Run Away with Me

by Mila Gray

  I try to shake the idea off—Jake wouldn’t even play Spin the Bottle when we were kids; he’d get up and leave the room—but that was then, and this is now. I don’t know him anymore. I don’t know who he is. We’ve been apart for seven years. Look at how much I’ve changed in that time. Maybe he’s sleeping with a different girl every night.

  He’s still watching me as though waiting for me to say something. He won’t look away. And I find that I can’t either.

  Jake

  It’s cold. I’m used to subzero temperatures from playing hockey, but when I play hockey, I’m wearing layers and I’m constantly moving around. Stupidly, I only thought to bring a light sweater with me on this trip. Toby managed to also not book a spare sleeping bag, so I’m managing with an old, musty-smelling blanket the campsite manager found in a storeroom and using a life jacket for a pillow.

  Em tried to argue with me about staying in the tent, but she sounded about as enthusiastic as a person climbing the steps to the guillotine. I said no and then went and joined the bachelor party to see if they had all they needed. They were busy covering the bachelor in layers of fake tan (I’m wondering what’s next—a little tarring and feathering?). I know Em thinks I’m being stubborn. I don’t know whether she’s guessed the real reason I can’t sleep in the tent with her. I hope not. The truth is, with her lying beside me, there’s no way I’ll get any sleep.

  Having said that, it’s not like I’m going to get much sleep out here, either. The wind has picked up and what seemed at first like a pretty cool way to spend the night—under the stars, on the beach, listening to the waves crash against the shore—is swiftly becoming a nightmare as reality sets in. It’s cold. Loud. Buggy. I have rocks poking into my ass and sand in places it’s going to take a jet shower to remove.

  I punch the life vest beneath my head, trying to fashion it into a more comfortable pillow, and stare resolutely up at the starless sky. The clouds have rolled in, blanketing out the moon. It’s pitch-black; the lights of Seattle glittering across the bay are the only sign of life, a terrestrial version of the Milky Way. There are muffled sounds coming from the campsite: a few thundering snores, someone coughing, the stag party singing off-key Aerosmith songs.

  I think about Em. Is she managing to sleep? I’m lying about fifteen feet from her tent. Call me overprotective, but I wanted to be close in case anyone from the bachelor party accidentally, or on purpose, decided to involve her in one of their pranks. I’ve been noticing their frequent glances in her direction, especially when she went for a swim earlier in her bikini. I’m not sure she has any idea the effect she has on men, which is to literally render them speechless . . . even Captain GoPro, who fell into the smoldering remains of the fire earlier—barefoot—when Em waded out of the shallows. I even caught him surreptitiously trying to film her while she toweled off, and went over and started asking him all about his Alaskan rafting trip, putting myself through a twenty-minute play-by-play of the bear attack he single-handedly fought off, until Em was dressed and out of shot.

  I think back to our conversation earlier in the woods. All day, I’ve been puzzling over the fact she broke up with Rob. I wanted to ask her when and why but couldn’t without it being really obvious. The fact that they’re over, though, makes me happier than if I’d scored a winning goal in a playoff game. I tell myself it’s because she deserves better than an asshole like him, but that isn’t the whole truth.

  She smiled at me too. It was the first smile I’ve had from her since I got back. It’s as if the steel door she uses to keep out the world had been pushed ajar. I’m just scared now that I’ll say or do something that will make her slam it shut again.

  Without warning, I flash back to the time we kissed all those years ago. I waited months for that kiss. Em doesn’t know it, but three girls had propositioned me before then, one of whom was Tanya Hollingsworth—the most popular girl in school. I turned them all down. I used to walk out of parties when they brought out the bottle to spin because I didn’t want to play the game and risk my first kiss happening with some other girl. I wanted it to be with her.

  There was only ever Em. Since we were kids. As stupid as it sounds, even when she was six years old and I was seven and we were playing Star Wars in my backyard I never wanted to play Luke. I always wanted to be Han to her Leia. Except Em never wanted to play the part of the princess; she always wanted to be the rogue rebel Han. So I always had to suck it up and be Luke or Chewy.

