Whenever I'm With You
Page 20
Companionship. The real kind, like this, the soul-baring kind.
I thought I had it with my mother, as I followed in her footsteps, watching and learning how to be like her, doing what I thought would make her happy, but it wasn’t genuine, not like this feels with Kai. How could it have been, if she was able to throw it away so easily? And, unlike how Kai feels about his dad, the differences of opinion between Mom and me changed everything.
The sun is much lower when we reach the river, which is more like a stream. Not as big as I was expecting but too wide to hop across. And wet. And cold. Two things I’d rather not be together. This is why I didn’t jump in the lake with Kai’s friends. This is why Hunter nearly died. Wet and cold are a lethal combination.
“We’re really close now,” Kai says, his tone rising in excitement. “I bet Dad fishes here. This is probably why he always came up in winter. The water would be deeper in spring and summer, when the snow melts. It’s easier to cross now.”
I hate to deflate his enthusiasm, but: “Is there a different path we can take to get to the other side? Even if it takes us longer?”
“We’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll make a fire as soon as we’re on the other side, and we’ll get dry. Then we’ll keep moving. We should get to the cabin before dark. Seriously, we’re that close. He might even be walking around here …” He’s smiling big now. His cheeks have bunched so much they’re creating bulges at the sides of his mask. “You might not get that wet. You’ve got good boots and your snowpants are water resistant. You jumped off a cliff, Gabi—this is nothing.”
This is nothing. The last time he said that to me, I had to roll across cracking ice—and I survived. Okay. Just a quick bit of cold and wet and then we’ll be resting by a fire. God, I hope his dad is alive and rebuilt the cabin, like Kai thinks, or we’re sleeping outside for sure, even if we do get there before dark.
Kai takes the first step in, and the water covers only the tops of his boots. It can’t be more than twenty steps across. As I look down at the riverbank to get my footing, I notice ours aren’t the only tracks in the snow. The other tracks definitely aren’t human, though.
“What is that from?” I ask, taking Kai’s hand.
“Something that was thirsty.”
“Obviously.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. I know what he’s doing. Messing with me so I don’t focus on the water, the cold, the wind, this whole crazy thing we’ve gotten ourselves into. The consequences we’ll have to face when we get back home—whenever that is. “Do you recognize the animal?”
He nods, leading me into the water. Only a few steps in, I’m calf-deep, and the riverbed isn’t smooth. I can’t walk as fast as I want to. Icicle threads slowly weave inside my boots, finding any little crack in coverage. My legs stay dry, though, thanks to the snowpants, and the water doesn’t get any deeper. We’re halfway across when I realize Kai never answered my question.
Well, no, he did answer it. He just didn’t explain. “What were those tracks from?”
“An animal that was thirsty before we got here and that I hope doesn’t get hungry anytime soon, and if it does, I hope it stays on that side of the river.”
That was avoiding the question. We’re nearly at the other side. There’s no reason to keep me distracted anymore. “What kind of animal was it?” I press. “Just tell me. I won’t freak out.”
On my next step, I hit something wobbly—a rock?—and it slides out from under me. My ankle gives, pulling the rest of me downward at an awkward angle. Kai squeezes my hand to keep me from taking a full plunge, and I grab him with my other hand, too. Our opposing forces pull against each other, and for a moment I’m motionless, suspended midfall, and then Kai’s strength wins out, yanking me upward. He grunts with the effort, then breathes hard like he just ran a mile uphill.
“You okay?” he says.
“Yeah, but I twisted my ankle. Everything else feels okay.”
He helps me onto dry land, then guides me down to sit. He pulls his pack off and props my foot up on top of it. “Did your feet get wet? Being numb would actually help you with this, to keep the swelling down.”
“They aren’t numb, just cold.” Even as I say it, liquid heat flows around my hurt ankle, battling the chill in my toes.
Kai makes quick work of igniting some kindling, then pulls a bandage wrap and the last of the ibuprofen out of the first aid kit. I’m amazed at how easily he can make fire from nothing, how he always knows just what to do. Is there any situation this boy can’t handle?
