The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  I want to reach out and touch her face. I want to be all comforting like I’ve seen boyfriends do with their girlfriends in movies, and even like I’ve seen with my swim team buddies. I can’t do it, though. I can’t figure a way to touch Sophie without it feeling bad for her. So, I just look at her really seriously and sweetly.

  “Come on, Sophie. Your pack is always light. You don’t have the right clothes. Or supplies. You know this trail, but you’re not ready to be here. If you don’t want to be found, you need to stay away from me. They are looking for me, and they won’t stop. I know my family.”

  She looks down. Her face is tight looking, like she’s trying to be brave, but she’s failing.

  “I know you’re going to be mad. I know you’re going to be pissed. But I’m going without you, Sophie. I’m going back to find Rain Man. And you can’t come with me.”

  I don’t even look back when I leave her. It’s like when I left Emily a few days ago. I just keep walking.

  Sophie shouts my name after me, my heartbeat drumming in my ears. I can’t listen to her or anyone who would deter me from this path. Rain Man’s movements tell me all I need to know. I’ve got to stop him. No matter if it’s stupid or not. No matter if Sophie’s pissed at me and I never see her again, or if I do and she refuses to deal with me. I have to do this. I can’t not do this.

  It’s forty miles to where Rain Man’s wife died. If I hike more than ten miles a day, I can get there three days before the anniversary of his wife’s death. I’ve only got twenty dollars and a few rations of food, but I’m not going to let anything stop me. I can’t change the past. I can’t go back and tell Dad to get his heart checked. I can’t warn Mom that there’s something wrong with Dad’s heart, but I can do this. I can find Rain Man. I can help him, even if it costs me Sophie.

  • • •

  There’s only a few hours of light left, and I’m ahead of schedule, so I stop at Beech Gap and set up camp. I’m not going to night hike unless I need to. I go to the water source and refill my bottle. It’s sad to be collecting for one person. I’ve gotten used to having company, but I only think about that for a second or two, because I want to eat, set up camp, go to sleep, and get up early and go again. I lay in my tent, exhausted from the day of hiking and fighting with every single person whom I like or love on this earth. My eyes don’t even close. I stare at the ceiling of my tent. Listen to all of the bugs and the frogs and whatever is making noises. That’s when I remember I didn’t set up the bear bag.

  I go outside and hoist my bag in the tree, thinking of Sophie, which is kind of constant these days. It is unsettling in and of itself, especially because I can’t even speak with Emily about it. Also because after how I acted, I may never see her again. My mind is a mess when I crawl back into my tent. I have to get some rest. Hiking with little to no sleep is pretty stupid. Although not as stupid as so many other things I’ve done lately.

  • • •

  I hear rustling outside of my tent and immediately think it’s a bear. I’ve got no phone and no real way to tell the time, but it’s pitch black out. Should I look and see what’s making the noise? Do bears scare as easily at night as they do during the day?

  There’s more rustling and then a zip. Bears don’t use zippers. Or do they? I push open my tent door, and am grateful to the full moon and clear sky with stars that lights up my campsite. But I cannot believe what I see: Sophie is here, zipping up her tent.

  All kinds of emotions swirl inside me. I need to sort them out before I blow, because blowing my top with this girl would not be okay. I know that much, at least.

  She looks at me in a way that makes me think she’s mad, but that sort of pisses me off. She should understand why I did what I did. She should be reasonable. Still, her stare is annoyed, and she’s messing with her tent and limping really badly. I choose my first words carefully.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. Great.

  She holds up her hand and turns her body away from me.

  She lowers herself onto a log by her tent and grimaces.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  She looks at me like she can’t believe I’d ask that. Like that is the stupidest thing to ask. Turns out she’s wrong. I’m just getting started. Apparently, I have a barrage of stupid things lined up to say to a person who is clearly exhausted and in a ton of pain.

  I move closer to her. “I asked you to do one thing. One thing and you couldn’t even do that. ‘Take my card,’ I said. ‘Take the money. Hand the card to someone on the trail after you take out money. Use it and draw the authorities away from me.’ All you had to do was stay away and here you are.” I turn away, try to smack my brain into submission. At least that’s what I tell myself I’m doing as I hit myself in the head repeatedly.

  “I didn’t ask for your money.”

  I whirl back to face her. “I know you didn’t.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “That’s stupid. You need help. I mean obviously…” I point to her leg.

  “I’ve been hiking long before I met you. I know what I’m doing. And you don’t have to be mean. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t have to follow your instructions like your assistant.”

  I’m stunned. Her words dive-bomb my brain and freeze inside of me. A weak “What?” is all I can manage.

  “I said, I’m not working for you, pal, and I can do what I like.” She rifles through her bag, even though I can tell she’s tired and hurting and should probably chill out, eat, and get some sleep. She takes out her wallet and holds out the Visa I gave her.

