“What’s wrong, Layla?” Bill—then Billy—had asked, standing, squaring off. “You don’t know about sex yet?”
My face flamed and I glared at him.
“The boy puts his thing in the girl’s.” He grabbed his crotch and made a thrusting motion with his hips.
“Shut up!” I screamed at him and ran away, not stopping until I’d made it around the corner of the brick school building. I collapsed against the wall and tried to make myself breathe right, but every time I blinked, I saw my father kissing a woman I knew, a woman who wasn’t my mother.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Lucas’s voice brought me back.
“He’s an asshole,” he said, the softness in his tone belying the anger in his words.
“Asshole,” Luke is saying again, all these years later, and my focus returns to the here and now.
“It was the first time I’d ever heard you say that word,” I tell him. “I was so impressed, and…grateful for it. Right up until I asked you if Billy was right—what he’d said about sex—and you laughed at me.”
Color washes again across Luke’s face, and he shakes his head. “No, remember? I wasn’t laughing at you over the question. It was your reaction, when I told you he was right. ‘Oh my God,’ you said. ‘That’s horrible.’”
“Did I?” I laugh, my cheeks flushing warm, and Luke smiles only to frown again.
“I should have kicked Bill Carter’s ass that day.”
“No, he’d never be worth it. Would you believe that guy is still giving me crap?”
Luke’s eyes narrow. “He is?”
I shake my head. “Nothing I can’t handle.” Lie. He’s the reason I quit going to gym class—which also happens to be the reason I’m failing. Bill offered one too many remarks about how he’d like to “see” if my purple hair was really natural. I stopped dying my hair after that, but he only came up with new comments.
I get up from the table to take my dishes to the sink, wanting to forget about my problems at home, but Luke speaks again, stopping me in my tracks.
“I’m glad we’re here.”
My mouth gapes. Did he really just say that?
“Not the accident,” he clarifies, “or being lost—but we’re finally getting a chance to talk …and I’ve missed you.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Luke says nothing more until he’s standing by me at the sink, drying dishes as I wash them in cold water with microscopic drops of dish soap from the half-full bottle we found. Our snow-water supply is getting low, so we’ll have to use the tools we discovered in the pantry—hammers, screwdrivers—to chip away at the ice during our next harvest.
“Ready to make the trek with me to the truck?” Luke asks, catching me off guard with his proposal.
“Today?”
“Maybe. It would have been better to leave earlier, but we’ve eaten and the sun is kind of holding. It looks like we’re in for decent weather. What do you think?”
“I guess it could be a good day for a hike. If it starts getting late and we don’t find the truck, we can just turn around and come back up. Right?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Right,” Luke answers.
“The ice’ll make the trip tough,” he says, “but at least the sun’s bright enough to help us see the slippery spots. We’ll need to mark our path, like we talked about, to help people locate us.”
“And also so we can find our way back to this place,” I add. “But, what if we end up going the wrong way?” I start putting away dishes while Luke continues drying the last few.
“We’ll just gather our markers as we come back. We can try again another day.”
“What should we use as markers, though?”
“That’s the problem. The only thing I’ve found is some thin string, and I don’t think it would show up enough to be useful.”
I give the issue some thought. “Black fabric wouldn’t be great, either, but we can use my fishnet stockings if there’s nothing else. They’re already torn, anyhow. And my thigh-high tights might work, too, if we need them.”
Luke nods a few times, considering. He continues drying, his hand going round and round a plate, while I wait to return the dish to the cabinet.
“We should bring a knife,” I say, as soon as the thought occurs.
He blinks, trying to follow.
“To cut up the fishnets and thigh highs.”
His gaze fades again before sharpening. “Oh, I still have the one you tied around my head.” He hands me the plate, tosses the towel aside, and goes to retrieve the thigh high from his backpack. I don’t ask why he’s kept it.
“I tried to wash out the blood, but there’s still kind of a stain,” he says when he returns, holding it up for me to see.
“You can hardly tell. Still, all the more reason to use it as crumbs.”
He hands it to me, the rim at the top the last part to slip through his fingers. “Just do me a favor, Gretel?”
I smile up at him. He’s always caught my references, no matter what, the first time around. I occasionally get tired of explaining myself to other people. “Yes?”
“Never tell anyone I wore that thing around my head.”
I nod. “I also won’t tell how you stared and stared, when I peeled it off my leg.”
“I didn’t. Did I?” His mouth stays open even as I turn away.
We empty our backpacks, refill them with a few necessities—food, water in the rinsed-out Gatorade bottles, and the first aid kit—and head out dressed in layers beneath our ski attire. Since it would’ve been impossible for me to remember how we reached the cabin on our roundabout trek through the woods, we’ve set our sights on finding the road, instead of whatever our original route was. We locate wheel ruts leading away from the cabin, and follow them to a barely paved roadway that’s not much easier to navigate. It’s steep and full of pits and ice and loose stones, plus there are no trees for bracing ourselves.
I take the lead, guiding us through the hazards, until I slip and fall, hard. Luke helps me climb to my feet, and when I brush off the seat of my pants, he stands there watching. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” I warn. He just smiles.