  A raindrop hits me in the face. I blink. Another lands on my arm. Damn. I wait for a few seconds, hoping it will blow over, but it doesn’t. It becomes a full-on downpour. I jump to my feet, grab the blanket and life jacket, and head toward the bathroom block at the far end of the campsite. There’s a bench outside that’s sheltered by the roof. I lie down on it and watch the rain come down, harder now, enjoying the drumming sound of it as it fills my head with white noise.

  After a few minutes, I catch the beam of a flashlight strobing through the campsite, and a few seconds later the flashlight lands on my face, blinding me.

  “I was looking for you,” Em says, breathless. She’s been running.

  She drops the flashlight to her side. The light from the bathrooms illuminates her. She’s wearing a rain jacket with the hood pulled up and she’s bare-legged.

  “Come on,” she says, beckoning me.

  I watch her. To be honest, I can’t take my eyes off her legs. The jacket barely covers the tops of her thighs, and her skin is gleaming in the light.

  She stops ten feet away and glances over her shoulder at me. “You can’t stay here all night,” she says. “Are you coming or not?”

  I get up slowly and follow after her, jogging through the rain toward the tent. Em unzips the door and ducks inside. I hesitate for a second before following after her.

  Inside, there’s barely room for two people to lie down. Maybe if we were both Em’s size, it would be okay, but I’m about twice her size, so this is going to be a squeeze. An awkward one. There’s hardly any space to maneuver, so when Em unzips her jacket and pulls it off, I find myself pressed up against her. She hastily balls up the jacket and throws it into the corner of the tent. She’s wearing an extralarge LOWE KAYAKING CO. T-shirt, and when she wriggles to get inside her sleeping bag, I get a glimpse of her underwear. I turn away fast and make a show of zipping up the tent door.

  When I turn back, Em’s cocooned inside the sleeping bag, which she’s pulled up to her chin. I lay out my damp blanket and then drop down onto it, staring up at the tent roof.

  Em switches off the flashlight, plunging us into darkness. In the cave of the tent, our breathing amplifies. Neither of us says anything, and I wonder after a while if Em’s fallen asleep. There’s no way that’s even a possibility for me. My whole body is tense, my muscles elastic bands that are stretched to breaking point. I can feel the heat of her body radiating toward me, and my senses are swimming with the scent of her—her shampoo, maybe, or body lotion. I just want to turn my head toward her and inhale.

  “Are you warm enough?” Em suddenly asks.

  “I’m fine,” I say, though I’m not. It’s cold, and as soon as she asks the question, I start wishing we were sharing the sleeping bag, and maybe some body heat too. I curse myself out silently. If I want Em and I to be friends again, I can’t keep allowing thoughts like that one to hijack my brain.

  “Don’t you love the sound of the rain?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I murmur, though truthfully I hadn’t even noticed the sound of the rain pattering against the canvas roof of the tent. I’m glad for it now, though, as it’s helping drown out the sound of my heartbeat, which I’m sure must be louder than the Aerosmith karaoke from earlier.

  “I used to go and sit in the tree house when I knew a storm was coming.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, propping myself up on one arm so I can see her better.

  She nods, still staring up at the roof. “I like how it drowns out everything, even the sound of your own tho
ughts.”

  I watch her, tracing her silhouette with my eyes. I’m scared to move or say the wrong thing in case this house of cards it feels as if we’re building gets blown to smithereens. I wonder what kind of thoughts she’s talking about—ones no doubt concerning my uncle. Is she ever going to talk to me about that?

  When Em accused my uncle, it didn’t even get to court. Insufficient evidence. Em’s word against his. With no previous convictions, a stellar career, and character references from a number of influential people, my uncle was never punished for what he did.

  He died six months ago in a hunting accident. Apparently, there was a huge turnout at his funeral. He was buried in his coaching kit. I didn’t go, of course.

