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“That’s something.”
“It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you sit at home all day?”
“I don’t know,” I say. And I mean it. I truly don’t know why I let my life slip into such a dark, dreary place. I consider how pathetic I sound, but then remember the man I’m speaking to has been in prison for decades. Sitting on a couch all day probably sounds marvelous to him, right? Wrong. Because then he says:
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Pardon me?”
“Why do you stay at home all day? By choice?”
“I don’t know… small town… not a lot to do around here.”
He makes a show of looking up at the trees, at the beautiful scenery around us.
“Yeah, I know.” I shrug. “I guess I just don’t really think about doing this kind of stuff. I will—I’d like to start getting out more, anyway.” I stumble on a tree root. Rhett catches and steadies me before I face plant into a jagged rock. My cheeks heat as I look up at him, and that was the moment that I realized that I do, without question, have a ridiculous school-girl crush on this man. The man convicted of killing my mother. Because of course I wouldn’t have a crush on a normal man. That would be way toouncomplicated.
We pass a family of hikers, a pair of twin toddlers giggling and stumbling their way down the trail. We both stare at the children, neither of us having any idea what that life is like. I wonder if Rhett was dating someone before he went to jail. If so, where is she now? Did she disappear out of his life just like he said his “friends” did?
Does Rhett want that kind of life now? Children, a family, a wife?
No, I decide, because if he did, his focus wouldn’t be on revenge. And then, an even more jarring thought crosses my mind: Could I change this? Could I change his focus? Off of revenge and onto me? What a sensational story that would make:Woman marries man convicted of mother’s murder.
I contemplate this for the bulk of the remainder of the hike.
My quads are on fire when Rhett finally stops, looks around.
“I think…” he says. “Yes… This way…”
I follow him off the trail and through waist-high burr bushes that snag my clothes as I fight my way through. I am more grateful than ever for the bug spray.
Once out of the thicket, we walk single-file through the trees and after a few minutes I realize we are walking a barely visible footpath, one that appeared from out of nowhere—a secret path made by secret boots tiptoeing back and forth, back and forth.
I look up at the sky. The sun has dipped behind the mountains, the woods are beginning to grow darker.
It isn’t long until the hikers’ voices and barking dogs fade out behind us. I begin to grow tired, weary, my body aching for a pair of fluffy couch cushions and a glass of red wine.
After what seems like an hour, the trees begin to thin and the terrain becomes more rugged. Boulders spear up from the ground, surrounded by rocky outcrops threatening to trip me with every step. Finally, we come to a small cliff crowded by treetops.
“Is this it?” I ask.
“I think so,” he responds quietly, in a way that sends me on alert.
It is then that I realize we are about to walk into a potentially dangerous situation without any kind of weapon or way to defend ourselves. Aside from Rhett, I should say, whose body is a mountain of protection in its own right. But he isn’t invincible. If someone has a knife or a gun…
I follow the fearless man down the side of the cliff, using tree branches for balance. Sure enough, about seven feet below the cliff is an underhang that leads to a narrow opening in the rock.
Grabbing onto the cliff with one hand, I bend over and peer at the dark crevice between the cliff and the underhang. It’s a cave, it’s entry long and narrow like a mouth barely opening.
“That’s it,” he says.
My stomach tickles with nerves.