We walk mostly side by side after that, occasionally grabbing onto one another for support or to restore each other’s balance. After we slip half a dozen times in as many minutes, Luke reaches out wordlessly, wraps his gloved hand around mine, and we continue making our way down the winding slope together.
We cut the fishnets into strips as we go, tying them to the lightest colored tree trunks we can find, so they stand out as much as flimsy black fabric can stand out in a wintertime forest. Hopefully, when and if someone comes out here to look for us, the wind will make them flutter. Preferably a lot.
We walk for what feels like—and may well be—hours. We’re relatively quiet most of the way, caught up in searching and in staying upright, but the urge to speak comes over me all at once. “I’m getting nervous,” I tell him. “I think we might’ve missed the truck.”
“You think so?”
“Possibly. Or maybe we’re not even in the right place. After the accident, we only stayed on the road until I spotted the shack in the distance, and who knows how far we traveled after that? Or in which direction? Plus, I’ve been thinking, can we really be sure this is the same road? Maybe the one we were originally driving on branched off somewhere along the way.”
Luke breathes out slowly. “Good points.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. None of this is your fault. Anyway, you do realize you kept us moving that first day and night, don’t you? You kept us alive. Do you understand how grateful I am for that?”
He tucks in a piece of hair that’s sticking out from under my hat, and smiles down into my face.
“Just so you know,” I say, smiling back at him, “I’m kind of glad I did.”
He squeezes my hand and we start walking again, deciding we still have some time before darkness threatens our return tr
ip. He stops along the way to tie one of our few remaining pieces of fishnet to the tree, and while I’m looking around, I see something large and dark under a coating of ice and snow. It’s on the slope down the road a bit, wedged up against a tree, and it could almost pass for a huge boulder, except that it doesn’t, not quite.
“Luke,” I say, tugging on the arm of his coat, “I think that’s your truck.”
He follows the direction of my pointing finger and pushes my sunglasses up onto his head. Squinting against the light, he exhales two words. “Holy shit.”
Climbing down to the truck is a challenge all its own. The entire surface of the hill is slicked with ice, so we have to lower ourselves, scooting forward on our boots and behinds. Eventually, we come to a skidding stop in front of the wreck.
Even with its wintry coating, it looks strange, like a dead bug with its undersides showing. It’s something exposed and obscene, something that doesn’t quite make sense.
“Holy…” Luke takes a slow, slipping walk around the truck, my glasses still up on his head, his hand blocking the sunlight. When he comes back, he wraps his arms around me and squeezes tight.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his mouth close to my ear, his words whispered against the fabric of my hat.
“Luke, it wasn’t your fault, either. It just happened; you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I should never have taken you out on these roads. I could’ve killed both of us.”
He hugs me even closer. I keep my arms wrapped around him and rest my head against his shoulder, giving myself up to whatever it is he needs.
♦ ♦ ♦
Luke spends some time going through his belongings on the far side of the truck and I do the same with mine. In my duffle bag, among a few pieces of insubstantial clothing and other useless odds and ends, I discover a second bar of soap that I have no recollection of having packed, plus the razor I’ve searched for in every pocket and corner of my backpack. There are other things I wish I’d brought, but they aren’t available, so I’ll have to settle for what the gods of truck wrecks have given me.
We tie the remaining black strips to the trees surrounding the truck, hoping to increase the chances that it’ll be spotted. If so, the waving “Path o’ Fishnet” just might lead our potential rescuers to the cabin. It would be helpful for all of that to happen before our food runs out.
We take a long, last look at the truck before leaving it behind. Then, Luke grabs my hand, lacing his gloved fingers with mine, and we help each other climb the steep incline to the road, kicking footholds into the thick coating of ice in spots, pulling ourselves up via slippery tree branches in others. The return journey by roadway, endlessly upward, is slightly easier to navigate than the trip down was, but harder to sustain. The clouds don’t help; they move back in to darken the woods considerably.
“I think we misjudged the daylight,” Luke says. I agree, but I don’t think he needs to hear me say it.
We try to pick up our pace, but the road slows us, winding around the mountain the way it does, rather than leading straight up. Eventually, we catch sight of the cabin’s roof further up the slope, so we abandon our curving, sidewinding path for a straighter, more vertical one.
Partway there, the cabin disappears. The angle of the mountainside has sharpened, and Luke ends up scaling a partially fallen, ice-covered evergreen, balancing precariously on its trunk to get a better view.
“I can see the top of the chimney,” he tells me, holding onto branches as he lowers himself back down. Then he slides onto the ground on the other side of the tree.
“Is it far?”
He lifts a shoulder and drops it, instead of answering.
“But this is the eleventy billionth icy log we’ve had to climb over.”
“Or the tenth, but who’s counting? Come on, we have to keep moving.”
“Easy for you to say. Your legs are longer than mine. Plus, you’re Mister Football, all fit and stuff, always running around the field and knocking down guys.”
He quirks up an eyebrow and grips my arms to steady me as I clamber onto the log. “You don’t know much about the position I play, do you?”
