Chapter Seventeen
The cold disappeared, driven away by adrenaline and her pounding heart. Blood rushed to every corner of her body.
“No,” she said.
He moved in the darkness, and she was aware of his size, his power. In an instant, everything had changed. They’d been talking about the past, thinking about the past, but now it was as if the past had never been and the future didn’t matter.
There was only the present.
“Liar.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re thinking about it right now.”
She pressed herself back against the car door. She’d given in to this feeling last December because she’d felt so lost, and because she wanted him so much, and because she’d convinced herself that since the world was such a shithole she might as well have one good thing, one moment of bliss in all the emptiness and grief. She’d known it wouldn’t last, but in December it hadn’t mattered.
Now it did.
“Well, of course I’m thinking about it now,” she said. “You just brought it up.”
“I bet you think about it all the time. I bet you think about me every night.”
God, did she? There had to be some nights she didn’t think about Caleb in those vulnerable moments right before sleep came.
“I do not.”
“Yeah, you do. You know how I know?”
“I—”
“Because I think about you every night, too.”
Her heart stopped.
“I think about the snow falling outside and your Harry Potter pajamas and how goddamn beautiful you looked. I think about your nails on my back and your legs around my waist. I think about sinking inside you and wanting to stay there forever. I think about the look on your face when you came.”
She closed her eyes. “Caleb—”
“It’s okay.”
She opened her eyes again, wondering how she could have ever thought it was cold in here. Her body was like a furnace.
Caleb looked at her for a moment, and she wished she could see his face.
Then he reached behind him to open the door, and a draft of cold air came in to cool the fever in her cheeks.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know it’s not going to happen again. I just wanted you to know that I think about it.” He paused. “Good night, Jane.”
He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, and she watched him cross the parking lot and go into his room.
“Good night, Caleb,” she whispered.
When morning came, a steady rain was falling.
Jane sat up in bed and looked out at the grayness. It was just after dawn, and the slate-colored sky looked full of more rain to come. Her heart sank into her toes at the thought of hiking up a mountain in that. Would it even be safe? Maybe Caleb would say they had to wait.
As though thinking of him had been a signal, there was a knock at her door.
A sudden flush spread from her neck to her face. Last night when she’d gone back to her room, she’d been unable to sleep. Her restlessness had eased only when she thought about Caleb, and thinking had led to . . .
Would he be able to tell somehow?
The knock came again, and she jumped out of bed. Of course Caleb wouldn’t be able to tell. She was being ridiculous.
And anyway, he’d said he thought about her, too. Wasn’t it likely that his thoughts led the same place hers had, at least once in a while?
Okay, wrong thing to focus on if she wanted the heat in her cheeks to subside.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Caleb was wearing some very professional-looking rain gear—jacket and pants—and equally professional-looking hiking boots.
He’d told her to buy a pair of boots or trail running shoes and break them in before their trip, but she’d decided that was too much trouble. She’d brought her sneakers instead.
She wondered what Caleb would say when he found out.
“You’re not dressed yet,” Caleb said, frowning at her.
He sounded critical, but that was better than Hey, Jane, I can totally tell you were fantasizing about me last night.
“I must have slept through my alarm.” She hesitated. “So, I guess we’re going ahead with the trip?”
“You mean because of the rain? We can wait a day if you want, but you might miss Horn-Rims at the bridge on May 1.”
“No! We don’t have to wait. It’s just, uh, really wet.” She hesitated again. “We could . . . well, skip the hike completely. I don’t have to go now. It’s not like there’s a deadline or anything. I meant to go this summer, or even next year. We don’t have to—”
But Caleb was already shaking his head. “You need to do this, Jane.”
Man, he could be bossy sometimes.
This time, though, she had a feeling he might be right.
“Fine. Give me five minutes?”
“Sure.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out an impossibly tiny packet of material, shaking it out into a rain jacket and rain pants like the ones he wore. “I got these for you in the city in case of bad weather.”
They looked to be her size. “Wow. Thank you.”
“Wear warm layers. I’ll be in the car,” he said, and then he was gone.
Long underwear, flannel shirt, wool sweater, down jacket. Too much for the beginning of the hike, maybe—the temperature was in the sixties, mild in spite of the rain—but she was betting she’d be glad for the warmth when they got to the top of the mountain. And she could always carry what she didn’t want to wear.
She put on the rain jacket and used the down jacket to cover Sam’s urn, keeping it dry for the dash across the parking lot. She put it in the back seat like she had yesterday, buckling it in and then taking her seat next to Caleb.