  The Lowes almost lost their business because of what happened. My uncle owned half of it, and Em’s parents cut their ties with him, walked away, and were forced to start over from scratch. I wish I could talk to her about it all, but I don’t want to seem like I’m prying into her family’s affairs, and I also don’t want to bring up my uncle in case I trigger her. I need to wait for her to do it.

  She turns her head away, sensing me watching her. There’s a glimmer in her eye. Tears?

  “Em?” I whisper, reaching for her before I can stop myself.

  She flinches when I put my hand on her shoulder, and I pull it away, angry at myself for overstepping her boundaries. “I’m sorry.”

  She turns to me. “For what?”

  I open my mouth to answer her and then shut it again. The question seems too loaded.

  “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Her bottom lip starts to tremble and her nostrils flare as though she’s holding back tears or anger, maybe both.

  “You just disappeared,” she says.

  “What?”

  She blinks, and her voice gets small. “You didn’t even bother to ask me if it was true or to hear my side.”

  “What?” I ask again.

  “You just left. You never came back.”

  She rolls over so she’s facing away from me, and it’s as if she’s put up a force field between us. All I can do is stare at her back and replay the conversation in my head. I will her to turn around, wishing I could reach out and touch her, frustrated that we never seem to be able to get everything in the open.

  Shit. After a while her breathing becomes deeper and more regular. Has she fallen asleep or is she faking it?

  Letting out a sigh, I glance up at the ceiling of the tent, listening to the rain patter against it, wondering if it might have been better if I’d just stayed outside.

  Emerson

  I wake before dawn, and instantly I’m aware that Jake’s not there. I roll over and see that I’m right. The bed is cold. He’s gone. His blanket is lying discarded on the ground. I sit up. Where’s he gone? Panic starts to bubble through me. He’s left again. It’s my fault. I should have said something last night. I should have opened up about everything and told him how much it meant to me to hear him say sorry. I should have told him I forgave him. But I found myself in the same place as always, unable to speak, unable even to find the words to voice just how I was feeling. What if it’s too late, though? What if he’s left?

  I wriggle out of my sleeping bag and rummage through my bag for a pair of shorts, pulling them on as fast as I can.

  Unzipping the tent, I race outside barefoot. The campsite is quiet in the predawn light. The bachelor party boys are still fast asleep, their snores almost drowning out the sound of the surf. I scan the beach and spot Jake at the far end, sitting at the water’s edge, his forearms resting on his knees, staring out at the horizon. Straightaway, I feel a jolt in the pit of my stomach, like someone’s zapped me with a cattle prod. Relief. It’s just relief that he’s still here. The panic that he’d left me in the night subsides, but in its place comes a dizzying wave of adrenaline.

  Jake doesn’t notice me approaching, and from a distance I get to study him. He’s gazing out at the water with something of a scowl on his face. Even from here I can see the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the set of his jaw. It gives me pause, but my feet keep moving anyway. I try to work out what I’ll say when I reach him.

  He looks up when I’m a few feet away, though, and the scowl disappears instantly, giving me another shot of relief. “Hey,” he says, his smile reaching his eyes.

  “Hey,” I answer, and sit down beside him, my legs almost giving way. I still haven’t figured out what to say to him. My heart is a butterfly struggling out of a cocoon. It’s only when I’m sitting beside him that I remember I’m wearing his T-shirt. It’s the one he took off and left in the store. I never returned it. I gave him a new one. It was stupid. I’m not sure why I did it, not sure either why I’ve been wearing it every night since. Hopefully, he won’t realize.

  Jake shifts in the sand and picks up a stick. I watch him start to play with it—watch his hands—finding it hard to look away from them. I should say something, make a reference to last night at least.

  “Have you been awake long?” I ask, forcing my gaze to the water.

  He laughs under his breath. “A little while.”

  “Have you called ahead to the campsite in Vashon and checked the booking?” I ask, cringing that all I can find to talk about are safe things, practical things, when really I want to look him in the eye and tell him thank you. “Yeah. It’s all good,” he says.