I inch across the log, drop to the ground again, and pause to catch my breath. Clambering is exhausting work. “Quarterback, I know that much. You throw footballs and whatever. I’ve seen you running during practice.”
“Oh yeah? You’ve watched me practice?”
I rub at a stitch in my side. “Maybe once or twice.”
“Did I look fast? Because I’m pretty fast, Layls.”
“Ugh, who knows? I’m dying. Can you please let me go in peace?”
He smiles and offers to carry me, piggyback style again, but I refuse.
“We’ll end up rolling back down the mount—”
“Shh!” Luke holds up his hand, eyeing an area off to the side.
I’ve just heard something, too, and it sounded big.
My heart stops, waiting for more, before picking up its rhythm again in double time.
There’s heavy brush in the area where the sound originated, limiting our view of the woods, and between that and the waning light, it’s hard to process any clear visuals.
We wait for another few minutes. There’s no follow-up sound.
I’ve caught my breath and the rush of adrenaline has given me a shot of energy, so when it’s time to move, I’m ready. I catch Luke’s eye and he nods, holding his finger to his lips, guiding me forward. I can’t help smirking at him as I go. Like I’d start making noises, with an animal or something nearby.
We continue our off-road climb more carefully, keeping quiet. As we make our way over the crest of the rise, we hear another noise behind us, coming from the same direction, but further up.
Luke tightens his grip on my hand and brings his mouth close to my ear. “Walk faster, but don’t run unless we have to,” he whispers.
Chills skitter up and down my spine for the rest of our journey; they grow stronger as we get closer to the cabin. In a horror movie, this is when we’d be caught.
We reach the cabin, though, make it all the way inside. We even get to brace the chairs against the door. Yet, in our relief, we’re wary, hovering around one another, keeping our voices low.
“Do you think it was an animal?” I ask. “It sounded big, but bears should be hibernating now, shouldn’t they?”
Luke nods, running the tip of his tongue back and forth along his lower lip as he thinks. I watch, find it distracting; my brain starts to tear between two topics.
“It could have been a human,” he says, pulling my thoughts back to the problem at hand. “Which might be better…or worse.”
“Human? What if it was someone who could’ve helped us?” My voice has crept louder and Luke whispers in reply, reminding me of the danger.
“Did you want to stop and check?”
I shake my head, imagining potential scenarios, and retreat further from the door, moving to the opposite corner of the cabin. Luke follows and we each sit at the heads of our respective beds, our lower backs resting against the adjoining walls. Even this close I can’t help wishing we weren’t quite so far apart.
I shudder involuntarily, thinking of whatever or whoever it was, and Luke reaches out to squeeze my knee. Then, he stands and starts scouring the cabin. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I trail close behind.
“Luke, we marked a path right back to this place.”
“I know.”
“We have a fire going all the time. Someone could follow the smoke.”
“I know.”
“The windows. Someone could see the light from the stove at night.”
“Layla,” he says, turning to me, wrapping his hands around my upper arms, “I know.” He stands there, looking down into my face.
“Tell me what you want,” I say. His head tips, his gaze roaming my features, and I realize my words might carry more than one meaning. “I’m trying to help you,” I clarify. “What are you lo
oking for?”
His focus pulls back. “Something to brace the door. The chairs help, but they wouldn’t keep someone out if they really wanted to get inside.”
I shiver again and Luke rubs my arms a couple of times before releasing me.
In the end, we settle on removing one of the narrow pantry shelves, which are, unfortunately, already becoming sparer. We work to extract the nails as carefully as possible, using the claw parts of the set of hammers we found in the toolbox. A few nails are bent and won’t budge, but most are pretty straight and kind of loose to begin with.
“Do you need to go outside for any reason, before I do this?” Luke asks, standing with board and hammer in hand.
I stare up into his eyes, instead of answering. “I’m scared.”
“I know. I am, too.”
Luke hammers the board across the door, and we spend the rest of the evening freeing up nails so he can fix more pantry boards into place: one across the center of each window, because even though they don’t open, glass can break and we want to prevent anyone from climbing inside if it does.
Other than our blankets, which we need, there’s nothing large enough to cover the windows, blackout-curtain style. Our safest option for minimizing the fire’s light, therefore, is to let it die down after our final meal. Its glow gradually fades and by the time Luke finishes hammering after dark, the full moon is the only thing lighting the cabin.
He sighs and stretches his back and arms.
I’ve been watching him while wrapped in a cocoon of my bedding. “You must be tired.”
He turns and moonlight spills over the side of his face. “Just one step left: block the door with the table and chairs.”
I move to help, but he tells me to stay covered up. “It’s going to get cold in here tonight.”
After putting the last piece of barricade in place, he comes to sit beside me on my bed. I lean into him and he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “We don’t even know if it was a person. Maybe it was something ridiculous, like a squirrel; they can sound pretty big when they’re jumping around.”
“Must’ve been one giant, dumb squirrel, trailing us out in the cold instead of curled up somewhere warm with its buddies.”
Picturing You Page 9