“All set?” he asked.
She nodded. “All set.”
It was quiet in the car without the audiobook in the background. The rain drummed against the roof, and when they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, the wipers couldn’t go fast enough to keep up.
“So, it’s definitely safe to hike in the rain, then?” she ventured after a few minutes.
“You need to be careful with your footing, especially if you’re walking on mud or slick rocks, and you need to watch out for swollen creeks. But we should be fine, especially if you’ve got good”—he glanced at her feet—“shoes.”
Oops.
“Well, they are good sneakers,” she said defensively.
“They’re not waterproof.”
“No.”
“They won’t give you any ankle support.”
“Well . . . no.”
He sighed. “But it’s just a day hike, so you should be all right. You might get blisters, though.”
“Blisters? I don’t want blisters.”
“You should have brought decent shoes, then. But I’ll do my best to take care of your feet.”
They drove another few minutes in silence. “You know, I just thought of something.”
He glanced at her. “Yeah?”
“I could sort of deputize you to go up the mountain for me. I’ll stay down here in the car, and you can bring Sam’s ashes up to the summit.”
“Nice try.”
“Is that a no?”
“Yes.”
“Yes that’s a no, or—”
“We’re here.”
He stopped the car in a deserted lot. A few yards away, she could see the beginning of a trail into the woods.
She couldn’t see very far along it, but she assumed the trail led up the mountain looming in front of them, obscured by the rain, its top shrouded in mist like something out of The Lord of the Rings.
That thought made her feel a little more cheerful. If she could imagine this was a scene in a book, maybe she’d get through it better.
But any vision of this hike as a storybook adventure was dimmed when she opened the back door and picked up Sam’s ashes. Whatever else this journey might be, it was the last one she’d ever take with her sister.
Caleb had brought a small pack for the urn, which was a relief. She hadn’t even thought about the mechanics of carrying it, and in the moments between getting it out of the car and Caleb pulling the pack out of the trunk, she’d had a vision of herself holding it in her arms like a baby, all the way up the mountain.
The pack was the perfect size for the urn and her down jacket. She slung it over her shoulders, feeling the weight settle against her shoulder blades.
The rain was coming down as steadily as ever. In spite of the hood she’d pulled tight under her chin, droplets leaked under the edges and tickled her neck. She leaned against the car, head down, feeling wet and forlorn.
Suddenly Caleb was there, tilting her chin up with one hand.
“How you doing?” he asked, and the hint of amusement in his voice was more annoying than usual.
“I’m fine,” she said.
His looming presence protected her from the rain, and she was able to glare up at him. He looked warm and dry and competent in his gear, unlike her, and even though the pack he carried was five times heavier than hers, he made it seem like nothing at all.
“Aren’t you carrying a lot of stuff for a day hike?”
“We’re going to the summit, the weather is shitty, and you’re not an experienced hiker. Put all that together, and it’s a plan-for-all-contingencies kind of trip. I’m hoping we won’t need a third of what I’m bringing.”
“Oh.”
He smiled down at her. “Ready to go?”
“You bet.”
He handed her two aluminum poles with wrist straps and soft grips for her hands.
“What are these?”
“Trekking poles,” he said. “They’ll help with your balance and your footing, and they’ll absorb some of the shock as you’re walking, which is good for your knees and ankles.”
She slipped her hands through the straps. “Thanks.”
“I’ll lead the way,” he said. “That way I’ll be able to test out the terrain first, make sure it’s stable. I won’t be able to hear you very well, so give a shout if you need anything, okay? Or you could poke me in the back with one of your poles,” he added with a grin.
He seemed remarkably cheerful in spite of the rain, and it occurred to her for the first time that out here, he was in his element. All the time they’d spent together in New York, he’d been in hers.
“Got it,” she said.
“Okay, then. Here we go.”
Her feet were soaked after only twenty minutes.
It was her own fault. They were crossing a shallow stream, the rushing water less than an inch deep where they forded it, but when she was distracted by a little frog she saw hopping from stone to stone, she’d stepped off the fording area and into water deep enough to cover her ankles.
Caleb hadn’t seen, thank God. Feeling like a moron—a wet, uncomfortable moron—she clambered out of the stream and back onto the trail in time for Caleb to turn his head and check on her.
“Doing okay?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” she said.