  There’s an awkwardness to our interaction. Jake seems tense.

  Absentmindedly, I rub at my neck. Jake glances over. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, just a sore neck. I’ll take some painkillers. It’ll be fine.”

  He nods to himself, then moves to stand up. “I’ll go see about starting breakfast.”

  I open my mouth, ready to say something, but then I stop myself. Instead I just nod and watch him walk back toward the campsite, aware that the ache in my shoulder and neck has now spread outward, downward, into my heart. My feet itch to run after him, but I force myself to stay sitting. It’s better this way.

  He’s going to leave again. In six weeks’ time, to be precise. If I give him a chance, I know he’ll wheedle his way in. The door’s already ajar. If I let him knock it wide-open, then I’m done for. I have to stay here in Bainbridge. He’s moving two thousand miles away. Jake’s world and my world are like two planets in separate solar systems, at opposite ends of the cosmos. We’re on different trajectories. He’s moving forward, heading for the brightest spot in the universe. I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, possibly forever. If I let him in, if I get used to that feeling, if I give him that power, what will happen to me when he leaves?

  * * *

  After breakfast, the bachelor party lies half-comatose around the campfire, emitting the occasional grunt and groan. I’ve handed out Tylenol, but it doesn’t seem to have made much of an impact.

  Jake walks into the tent just as I’m walking out with my bag, and we bump into each other.

  “Sorry,” Jake says, moving quickly out of my way.

  “It’s fine,” I say, rubbing my still-sore neck.

  “Is it still hurting?” he asks, casting a quick look my way.

  “Mmm,” I say.

  Jake frowns. “Turn around,” he orders.

  “What?”

  “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t kayak with a sore neck, and I can fix it.” He flushes. “If you want me to, that is.”

  “Um, okay.” I turn around.

  He places his hands on my shoulders. His touch is enough to paralyze me, and even the muscles that weren’t locked up sure as hell are now. Every nerve in my body seems to have repositioned itself beneath Jake’s fingers, so when he starts to massage my shoulders, I almost jump high enough to hit the stars.

  “Wait,” he says, stopping suddenly. “This will be easier if you sit. There’s not enough room in here.”

  I sit, so wobbly legged it’s more of an u
ngainly collapse to the ground. Jake kneels behind me. I close my eyes, feeling a heat wave travel through my body as he starts kneading my neck muscles.

  Holy shit. I try to stop myself from groaning out loud as his thumb moves and starts rubbing circles over the ridges of my spine. He pauses for a moment to brush my hair over one shoulder, and my stomach constricts corset-tight.

  “Is that too hard?” he asks, his voice a husky murmur in my ear.

  “No,” I manage to stammer. “It’s good.”

  “This might hurt,” he says, and next thing I know, he’s digging his thumb into a really sore spot in my shoulder blade. I let out a yelp that’s as much in response to the pain as it is to the pleasure.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “No,” I say, my stomach squeezing even tighter. “Don’t stop.”

  Jake keeps going, and I let out a loud groan, then laugh in embarrassment to cover it up. “Oh my God, this is so good,” I say. “How did you get so good at this?”

  “Practice,” says Jake, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “On whom?” I immediately ask, and then wish I hadn’t as I’m now picturing him giving some oiled, naked cheerleader a full-body massage.

  “I get massages all the time. We have a full-time physio on the team.” Jake slaps me on the back. “There, how’s that now?”

  I have to stop myself from leaning back against his chest and begging him to keep going. I roll my shoulders instead and stretch my head from side to side. “Good. Better,” I tell him. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, no problem.” He reaches for his blanket again and suddenly he’s acting distant and professional. “We should get going.”

  I nod. The heat from his hands is seared into my skin. “Yeah,” I say, grabbing my bag and following him outside.

  As soon as I exit the tent, I spy all the bachelor party sitting around the ashes of the fire, staring at Jake and me with amused grins on their faces.

  “You guys have a good time?” Captain GoPro asks.