He hands me his canteen of water along with the pills. While I swallow them down, he takes off my boots and wet socks and sets them by the fire. Then he wraps my left ankle, leaving my toes exposed. Okay, now they’re going numb. And they’re so pale … If not for the fading red nail polish and distinct shape of my toes, almost identical to Mom’s, I wouldn’t have recognized my own feet. With my sun-soaked upbringing, nothing except my teeth has ever been this white.
“You sure you aren’t the pre-med student?” I say.
Cheeky grin. “I actually learned this from Hunter. When I was fifteen, I sprained my ankle while I was out jogging one day. I wasn’t even that far out of our neighborhood, but I hit a bad crack in the sidewalk or something. Limped all the way home. He didn’t even say anything when he saw me; he just stopped what he was doing and took care of it. And I watched. And I never forgot it.” He secures the end of the wrap with a couple of bandage claws. Lets out a sigh. “I hope he’s okay.”
“He is. You left him with people who can take care of him. You can’t fix everything yourself, you know? Sometimes you have to let other people step in and help.”
“I know that now, thanks to you.” Kai pulls the hatchet out of his pack and removes the blade guard. “I have to get something bigger to burn or we’ll never get warm enough. I won’t go far. Yell if you need anything.”
“Can you tell me what animal that was by the river before you go?”
“Only if you promise not to worry. Because it might not even be a problem.”
“Okay.” Although, if something tries to attack me, I can’t run with this bum ankle. So I’m already worried about it.
Kai stands, looks back the way we came. “Those were wolf tracks. If you see one, stay down, don’t make eye contact, and don’t scream. Don’t do anything that makes you seem like a predator or prey. There’s likely more than one out there, and chances are they’ve been watching us since long before we noticed they were here. If they want to attack us, there isn’t much we can do to stop it. They might just be curious, though, and sniff around. So don’t take any food out.”
“But it might not be a problem?” How can being stalked by wolves not be a problem?
He confirms it with a nod. And then he’s gone.
The wolves have opted to ignore us. For now. It’s getting dark when we pack up and start moving again, thoroughly dry and somewhat fed. My pace is slower now. I’m hobble-hiking. Kai hums his favorite songs, like we’re on a pleasure hike. Well, maybe for him, we are. He thinks he’s going to see his dad again and they’ll have a tearful reunion, then tell each other stories all night by the fire.
The farther we go, the more my ankle throbs, and the trees have become sparse. Where many trees once stood there remain only splintery stumps. Someone was chopping—someone lives out here. Wind whips through the unnatural gaps. The gusts are getting stronger and stronger. One of them nearly knocks me over, and I catch myself on my weak ankle, sending a new sting of pain up my leg. We cross more animal tracks, something Kai can’t quite identify. Something with a split hoof, but not a moose; the feet are too small. A mountain goat, maybe? As long as the animals stay hidden, though, I don’t care what they are.
We find a faint set of human tracks, too, that’s been nearly swept away by the constant wind. Kai doesn’t say it outright, but I know what he’s thinking. What if that’s my dad? I don’t say what I’m thinking, either. What if it’s not?
Then I spot someone weaving through the trees toward us. It’s a man as tall and broad as Hunter, and I remember what Kai said to me the other day, that his dad is a big guy, like Hunter. My heart jumps and my breath skids to a stop. Could it really be him? His face is completely covered, like ours, but I try to make out the shape of his eyes, his nose. He pulls his wrap down to expose his mouth, which is surrounded by wiry black-and-gray hair. “What’re you kids doing out here?”
Kai lifts his goggles, maybe to get a better look at him. “We’re looking for Mikah Locklear’s cabin. I’m his son. Do you know where it is?”
Not his dad, then. But maybe someone who can help.
“You’re his son?” The man sizes up Kai. “Don’t look much like him.”
“So you do know him,” Kai says, ignoring the quip. “I’ve never been here before. I know we’re close, but it would be helpful if you could show us the way?”