He set an easy pace—probably agonizingly slow to him—but it was still hard to keep up, and her wet feet didn’t help. There was only one positive development as the trek went on. As they hiked deeper into the woods, the trees above them provided some protection from the rain, which went from a steady downpour beating on her head and shoulders to a slow, depressing drizzle.
But that small advantage was outweighed by the fact that the trail became steeper the farther they went. Her feet were already wet and aching, and now she felt the climb in her thighs and calves, too. Her muscles weren’t used to this type of exercise, and they protested it loudly.
She became increasingly aware of the pack on her back, the weight of her sister’s ashes growing heavier and heavier and the straps chafing her shoulders.
When they’d first started out, the pouring rain had encouraged her to keep her head down and her eyes on the ground. But as the trees overhead grew thicker, she could lift her head occasionally to watch Caleb walking ahead of her.
His stride never faltered, and he carried himself like the pack on his back weighed nothing at all. He was strong and tireless and competent, and as she watched him, she felt weak and tired and inept.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she poked him in the shoulder with the tip of a trekking pole.
“Hey!” she called out.
He turned instantly. “Hey yourself,” he said with a grin. “How’s it going back there?”
“I need a break. It feels like we’ve been going for hours.”
“Well, forty-five minutes, anyway.”
Her heart sank. Caleb had told her it would take three hours to reach the top of the mountain.
“That’s it?”
He laughed, and even though there was no malice in it, at this particular moment it only added insult to injury.
“Stop laughing at me.”
He came closer. “I’m not,” he said, pulling a red bandanna from a pocket and using it to dry the raindrops from her face. “I’m laughing with you.”
“Well, I’m not laughing,” she grumbled. “Aren’t we ever going to take a break?”
“Can you hang on a few more minutes? There’s a lean-to up ahead where we can get off our feet and out of the rain.”
That sounded like heaven.
“Okay. But it better only be a few minutes.”
It was. They went forward a few hundred paces and around a bend, and then Caleb stepped off the trail and into a shelter made of logs. It had three walls and a roof and a floor of dead leaves, but best of all, there was a long, low bench at the back.
In her whole life, she’d never enjoyed the simple act of sitting down quite this much.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Caleb said after a minute.
With all her muscles mad at her, Caleb’s pleasure felt like a personal affront. She turned to glare at him. He’d taken his pack and his jacket off and was leaning back, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, his legs extended and one booted foot hooked over the other.
“What’s beautiful? The rain?”
“Nature.”
She wiggled her wet toes inside her sneakers.
“Nature can go fuck herself,” she said, and Caleb threw back his head and laughed.
“I hardly ever hear you swear.”
“I like to save it for worthy occasions.”
He was looking out at the scene in front of them, and Jane followed the direction of his gaze.
Across the trail from where they were, a deep, tree-filled ravine dipped low and then rose up to a ridge, pale green and dark green and every shade in between. Sometime in the last hour the rain had let up a little, and she could see the far edge of the ridge clearly.
Beneath the trees around them, feathery clusters of soft ferns gave way, here and there, to bunches of wildflowers.
“It is beautiful,” she said, and Caleb turned to smile at her.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I was more focused on my feet.”
She leaned forward, her eyes drawn to glimpses of white and purple and yellow and pink peeping out from beneath the trees and ferns.
“What are those?” she asked.
“The flowers?”
She nodded.
He pointed toward a little splash of white only a few yards away. “Lily of the valley.” Then he pointed across the trail, where a river of luscious purple swept down from an enormous maple. “Violets,” he said.
She thought of the book they’d listened to yesterday. “Like Anne’s Violet Vale,” she murmured.
He smiled. “Exactly.” He looked right and left, as though searching for something, and when he found it he gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Something else from the book,” he said, pointing to a little cluster of delicate pink blossoms.
“What are they?”
“Trailing arbutus.” He paused. “Otherwise known as mayflowers.”
She looked at them in delight. “Of course! Gilbert offered a bunch to Anne, but she rejected them with scorn.”
He laughed. “Man, that girl was stubborn.” He tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Remember what she said? She thought mayflowers were the souls of the flowers that died last summer, and this was their heaven.”
She stared at him. “You remember that?”
“Sure. Don’t you?”
“Well, yes. But I’ve read that book a hundred times. I practically know it by heart.”
“I’m surprised you don’t appreciate nature more, then. Anne loved nature.”
“She did?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Don’t tell me you missed that.”
