Page 20 of River & Rue

“Anytime. If you find me in the fetal position this summer, feel free to return the favor and remind me I’m a badass.”

Another layer of the weight inside me releases.

“I can definitely do that.”

10

rue

​. . .​

mob mentality

As we move closer to the heart of the property and the coast, the wind gusts become more frequent and stronger. The trees take the brunt, tops swaying, needles and leaves spiraling down around us. The air is tangibly damp, heavy with the promise of an impending downpour.

By tacit agreement, Maya and I pick up our pace. Soon the illusion of untamed wilderness fades. Our path widens, intersecting with others more often, and the landscaping takes on a more intentional, pruned look. We pass a unisex restroom that looks brand new, several high-tech water stations, a geodesic dome covered in graffitied tarps, and an increasing number of sculptures and art installations.

We also pass familiar cabins, some dark, some with porch lights glowing beneath drooping overhangs. The only differences between them and the one I’m sharing with River are the color of the doors and the degree of general decay.

Initially, I’m mollified to see they all look just as crappy as ours, but the sentiment doesn’t last. I can’t help wondering why they’re all so old and run-down. There weren’t any photos of the cabins online, that’s for sure. I spent far too many hours scouring the internet and only found publicity shots of the property: nature settings, art installations, the pool, the Lodge, and activity buildings.

It never occurred to me to wonder why there weren’t any photos of the actual living accommodations, but I guess it makes sense. They suck.

I almost bring it up to Maya but ultimately keep my mouth shut. We’ve spent the last couple minutes of our walk covering the getting-to-know-you basics, and I don’t want to ruin our growing rapport by coming off as a snob. Being Ivy’s best friend may have given me an appreciation for luxury over the years, but at heart I’m still a poor kid from the ass crack of southeast Oregon. If all PAC had provided was a tent, I’d still be happy to be here.

Our path curves one more time before downsloping gently. The tree line ahead of us thins out, and floodlights from the main buildings beckon through the gloom. A gap between trees reveals two men and a woman standing on the steps outside the Lodge.

My stomach churns at the reminder I’m not done peopling today, then flips violently at the thought of River having a front row seat to my social awkwardness.

Glancing at Maya, I wonder if she’d mind me sticking to her like glue tonight. She doesn’t seem to hate my company, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was dead wrong about someone. Maybe she can’t wait to get away from me.

“This should be an interesting evening,” she says softly.

When she doesn’t say anything else, I follow her gaze back to the Lodge. The side entrance is a straight shot now, maybe two hundred feet away. Two more artists have joined the original trio. As I take them in, a warning bell clangs inside me.

Though my view of the group is partially obscured by foliage, the blond woman standing on the top step seems to be the center of attention. Distance and wind steal her words, but she’s clearly not telling a joke. The others mirror her body language: serious faces and crossed arms.

Please let them be talking about the weather.

“Hold up a second, Rue.”

Even before I turn and see Maya’s troubled expression, I already know what she’s about to confirm.

Today’s fuckery isn’t over.

“I debated saying anything, mainly because I try to stay out of drama that doesn’t involve me. But I like you, and you’ve had a hard day. You deserve to know what you’re walking into tonight.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Really burying the lede, Maya.”

Her eyes spark with humor, but it fades fast. After a furtive glance at the Lodge, she waves for me to follow her off the path. We only walk a few feet, stopping before a giant pine. The wide trunk offers a welcome respite from the wind, but it doesn’t escape my notice that we’re now out of sight should anyone at the Lodge happen to look our way.

“Who are we hiding from? That woman on the steps cosplaying a Valkyrie?”

Maya fights a laugh. “Pretty much. That’s Penelope. In a nutshell, she and a few of the other artists have a problem with one of the painters. Claudia hasn’t been receptive to their complaints, so they’re planning to make their case in front of everyone tonight. They think if the group is unified, Claudia will have no choice but to listen.”

“Yikes. Is this person dangerous?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s nothing like that. They just don’t think he belongs here.”