“It’s okay,” I say. Because it is. The last week has been extra. He’s probably feeling just as off-kilter as I am. And even though Josh is safe and in the hands of people who can help him, I can’t help but feel that a part of him is still in the car with us.
Zach’s hands clench around the steering wheel.
“If it matters that much, I’ll leave you to it,” I say, uncertain how I feel about that but wanting to take some of the tension out of him.
He bobs his head. “It matters that much.”
I blow out a breath. “Okay. From where I’m sitting, it feels like you’ve had way more on your plate, but if you want me to take the afternoon off, I’ll take the afternoon off.”
It’s a surprisingly hard concession to make because it just feels wrong. He’s been gone so long, and I’ve missed him so much. I honestly don’t care how tired I am. I’d rather be with him.
When we pull off Highway 353 onto the long drive up to the lodge, I know something is off between us.
We need some time to talk.
But as soon as the thought flashes across my mind, I know it’s wrong. Or at least insufficient.
Yeah, we might need to talk, but what we need first is to reconnect.
And I might know just how to do that.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
GRETA
Well,I’ll be damned.
When I reach the clearing with my backpack full of supplies, I find that my Skydome tent is not only still standing, but it’s also watertight.
Which is great.
Except for the fact that this spot isn’t where I want it to be.
I’m not exactly worried about our cabin guests trekking out here to the challenge course tonight, but I want to pick a place that is completely ours. Sure, this is where we had our first kiss, and I’ll treasure that memory forever.
But soon, this place will be overrun with kids and campers. And I don’t want tonight’s memory to have to share space with anyone or anything else.
So I pull up the stakes and stow the tent in its carrying case. Loaded down, I head into the woods toward the river. The ground is still wet in places on the deer path from last night’s storm, and I start to second-guess my plan until I reach the bank of the Vermilion.
The front that passed through last night will have temperatures dropping soon, and as November slips away, so does the daylight. I scan the bank to my right and then my left, knowing that I’ll have to work fast.
Even after last night’s storm, the river isn’t very high, not like it will be next spring, but from where I’m standing at the edge of the deer path, it’s clear that the ground slopes up to my left and down on my right, and either way I chose, live oaks sprawl over the bank with their branches dripping with moss.
The sigh that leaves me is pure reflex. I’m pretty sure this spot looked exactly the same three hundred years ago. And I swear on my life that we’ll leave it just as untouched.
I turn left and climb the gentle slope until I reach the dripline of a massive oak. The ground is gnarled with roots closer to its base, but I find a relatively smooth patch of ground at the edge of the tree’s canopy. It’s big enough for my tent’s footprint, and it means we won’t be lying down on tree roots.
I spread out my ground tarp before shaking out the tent and notching the poles together. I have it up in mere minutes, but instead of securing the rainfly all the way, I decide to leave part of the domed ceiling exposed to the sky.
Maybe the stars will give us a show.
Maybe we’ll be the ones giving them a show.
Either way, I like the idea of keeping our view open.
If we decide to spend the night out here, we’ll have to close the rainfly to keep us warm, but hopefully that’ll be after we generate some of our own heat.
Hopefully.