He shakes his head. “It’s gonna be dark real soon. Not safe for you out here. Why don’t you come back to my place and head out in the morning?”
Say yes, Kai. Say—
“Thanks, but no.”
Well. There goes that. If this cabin is still a wreck, I’m sleeping in the snow. With wolves. Awesome.
Kai pulls the goggles back down over his eyes. “Can you at least point us in the right direction?”
“Stubborn,” the man mutters. “Now I know you’re Mik’s son.” Despite the antagonistic response, he points uphill. “Keep going the way you’re going. Straight up to the ridge, then a quick right. You can’t miss it. Be careful, kid.” He covers his mouth again and continues his descent.
Kai sets off, walking faster than before. I can’t keep up. “Wait,” I say, breathless. He stops and doesn’t move again until I’ve caught up to him, then he continues at a slower pace for me, but he’s coiled like a spring. Every step is agony. I don’t know how my leg muscles have anything left to give, but somehow we make it to the ridge in what seems like only minutes. Kai makes a sharp turn to the right.
And drops to his knees.
The wreckage is more intact than I thought it would be, situated on a steep incline. The front is jammed against the mountainside while the back has a deck that hangs over a sheer drop. Not exactly my idea of prime real estate, but I bet the view was stunning.
We’ll never know, since that part of the house isn’t accessible anymore. It looks like it was cut in half by some giant saw. A dull saw that left rough, splintered edges. The part of the cabin that’s missing must have housed the main room, because all that’s visible now is one wooden wall with a fireplace in the center, a stone chimney leading up and out the roof, and a few feet of flooring alongside the wall from the front to the back of the cabin, like a ledge. A rocking chair still sits in one corner—there are even pictures hanging on nails and trinkets on the mantel. It’s like we’re looking inside a one-room dollhouse, but at a cross-section from the side instead of the front.
The slope where the other half of the cabin once stood has been worn smooth by time and wind, and covered in snow. No evidence remains of the search for Mikah’s body. And I can see why they didn’t risk gathering what’s left of his belongings. The rest of the cabin might collapse, and the drop in the back makes the jump we took earlier look like a short hop. I can’t see the bottom.
“Kai, I’m …” At a loss for words. What do you say to someone whose every hope has been shattered in one big blow? There’s no way his dad is still alive. If he was, and he didn’t stay here to rebuild his cabin, then why didn’t he return home? Or at least find a way to send word to them? It just wouldn’t make sense. Which means he’s buried under the dirt, rubble, and snow here. We’re visiting a grave. I take his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t come back,” Kai says. “Why didn’t he come back to fix this?”
“Because he’s gone.”
“I know he’s gone, but … where?”
“No. Kai. Listen to me.” I take away his goggles and put a gloved hand on each of his covered cheeks, force him to look me in the eye. “I don’t mean he’s away. He’s still here, buried. He’s gone. Do you understand?”
He shakes his head furiously, pulling away from my grasp. “He isn’t. You’re wrong.”
“If he didn’t rebuild this—”
“No. I can prove he’s still alive.” He pushes himself up and approaches the cabin like it isn’t one strong gust of wind away from falling. “There has to be something here that will prove it to you. I’ll find it, and you’ll see.”
Now he’s scaring me. He’s lost his mind—or maybe this is his brain’s version of a defense mechanism. I chase after him. “Kai, come back. It’s too dangerous.”
He ignores me and keeps going, all the way to what was probably once the front entryway. “If I can just get to …” He tests a step onto the broken floorboards, pushes his weight onto them. And they hold. He takes another step, and another, and then gestures for me to join him. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s stable. See?”
Kai takes off his pack, sets it on the rocking chair in the corner, and then jumps up and down. My heart leaps to my throat. “Stop! I believe you. I’m coming. Just … don’t do that again.”