  For some reason, her giving it back hurts like a kick in the stomach. I stand there dumbfounded and not able to function, because I don’t want her to do this so much that I can’t move. So she hops over to me and puts it in my hands. I stare at the card and consider how weird it is to be blown away by this simple action. Her returning my credit card shouldn’t feel so sucky, but it does because I know behind the action is a really pissed-off girl. No, scratch that. A really hurt girl. Because of me. Now my words have been tamed by the sea of regret they have to swim through to make it out of my mind and into my mouth.

  Dad used to tell me that whenever I get really mad, I should try to go outside my body and look down on the scene like I’m making a film. From the outside of myself, it’s easier to see that being calm is the only way to fix a situation. So I try to do that. Try and fail, because the next thing I say is, “You are so infuriating. I can’t believe you did this.” My voice is calm, because I know I’m right. I am the king of right. Where’s my crown?

  “This trail is about more than hiking and camping. It’s a way of life. You don’t even stop to look at the scenery. It’s a means to an end for you. What makes you think Rain Man would listen to someone like you anyway? You don’t take time to get to know people or love the things he loves. You take and take and dictate. You aren’t living.”

  It’s not like I haven’t heard that before. A lot of people think I’m arrogant. But I’m right about things when most people are wrong. It’s not my fault I see clearly. And I hate when people act like it is. But accusing me of not living?

  “Just because I don’t relish the lookouts and the mountains and the views doesn’t mean I don’t live. I live plenty. And besides, who are you to talk? You’re writing secret notes and burying them.”

  Okay, obviously my mouth should have shut the eff up already, because I did not mean to say that last bit.

  Her eyes get wide, and her mouth opens like she can’t believe I just said that. Then she covers her mouth, and her face looks like it’s collapsed. Like after you puke.

  And then my stomach drops. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

  “You’ve seen me.… How could you.…”

  “It just happened. I saw you. I couldn’t help it.
I only dug them up once…”

  Her mouth drops open. She closes it and opens it again, until she looks like a guppy gasping for breath. “You what?”

  “Okay, okay, it’s…” I’ve got nothing to say anymore. I’ve done it now. I’ve killed any chance I have with this girl. Obviously I am a danger to myself and others like that school counselor said.

  She puts her head in her hand and starts to cry. Huge sobs. I think maybe I should talk to her, so I try to do that, but instead of being happy that I’m trying to make things right and comfort her, she starts throwing stuff at me. Pinecones. Rocks. Dirt. You name it. If God put it on the forest floor, I’m now dodging it.

  I drop to the ground to take cover. Sure she’s going to bonk me over the head, but the moon is shining, and I’ve already scanned the area by her feet, grateful she threw most of the heavy stuff already.

  “I’m not normal,” I say.

  “Obviously.”

  “I have issues.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and bends over like she’s doing a sitting version of the Cheerio stretch, the one where you lie on your back and try to touch your head with your toes. I have no problem reading that body language, but I guess she wants to make sure I pick up on her mood, because she answers me with a sniffly. “Clearly.”

  “I know I do. I’m being serious, not flippant or sarcastic. I have problems, Sophie.”

  “Go away and leave me alone. You can’t stop me from looking for Rain Man. So don’t try.”

  She reaches down and grabs her ankle and for some reason, that small motion makes me feel so bad for her that I remember to make myself look down on the scene we’re in. When I do that, I see that how I feel about any of this doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s hurt. I’ve got to stop fighting with this girl. I’ve got to do what’s right. So I make my voice come out all soft and sweet. “You’re hurt, Sophie.”

  “Don’t call me that. I am nothing to you, and you are nothing to me.”

  That’s exactly the kind of verbal hand grenade that should inflict damage. But since I’m outside of my feelings now, since I’m busy worrying about her, I don’t let that get to me. I only care that Sophie is hurt and needs to rest. And for once, it’s my ability to distance myself from emotion that helps me do the right thing. So I say, “I understand that. I get it if you hate me. But your foot is hurt, and you need help.”

  “I don’t need anything from you.”

  “I know you don’t. But when’s the last time you ate anything?”

  “Not your problem.”

  “Look. I know you bury notes. I don’t know what they say, because when I dug them up, I couldn’t read them. I don’t even know why I did that, except I wanted to know more about you. And I don’t like getting to know new people, so in a totally messed up way, that means I care about you.”

  “Great.”

  “You’re changing me. Making me care about other people and making me listen more. You are making me behave better. Well, except for the digging up your secret notes thing. But in general, you are making me a more caring person, at least. And now I’m going to tell you something about me that no one knows. Not even Emily.”

  “There’s nothing you can say that will change anything.”

  “I killed my father.”

  Her eyes go wide. She must think I shot him or bludgeoned him, and here we are in the forest, alone, and she’s hurt. I put my hands up like I’m surrendering. “No. I don’t mean it like that.” She relaxes a little, and that frees me to say, “He died of a heart attack, but it was my fault.”

  “People always think stuff like that is their fault, and it never is.”

  “Well, I have proof. And if you let me take care of you tonight, and hike with me tomorrow, I’ll tell you the whole story. Then we’ll each have a secret that no one else knows, okay?”

