And just a month ago, the only thing connecting me to these three alphas was the shared wreckage of a breakup. Now we're hanging out at eleven at night, eating tacos out of paper trays.
Funny, how things works.
Arthur takes a long sip of his horchata, looks out past the Edison bulbs toward the tree line, and says, "Hey. Wanna see one of our secret spots?"
9
Beth
We leave Carlo's and walk for maybe ten minutes, the narrow dirt path winding deep into a dense canopy of old-growth pines. I fall into line behind Arthur and Mason, who use their phones to light up the trail ahead, with Knox bringing up the rear.
"How much farther?" I ask, taking a sip of what remains of my horchata.
"Almost there," Arthur calls back over his shoulder.
A branch hangs low across the trail ahead of me, right at face height. Before I can duck or shift my horchata to my other hand, Knox reaches past my shoulder and pushes it aside.
"Thanks," I say.
"My pleasure." He lets it swing back.
It's a small thing, but my brain snags on it. Probably because my baseline for comparison is Grant. Whenever we hiked, he always walked five paces ahead of me, completely checked out. Once, I stepped wrong on a loose rock and nearly rolled my ankle; his only reaction was to turn around and get angry at me for slowing him down.
The path dips, and Arthur's phone flashlight catches long curtains of willow hanging across the trail. He stops, gathers the branches in one hand, and holds them aside.
"Through here," he says.
I walk past Mason, duck under Arthur's arm, and the woods open up into a massive, sprawling clearing that nature has completely swallowed. Looming against the night sky, framed by towering pines on all sides, is a colossal movie screen, twisting vines creeping up its rusted metal support beams.
"The old drive-in," Arthur announces, his voice dropping a little in the quiet of the clearing. "Nature pretty much took it back."
Knox steps up beside me. "And now you're in on our spot."
Mason doesn't say anything, he just heads straight for a cinderblock concession stand sitting in the center of the overgrown lot. Bolted to the side of the building is a heavy iron ladder, set at an easy, slanted angle.
He climbs up first, his shoes clanging softly against the metal rungs. Arthur follows, and Knox gestures for me to go next. It’s an effortless climb, and once my head clears the roofline, Mason reaches out, hooking a large, warm hand under my elbow to steady me as I step onto the roof.
I catch my breath, looking around. The forest forms a dark, protective wall around the lot, and through a gap in the trees beyond the giant screen, you can see the wide, silver expanse of the lake shimmering under the moonlight.
The view stops me dead in my tracks.
"We found this spot years ago," Arthur says, dropping down near the edge of the roof and letting his legs dangle over the side. "Never saw anyone else out here."
We settle in along the ledge. I wedge myself next to Arthur, who is on the far left. Knox sits cross-legged on my right, and Mason drops down on Knox's right.
I slurp the last of my horchata, and for a while, we just sit in the dark, enjoying the sound of the wind moving through the pine needles.
"So, whaddya think?" Arthur asks, his voice pitched low.
"Honestly?" I say, stretching my legs out in front of me. "It's really peaceful. Makes me realize how loud everything else has been lately."
Arthur reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a dented silver flask. He takes a slow sip, his eyes studying my face in the moonlight, and then holds the flask out in my direction. "How so?"
I accept the flask. Whiskey. Hell of a kick. I hand it back, the burn settling warm in my chest, and wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
Beside me, Knox shifts quietly, his attention entirely focused on me.
"I mean," I start, staring out at the vine-choked screen, letting out a long exhale. "Well, let's just say I've been looking at flights to Washington lately."