He extends a hand and helps me onto the ledge, which is about four feet wide. Plenty of room to stand, but not nearly enough room for comfort. I keep my weight on my right side, on the good ankle, but the other is hurting now even without pressure on it. With part of the wind blocked in here, and the sun nearing the horizon, my goggles are no longer needed. I lift them onto the top of my head. Half of the floor, the part Kai jumped on, is situated firmly over ground. The other half is suspended over the incline by a series of support beams, some of which are bent out of alignment. We just need to stay on this side and we’ll be fine.
Unfortunately, in his distressed state, Kai doesn’t draw the same conclusion. He edges toward the far end of the wall, using the mantel as a grip.
“What are you doing?” I say, anchored to the safe side. He can jump all he wants this time. I’m not following him.
“There’s something over here I want to show you. A picture.”
All the walls are decorated with wildlife artwork and photographs. Many of them are completely frosted over with ice crystals. Some of them, the glass is cracked, but certain things in the photo are still visible, like the spread wings of an owl or the yellow eyes of a black wolf. Kai has zeroed in on one of them, but I’m not sure how it’s different from the others.
Until Kai lifts it off its hook, turns, and shows it to me.
Even from the ten feet or so of distance between us, I can see the whole Locklear clan is there, all nine of them, although the youngest of them is just a baby. So that couldn’t have been taken more than a couple of years ago. Hunter and Kai look younger but still like teenagers. They’re standing in their backyard in Anchorage on a sunny day, the river flowing behind them. Maybe their previous duplex neighbor took the picture, or their aunt Claire. Everyone is smiling, even Hunter. My heart aches for them. They don’t know yet … the family in that picture doesn’t know that Mikah is going to die soon.
“These are Dad’s photographs. Not just this one, but the animals and landscapes, too. He took pictures wherever he went. We have more of these at home.” He sniffles and swallows. The wind kicks up for a moment and I reach for anything to keep me still—my hands find the mantel. The cabin creaks and groans, and I don’t take another breath until the gust has left us, whistling a warning to its next victim.
I hate to push him, but this picture isn’t proof of anything other than what we already know, that this is his dad’s cabin. He’s still gone, though.
“What are you getting at?” I don’t think even he knows his reasoning anymore, or what he thought he could prove. His mind is bouncing all over the place, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing yet still not willing to face the truth.
“We were happy,” he says. “We had problems, but we were happy. He loved
us. He wouldn’t stay away without a reason. He just wouldn’t do that.”
“Kai … He would if he didn’t have a choice. If he was dead.”
He glares at me like I just insulted his mother. “I thought you were here to support me.”
“I am.” Okay, so that was too harsh of me to say it outright. He doesn’t need a reality check; he needs first aid. His scars have been slashed open—but I have nothing to stop the bleeding.
If I can’t help Kai now, he might do something crazy and get himself hurt, or worse. I absently finger my rock necklace, thoughts racing, and reluctantly tear my eyes away from him, searching for something, some way to prove their dad is truly gone—in a way that Kai will understand.
And then I see it, hanging from the antler of a moose statuette on the mantel above the fireplace. A rock pendant with the initials KM on it. Just like mine, and Kai’s—and his mom’s. What else did Hunter say about the necklaces … it wasn’t that long ago, but the days lately feel like years. Think, Gabi …
It comes back to me in pieces. Hunter’s voice, his furrowed brow, having his first ever conversation with me, before this whole crazy journey began. When their dad was home, their parents kept their necklaces together on the mantel. Their mom wore hers while their dad was away. But if their dad kept his on display on the mantel while he was here, only wore it while he was traveling …
“What’s your mom’s first name?” I say, stretching as far as I can without moving my feet, lifting the pendant from the mantel.
Kai’s brow furrows, but he answers. “Katarina. She goes by Kat.”
“And her maiden name is Martin, right? Same as your aunt Claire’s?”
“Yes.”
I lift the pendant to check the other side. ML. Same initials we saw at the first shelter, next to Kai’s, where Hunter added his. ML—Mikah Locklear. KM—Katarina Martin. Together, even when they’re apart. Forever.
“Is that what I think it is?” Kai’s tone is suddenly strained.