She thought about it. “Not exactly. I mean, of course I remember the descriptions of nature, but I guess I wasn’t as interested in those parts of the book. I noticed other things more.”
“That was the thing I liked best about Anne.” He paused. “The author loved nature, too, you know.”
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “How in the world do you know that?”
He grinned. “I looked her up last night.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. There wasn’t anything good on TV.” He reached into an outer pocket on his pack and pulled out the waterproof bag that held his phone.
“Don’t tell me you can get a signal out here,” she said skeptically.
“I don’t need one. I took screenshots of the quotes I liked.”
“Quotes?”
“From L. M. Montgomery. Her letters and journals and things like that.” He clicked through to something and handed her the phone. “Here.”
She squinted down at the screen and read out loud. “Once and again, I stray down and listen to the duet of the brook and wind, and watch the sunbeams creeping through the dark boughs, the gossamers glimmering here and there, and the ferns growing up in the shadowy nooks.”
He reached out with a fingertip and swiped right, bringing up a new screen.
She read aloud again. “It has always seemed to me that, amid all the commonplaces of life, I was very near to a kingdom of ideal beauty. Between it and me hung only a thin veil. I could never quite draw it aside, but sometimes a wind fluttered it and I caught a glimpse of the enchanting world beyond—only a glimpse, but those glimpses have always made life worthwhile.”
She sat silent for a minute, goose bumps prickling her skin.
“I can’t believe you actually looked up L. M. Montgomery,” she said after a while.
He took his phone back. “Why not? Like I said, she loved nature. We’re kindred spirits,” he added, using one of Anne Shirley’s favorite phrases.
He wrapped the phone up and returned it to his pack. “Besides, I make it a point to collect quotes about the natural world. It gives me something to tell people on trips. The best I can come up with on my own is ‘Wow, pretty.’ So it helps to have other people’s words.”
He pulled something else out of a different pocket—a red pouch marked First Aid. “Let’s take a look at your feet.”
“My feet?”
“I want to make sure they’re okay.”
“They’re definitely not okay.”
“Then let’s do something about that.” He held out his hands. “Give them here.”
She turned to face him, swinging her feet up into his lap.
He unlaced her sneakers and pulled them off with a frown. “These are soaked through.”
“Yep.”
“Your socks, too.”
“I know.”
He reached into the pocket he’d taken the first aid kit from and pulled out a pair of clean, dry socks. “These will help.”
She took them gratefully. “I take back everything I ever said about you. You’re a god among men.”
He pulled off her wet socks and used his red bandanna to dry her feet thoroughly.
“A couple of hot spots here,” he said, examining her heels and arches.
“Hot spots?”
She was trying to be as clinical about this process as Caleb was, but the touch of his big hands on her bare skin felt anything but clinical.
“Points of friction that can turn into blisters,” he explained, taking ointment and bandages out of the first aid kit and applying them to her feet—two on her heels and one on a big toe. “There,” he said, taking the dry socks from her and sliding them on. Then he pulled out two plastic sandwich bags, put them over her socks, and put the sneakers back on over the bags. “That’ll help keep you a little drier.”
She put her feet back on the ground, marveling at the difference dry skin could make to a person’s comfort.
“Got any other miracles in that pack of yours?”
He reached inside the main compartment. “It’s not a miracle, but—” He pulled out a thermos, and when he opened it a curl of steam rose into the air. The aroma was deliciously familiar.
“Coffee!”
“With cream and lots of sugar, just the way you like it.”
He poured out a cupful into the plastic lid and handed it to her.
The heat felt wonderful against her cold hands, and the coffee was the most delicious she’d ever tasted.
“I love you,” she said without thinking. When she saw Caleb’s expression, she cleared her throat. “I mean, I love this coffee.”
“Uh-huh.” He pulled a protein bar out of the pack and handed it to her. “How about now?”
She hadn’t realized how ravenous she was until this moment. “Okay, I really do love you.”
They were just joking around, but she was surprised at how easily the words came and how natural it felt to say them to him.
She waited, but Caleb didn’t say anything else. After a moment she tore open her protein bar and bit into it.
Yes, they were just joking—but it wouldn’t actually kill him to say it back to her. Even a flippant I love you shouldn’t be left hanging.
She wouldn’t say anything else, she decided. She’d let him be the next one to speak. I love you, too. Was that so hard? He could say it while tugging her braid or punching her on the shoulder.
After a few minutes, Caleb slung his pack over his shoulders and rose to his feet.
“All set?” he asked. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”