I have no idea what Wyatt is talking about.

“What happened?”

He says nothing and continues to stare into space.

“What happened?” I repeat myself. For a moment, I think that he hasn’t heard me, but when he turns to face me, I know that he has and is just trying to decide whether he should tell me.

“The accident,” he says under his breath.

His cryptic words are starting to annoy me. What accident?

I want to ask him. But I need to pace myself. He has already revealed a lot more to me than Gatsby has. It is through Wyatt that I realize that I know next to nothing about Gatsby and his life. I didn’t even know that he had brothers until an hour ago. Gatsby shields himself in mystery, and if he’s not willing to tell me about his past, I can’t make enemies of people who are.

Wyatt stares at me. The expression on his face tells me that he had no idea that I didn’t know. I ask him to explain. Reluctantly, he gets into it.

“This happened a few years back. When Gatsby wasn’t part of the family business. When our father still ran things. Atticus was still in law school, and he was planning on getting involved after graduation because Gatsby turned away from the family. Or, at least, that’s what our father liked to call it.” Wyatt laughs.

“To tell you the truth, even though I’d never admit it to Gatsby, I kind of admired him back then. I was still in college, and I really liked how he stood up to our father and followed his own path. Even if he was just some ski bum. It meant a lot to me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because no one ever stands up to Dr. William H. Wild,” Wyatt says.

He looks me straight in the eye and then looks away. All families are complicated, but I am getting the sense that the Wild family is particularly complex.

“So what happened?” I ask, unable to conceal my anticipation in hearing the rest of the story.

“I was home from school for the summer, and Gatsby showed up for a few days during July 4^th weekend as well. At that time, Atticus was living at home and shadowing our father. Man, he’s always been such as kiss ass. Anyway, the whole family was over. Our uncle Henry, our aunt Mary, and their two grown sons, Harry and Logan. They are both our age. Logan’s a few years older than I am, and Harry’s between Atticus and Gatsby.

“What you have to know about Harry and Logan is that they’re avid hunters. Uncle Henry’s a hunter too, but our father has never liked it much, much to the disappointment of his own father. But that’s another story. Anyway, Gatsby’s not a hunter.”

I nod. I didn’t know that, but it makes perfect sense.

“And not only is he not a hunter, but he’s also vehemently opposed to it. He’s always loved animals, but it’s also because of that thing that happened when he was younger.”

“What?” I ask.

“That’s a whole other story. If you want me to get into that, I can, but it’s best that Gatsby tells you himself.”

I nod reluctantly and wait for him to continue.

“Well, Logan was sick, and I wasn’t in the mood, so Harry and Gatsby decided to go hiking themselves. They pack their backpacks for a day-long hike and leave early in the morning.”

Wyatt stops talking and looks away again. Why can’t he just go on with it? I feel myself getting angry.

“So what happens?”

“What happens is that Wyatt should keep his dumb mouth shut,” Gatsby says.

His voice is deeper than Wyatt’s, and he startles me. Where did he come from? How long has he been here?

“Sorry.” Wyatt shrugs. He doesn’t seem bothered at all. “I thought she knew and then she insisted that I tell her.”

“Fuck you, Wyatt.” Gatsby shakes his head.

“No, it’s true,” I insist. I’m trying to cover for Wyatt, but I also want him to finish. I want to know what happened.

“So what happened?” I turn to Gatsby.

I reach out to touch him, but he’s steaming. His face is flushed. He is still wearing a bathrobe, which he takes off. He starts changing into a pair of jeans and a light sweater, which he retrieves from the closet. Wyatt excuses himself and leaves the room.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Atticus is nowhere to be found. I figure it didn’t go well.

“I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing here,” he says. “This is supposed to be our weekend. I don’t need all this family drama in my life right now. I’m here to unwind. I just hate them for bringing all this shit here.”

I don’t know what to say to make things better, and I really want to hear the rest of the story. But I need to give him time, so I suggest that we go on a little walk instead.

The air is crisp, and a cold front is blowing in. I take his arm and lead him through the sea of grass toward the pines. We don’t speak for awhile and just enjoy the silence instead.

“You know, I’m starting to think that I’ll always associate you with nature,” Gatsby says, finally breaking the silence. I nod. I feel the same way.

We had met in the wild. And now, in my mind, the wide open sky, the effervescent pines, and the green grasses remind me of Gatsby. His kind eyes. His rough hands. His wide shoulders. His toned body.

But my feelings for him are starting to develop into something else. It isn’t just his physical attributes that draw me to him. Now it is beyond that. It is the way he smells, the way he treats me, the way he looks at me. He is a mystery that I want to unravel.

“The story that Wyatt started to tell you wasn’t his to tell.”

Gatsby looks into the distance at the eagle floating among the clouds. He is holding my hand so tightly that I can feel his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Harry and I were just supposed to go on a hike. That was it. And if it weren’t for him, none of that would’ve happened.”

He stops talking, and I give him space to continue. I want him to get lost in thought and let the words just spill out without a filter. I fear that if he remembers that I’m here then he won’t tell me.

“We packed for a day-long hike, not an overnight, and drove to the Gallatin Mountains. It was a beautiful early summer day, and I don’t let those pass me by without going outside when I’m in Montana.

“Deep in the Gallatin Mountains, the wildlife just takes your breath away. There’s elk, moose, wolves, coyotes, tons of rabbits. I want to take you there sometime. I think you’ll really appreciate it.”

I smile. I want to go.

“Harry and I don’t have much in common,” Gatsby continues. “He’s brash and boisterous and unkind in many ways. But we used to be really close when we were little. And he wanted to go, so I thought, what the hell? What’s the worst that could happen?” Gatsby laughs sarcastically under his breath.

“It happened in the afternoon. After we had been hiking for a few hours. We came upon this meadow with pines all around. The sun was shining brightly in the sky. In the middle of the meadow, we saw a sleeping grizzly. He was gorgeous. Large and imposing and yet so peaceful. We were so close to him we could hear him snoring.

“But I knew that it wasn’t safe to be so close to him. He could wake up at any moment, and then we could really be in trouble. So I signaled to Harry to get back. I wanted us to back up into the woods and just make our way around the meadow.

“But Harry had other ideas.”