  She’s still crying, and her shoulders are shaking a little. Mom used to cry like this when she was mad at Dad. She’d shake, and he’d tell her he was sorry and put his arm around her. I don’t think I can put my arm around Sophie, so I stay where I am and wait. Eventually her cries become sniffles. When the sniffles slow, I try again. “Sophie?”

  She sniffles again and looks down at her hands. “Okay.”

  “You are wet and cold, and I’m worried about you. I have rain pants that will be way too long on you, but we can cut them. I want you to wear them, okay?”

  She wraps her arms around herself and shivers.

  “And then I’m going to make you some coffee and some food. You need to get warm. You know how easy it is to get hypothermia out here.”

  “It’s late.”

  “What time?”

  “Midnight.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I’ve been going to sleep so early, this will be my first midnight meal in the forest.”

  She smiles. “I love this time of night.”

  Even though I want to spring into action, I force myself to look around and smile. It’s not even fake. I smile big. “It’s beautiful. It really is. It’s so quiet. And the stars are beautiful, when you can see past the trees, that is.”

  She cranes her neck until she can see through the canopy. “Yeah. My dad knew all of the constellations and their names.”

  I do also, but boasting isn’t going to help her feel better, so instead I say, “I’m going to get the pants from my tent, and then I’m going to start cooking. Okay?”

  She nods.

  “I’m sorry for everything, Sophie.”

  She nods again.

  I’m amazed how often I’ve said those two words lately, especially when it wasn’t already too late. And it makes me feel good that I can do it now when it matters. When it can actually help that person. Sophie in this case, but then maybe eventually Mom too.

  Chapter 16

  Eating rice and beans out of a bag next to Sophie is much better than eating alone. Not only because it’s nice to have company, but because that company is her. She’s wearing my rain paints (Emily was right about my needing them!) and a sweatshirt I hadn’t worn yet. She looks adorable.

  She takes a spoonful of food while I quiz her on our favorite books. Luckily, she passed a few of the must-haves without hesitation. All of the Harry Potters, C. S. Lewis’s books, Eragon, and she’s added a few of her own favorites to the mix.

  She stops eating to ask, “Edgar Allen Poe?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you loved his stories?”

  “Yes.”

  She feigns wiping sweat from her brow. “That would be a deal-breaker.”

  “Well, I haven’t read all of his poems and stories. I hope that’s not too upsetting.”

  “Not if you’re willing to rectify that as soon as possible.”

  I hold my spoon in the air. “I swear I will.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “He’s okay.”

  “Okay? Just okay?”

  “Douglas Adams?”

  “Have never read him.”

  “I’ll trade one Shakespeare for one Douglas Adams.”

  “Deal.”

  Sophie yawns. “I should probably…”

  “Yeah.”

  Sophie looks better, but her lips are still a little beige. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look so good.”

  Sophie looks down at my clothes, which are too big on her, and says, “Hey, my designer says this outfit is the shit. Also, that’s a hell of a thing to say to a girl.”

  “I meant you look like you’re not feeling so well.”

  “Hiking all night without eating and my foot hurting was probably not the best idea.”

  “Well, you did have to chase the jerk who annoyed you, so…”

  “Yeah. So?”

  �
�I think I should stay with you tonight. Keep you warm.”

  She cocks her head. “That sounds like a line.”

  “A line?”

  “A pickup line, a play. To get me to… you know…”

  I blush again, and it’s such a weird feeling. Of course I want to stay with her, but I’m not going to admit to that, because that would not be cool. “Oh no! Not at all!”

  She makes a face like she’s annoyed, then smiles, so I’m so confused. “You don’t have to act like that would be the worst thing in the world…”

  “So you want me to act like an oversexed, hormonally driven asshole who only cares about, you know…”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “Look I’m not exactly good at this stuff.”

  “I noticed. It’s kind of sweet.”

  I stand up. I can’t take being made fun of, not by this girl. “I better go clean the dishes.”

  “Don’t make me chase you,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

  I look back at her. “I told you I’m not good at this stuff. I never cared about that before, but you make me care about it, and now I feel like an idiot because…”

  “Shh. You’re not an idiot. You’re very cute and I care about you too.”

  Those words. I care about you. They dive into my heart, making it pump harder and faster and stronger. I almost reach to hold it in place, but that would make me look like a total dork, which I already do since my mouth can’t seem to shut up.

  “One day, it might be nice to be together in that way, tonight I think you need the extra warmth. I’m worried about you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But I don’t spray bug spray under my sleeping bag. It’s not good for you, with all of those chemicals. So if you’re going to stay with me, you will have to deal with that.”

  “Okay.”

  “I have some eucalyptus oil that you can put on instead.”

  “I’m not worried about the bugs tonight. I only want you to be okay.”

  She smiles. “It’s been a long time since someone’s said that to me. Why don’t you leave the dishes. Pack them up and I’ll help you clean them in the morning.”