tears leaving a black mark on the pillowcase as I reach over and smooth down her hair.
I expect her to pull away from me, to smack my hand, but she grips her pillow tighter, burying her face. “You’re going to make it through this okay,” I say, rubbing my hand over her back.
“I’m going to have to refund her money. And admit that I’m a sham. I’m going to have to get a job as a barista or a bartender. There’s still an opening at Finn’s, right?”
Her sobs grow louder, as she uses her shirt to wipe her nose.
Dismounting from my perch, I grab a pack of tissues from my welcome bag and hand them to her.
“Take these too,” I offer, giving her an aspirin and water bottle.
Her fingers graze against mine as she takes the pills, popping them between her teeth and swallowing them with a gulp of water. I wait for a moment to see if she needs anything else.
She lies back onto her pillow, but when I go to move I feel her grab my hand. I relinquish it freely, willing to give her anything she needs from me.
“I really, really liked you,” she says, her hazel eyes hazy through tears, and the squeeze of her fingers is like a vise grip around my heart.
“I really, really like you too,” I admit as I watch her eyelids close, exhaustion taking hold.
I continue to stroke her back, moving in little circles, and I realize it’s the same technique my mother used on nights I couldn’t sleep, standing in the doorway until she led me back to my room.
I’d forgotten that she did that. The memory opening a long-sealed door inside of me.
I wait a few minutes, repeating the gesture until Mira’s breath falls into a steady rhythm. I wish that I could crawl in beside her, hold her against me, breathe her in and let her know she’s safe here, with me, but instead I take my place underneath her.
“Hudson,” she says again, her voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I want my secret now.”
“I’m afraid to start my new job on Monday,” I confess, the weight of my insecurities pressing against my chest. “I’m afraid that I’m going to let my dad down or ruin the company he’s built.
But more than that I’m afraid that no one is going to take me seriously.
That I won’t be respected. What if I don’t have the confidence it takes to actually be a CEO and that I’m only meant for the sidelines? ”
The words release like a waterfall, falling in rapid succession.
“That’s why I’m in such awe of you, Mira.
You’re so much like him, my dad. You turned something you love into a business, and you made this amazing career for yourself.
You trust yourself enough to know that you can do it on your own.
What I wouldn’t give for an ounce of that confidence,” I say.
“But I’ll never know what that’s like. To be my own person.
To create something of my own. I’ll always be the boy with his dad’s hand-me-down. ”
I wait for her response, but after a minute, when all I hear is the soft, low hum of her snoring, I know she’s asleep.
I should follow in her footsteps, close my eyes, and rid myself of the day, but I’m wired, my brain buzzing.
I knew that Mira took her job seriously, but I had no idea how much of her self-worth was directly correlated to it, that she thought her ability to take photos was the only reason people wanted to be around her. As if that’s all she offers the world.
I want to tell her that it’s bullshit. That she’s so much more than her job, her camera.
To understand that her ability to see the world with a keen intuitiveness, to make magic out of mundane moments, to see the best of everything, is a gift ingrained in her psyche.
Her camera is just the conduit. But if she needs it to feel whole, then the least I can do is get her a new one.
Quietly, I sneak out of bed, hoping to locate her ruined equipment, when Katherine barges in through the patio. The door slams behind her and she stumbles in, drunk.
“Can you be any louder?” I ask, my voice a stern whisper as she tosses her bag onto the dresser with a heavy thunk. “Mira’s asleep.”
“My bad,” she says, removing her earrings and bracelets, setting them on the bedside table.
“I’m assuming the party is over then?”
She nods, distracted, and I make a mental note to ensure no one left the fire burning, Derrick’s safety speech notwithstanding.
She plops down onto the mattress, patting the space beside her. “Do you want to come to bed?”
I ignore her advances as I grab my keys and wallet from the table. “I have something I gotta take care of.”
“At this hour?” she asks, pushing herself off the bed. “I thought we might be able to talk a bit.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I assure her for the millionth time.
Rolling her eyes, she makes her way into the bathroom, turning on the faucet. Closing the door, I leave her to complete her thirty-minute nighttime skincare routine as I sneak up to the second floor.
I knock on Vanessa’s door twice before she opens it.
“Hudson?” she asks, wiping her sleepy eyes as she greets me in a pink pajama set. Behind her I can see Jocelyn scrolling on her Kindle and Angie asleep on the floor cuddling a pillow. Adrian gives me a wave, eating from a bag of potato chips.
“Sorry, I know it’s late but I need your help.”
“What’s up?” she asks, yawning.
“I was wondering if you knew where Mira left her camera bag?”
“Umm. I think she tossed it in one of the trash cans by the Activity Center.”
“Thank you,” I reply, retreating to let her go back to sleep.
She gives me a soft smile and goes into her room, while I head straight towards the Activity Center.
Mira’s bag is exactly where she left it.
Except now it’s covered in blue Sloshie and discarded baked beans.
Pulling it out, I unzip it and begin cataloging the items inside.
Once I have all the information I need, I pull out my phone.
Two glorious bars greet me as I type into the search.
There’s a store four hours away with everything I need in stock. It’ll take all night, but if I stop at a gas station and load up on energy drinks I can make it. Pulling out the company credit card, I place the order for next-day pickup and start driving.