Page 43 of Wildwood

“She told you that? What else did she say?” Her face is like stone.

“Oh, nothing really.”

“Why’d she bring it up?”

“I just . . . I asked if you might be upset about anything and she was just explaining that you can be touchy.” Worse. I’m making it worse. My brain isn’t working properly.

“Touchy.” She nods, her mouth a tight line. “Did she also say that I think they are a bunch of elitist pricks?”

“No! I mean, she said that you sometimes feel out of place since you don’t have the same background.” What’s wrong with me?

“Fucking cunt.” Joan looks out over the bonfire. Then she stands up, for a moment is still, and then hurls her champagne flute toward the bonfire. There is an almost beautiful explosion as the glass hits the wood and fire.

“I’m sorry,” I start to say, but Joan is already walking away, arms wrapped around herself and body lurched forward.

I feel like an idiot. Again. I can never seem to say the right thing to her. But, awkward as our exchange was, I did learn something interesting. There is a rift deeper than Madeline let on between her and Joan.

* * *

The sky is dark and the bonfire is raging. The musicians have moved to play near the fire and a raucous dance party has begun. A young man in catering attire appears beside me, with a glass in hand.

“Another nonalcoholic mead? John asked me to bring this over.”

“Thanks.” I realize I’m parched from the heat of the fire, and I look around for John to catch his eye as a thanks but can’t see him in the mass of people. I take a long sip, even though what I really want is water. Sweat beads on my skin, then immediately cools in the September air.

Around me, the dancing seems to intensify, people’s movements faster, more frenetic. Yips and howls echo through the music, compliments of a group of youngish men, who stand watching the scene. Topher is among them, looking drunk and devilishly happy. So is Julian.

The fire is casting wild shadows and illuminations in the dark. I feel a little dizzy, taking it all in. The man in the catering clothes is talking to me, at me, I realize. He’s looking at me eagerly, saying nonsensical things like “levitational waters and raw birch sap.”

“Sorry, I have to go,” I mumble and take a few steps toward Topher.

It’s then that I notice Madeline dancing close to the fire, a group gathered around her. She moves in fluid, swirling motions, her red hair alight. Her eyes find mine and she holds my gaze a moment before throwing her head back and letting out a trill. Cheers erupt from her audience. I notice, then, Topher’s gaze is trained on Madeline. The fire glints off his eyes and in that moment, he looks utterly and devastatingly captivated. I turn and walk away, back toward the darkness.

I pass John on the way out. He’s laughing jovially with a man I suddenly recognize as the governor of Vermont, the two of them red-faced and shiny.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, though I don’t feel very sorry at all. “If you see Topher, do you mind telling him I’m turning in?” I’d tell him myself, but I don’t want to interrupt the show your wife is putting on for him. The vitriol of this thought surprises me.

“You’re leaving?” John exclaims, holding his arms up like he cannot believe what he’s hearing. “No, no. Come on, the best is yet to come. Let’s get you another drink. You’ve been having the mead, right?” He looks around, trying to find a waiter.

“No, really,” I say. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a great party, though. Thanks very much.”

I make my way down the curving driveway, navigating with the dim light of my cell phone. I turn back at the bottom and take in one last view of the Fall Harvest Festival, see the dark silhouettes of revelers at the top of the hill, hear the growing cries and laughter from beyond. A cow lows in the field, and I think of the sheep and goats farther back in the Brooks’ barns. I wonder, fleetingly, if they’ll all survive the night, or if one will be sacrificed under the full moon.

Chapter 34

I can sense something is off, even before I open my eyes. I grope around in bed and confirm it: Topher isn’t here. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look at the clock. It’s two in the morning. What the hell? No text from him either. I fume for a moment, then try to be rational. He couldn’t have texted me from up there, he wouldn’t have wi-fi access. And he’s a grown man and doesn’t have a curfew. But still, wouldn’t he want to come check on his pregnant wife at some point? Then I suddenly start to worry. Topher would want to check on me. What if he fell walking home? He was pretty drunk and the walk was dark. I suddenly picture him lying in a ditch on the side of the road, cold and unconscious.

I’m out the door in a matter of minutes, in my pajamas and Topher’s big fall coat, carrying a large flashlight.

“Topher?” I call out his name, but my voice feels like it’s swallowed by the darkness.

I make my way up the winding driveway, casting the light back and forth across the gravel. It’s not until I get to the top of the driveway and am standing in front of Madeline’s looming house that I realize the property is silent. The tables and chairs and party decorations are still out on the front lawn—I can see their dark shapes strewn about—but gone are the people, the music, the happy mayhem.

“Shit,” I whisper, my breath clouding in the cool night air.

I contemplate knocking on Madeline’s door, but instead I head around the house to the back of the property. In the distance, I can tell the bonfire has burned out, though I can still make out smoke rising against the dark sky, can still feel it in my nose. Maybe he passed out back there.

I’ve started walking along the mowed path toward the back field, when suddenly I hear a faint movement in the grass. Like a step, slow and cautious. I pause, heart racketing in my chest. Irrational thoughts flood my brain. Is it a bear? A mountain lion?