Chapter Thirty-Six
The overhead lights flash on, burning into my retinas. I pull the blanket over my head. “Fuck off, Laurie.”
My friend’s compassion knows no bounds as he rips the blanket away. “Come on, man. You’ve been here almost two weeks. Don’t you think it’s time you got your ass off this couch?”
“I’ve gotten up.”
“Taking yourself or your dog for a piss doesn’t count.”
“I’ve done more than that.”
“Yeah? Like starting to decompose on my couch? Because that’s sure as hell what it smells like.”
I snatch the blanket back. “I’m not in the mood, Laurie.”
“Yeah, well, I am and Sam’s at my mom’s, so get your ass out of my house so I can fuck my wife.”
I burrow deeper into the couch. “Have at it. You’re not about to bone on the corpse couch, anyway.”
“Knowing that your moping ass is down here isn’t exactly a turn-on. Go outside. Walk your dog. You used to like it out there.”
“Maybe I don’t like it anymore.” I squeeze my eyes closed against memories of trees, and canoes, and a fire pit next to a lake. I will myself to find the hate I wish I had for them.
“Trust me. If Tanya can be back on the bang train after swearing off it, you can get over this aversion to the great outdoors. What goes around comes around, man.”
My eyes unclench. “T swore off sex? I don’t buy it.”
“Oh, believe it. Something about pushing a watermelon out of a space the size of a walnut and how I’d done it to her, so she was done doing me.”
“Shit. What did you say?”
“Are you kidding me? I agreed I’d never put another hand anywhere near any of her fun parts. You don’t mess with a woman when she’s hurting and you know full well you’ve caused that pain.”
I push my hand through my hair and it gets stuck in a knot. “But she clearly didn’t mean it.”
“Have you ever seen the miracle of life? There’s more blood and screaming than most horror movies. She definitely meant it.”
“But she didn’t stick to it.”
“Hell no. I mean, she’s beyond preoccupied with not getting knocked up again, but promise or not, all it took was one strategically placed finger to remind her that she’s all woman. So I’ll give you whatever you want—beer, tequila, strippers, you name it—but please. Get the fuck out of my house so I can bend my wife over—”
I throw the covers back. “Okay. Fine. I’m going.”
“Thank god.” Laurie drops his head back onto the wall. “Hours. We’re going to need hours.”
I rip my shirt off and drop it on the floor. The whiff of couch and movie marathon I catch isn’t pretty. “Hey, what day is it?”
“Sunday.” Laurie’s eyes drift toward the stairs. “Take Chuck to the park. Fuck, pitch a tent there and—”
But tents aren’t what I want. I want cabins. A rec hall. Amy’s soft heart and tough skin and tight warmth. “What time?”
“I don’t know. Time to get out.”
“Seriously, Laurie. What time?”
He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Almost two. Why?”
I pull a wrinkled shirt from my bag and slap a ball cap over my mess of hair. “Because I made a promise, too. And I don’t think I can keep it.”
* * *
Chuck lies stretched out on his side, the parking lot’s pavement warming one side while the sun bakes the other.
“Want some more water, buddy?” He wags his tail, so I unscrew the lid to my water bottle and pour it in his mouth. “Sorry, bud. It’s been a while since you’ve gone on a run, hey?”
My own legs are shaking and could pass as Jell-O in certain circles, but I had to run—partly because I didn’t want to risk being late, and partly because I was afraid I would freeze if I gave myself enough time to think about what I was doing.
Not to mention the fact that Laurie and Tanya hadn’t actually waited until I left the house, and that she makes noises with him that she never made with me. Noises that were a spur to my side, not a knife in my stomach. Because they aren’t the only ones who’ve found their perfect fit.
I hear the bus before I see it. Chuck’s ears perk up at the familiar sound and he scrambles to his feet as the bus pulls into the far side of the parking lot. Campers pour through the doors at half the speed that they do it when they get to camp, grudgingly hugging the parents who’ve either missed them, or not.
I pull my fingers along the crease in the sheet of paper I’d grabbed from the printer as I hauled ass away from my friends’ happiness in a mad dash to find my own. Cam climbs off the bus behind the last of the campers, clipboard in hand. Chuck whines and woofs at the sight of him.
Cam holds up a hand to block the sun from his eyes. He stalls in surprise before handing his clipboard to Britt and jogging over. There’s just a small window between unloading last week’s campers and checking the new group in, but it’s all the time I need.
He thumps my back in a one-armed hug. “Jesus. It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” I tap the paper against my thigh. “So. How’re things? Up there.”
Cam looks up from scratching Chuck’s ears. “Things are good.”
“That’s good.” I clear my throat. “And Amy. How’s Amy?”
“Better than she was.”
My neck tenses. “She wasn’t okay?”
“Are you kidding me, man? Of course she wasn’t okay. I saw you guys together.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” I squeeze my concrete muscles. “But she’s fine now?”
“I said better. Not fine.” Cam sighs. “She’s turned into a decent director, mellowed out and all that. Even scared a bear from the dining hall, no thanks to you. Seriously. Why didn’t we have a plan for that kind of shit?”
My stomach drops. “Because I’m an idiot, clearly. How was she? Did she handle it?”
“Yeah, she took care of it. She was mostly just pissed that you didn’t have a plan.” He looks over my shoulder and tugs at his beard.
I fold the paper once more. Kick my own ass for not having a plan in place—for not being there to help her, even though she clearly didn’t need my help, and definitely didn’t want it. “What?”
“She’s been doing better. But when she thinks we’re not looking...” He shrugs.
I tap the note against my leg, then do what I came here for. “Give her this for me, will you?”
He looks at the note I’m holding out to him and rubs his beard. “I don’t know, man. Those first couple of days after you left, well, she barely left the house.”
“And it’s been a couple weeks for me. Come on.”
“Why don’t you just call her?”
“Because that would go really well.” I clear my throat as if my sarcasm lives there and not in the adrenaline-fueled hope and fear coursing through me. “I mean, she doesn’t do so well with unexpected approaches.”
“You’re telling me. She jumped so far out of her skin that she tossed lukewarm hot chocolate in my face at the end of campfire when I asked what she was thinking for the last song.”
“Right? So, come on. Help me out.”
“Fine.” He stuffs the paper into his pocket. “But only because I’ve seen bear scat that looks better than you do right now.”