Liam looks away, and an awkward moment passes between him and Rob. Liam turns to me. ‘Did you ever meet Mila?’ he asks.
I’ve got an unreliable memory at the best of times lately, but I’m still good at reading other people. A quick glance at Rob tells me that he knows I haven’t met her.
‘No. I’d love to, though.’
I know who she is before we join the group of girls chatting over a tin bucket full of iced and fruited Blue Moons. She glances at me, and I almost call out the wrong name. They aren’t dead ringers by any means, but the essence of them is the same. Mila ticks off every box – impossible body, flawless skin, and a luscious mane of hair, although hers is a natural lemon blonde. Her sandals are Prada, her earrings are Tiffany’s, and the way she dresses is five minutes more stylish than the other girls around her. They all tilt towards her slightly, even when she isn’t talking. They all want to be her.
Mila is their Jinka. The way she stands, the way she listens, the way she smiles . . . the way she is . . . the resemblance is almost overwhelming.
She looks right at me before Liam interrupts the group and introduces me. I compliment her, so she knows I’m not going to be any trouble. She does the same, calling my dress a ‘throwback’ but with genuine appreciation. The other girls’ names flash past, and I smile and nod. A curvaceous little Earth Mother hippie named Aura-Blue, probably a year-rounder, asks me if I want something to drink.
‘I can get you water,’ Rob offers, gesturing back inside the house.
‘You know, I’ll go with you. I need to use the Ladies,’ I say, and then make a swift getaway.
Rob takes my hand again as he leads me through the crowded house. ‘That was masterful,’ he says with a raised eyebrow. ‘Already eluding your competition?’
‘I’m no competition for her,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘No,’ Rob says, coming to a stop in front of the bathroom. He regards me thoughtfully. ‘She’s no competition for you.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I say. I untangle my hand from his. ‘But this isn’t a competition. And I don’t want anything she has.’
‘Including Liam?’
‘Rob,’ I warn, ‘I don’t play like that.’ And I close the door between us.
Rob spends the rest of the night showing me off. He tells everyone stories about things he remembers ‘the old gang’ doing. I don’t remember half of the memories he recounts, but that’s my new normal since I started taking the meds. He talks about how I was the centre of everything.
His stories are hilarious, and since I’m past caring what anyone thinks of me, I don’t mind that he tells a story about me getting drunk at the country club and puking in a senator’s golf cart. I don’t remember it, and I’ve done way worse since. Things I do remember. And wish I didn’t.
I laugh along with everyone and ask if the senator was a Democrat or a Republican. That gets another laugh and an appreciative smile from Rob. I’m playing along. His dutiful backup singer, making him sound great.
At the end of the night, Rob takes me home. There’re a few moments of silence when I can feel him gearing up to say something before he sighs heavily and jumps in.
‘Look, about earlier this evening,’ he says. He glances over at me and gets specific. ‘When I picked you up and acted like a jackass?’
He really is a funny, charming guy. I laugh, and he smiles and reaches for my hand.
‘I guess I was feeling insecure because, let’s face it, you like me, but I’m way more into you,’ he continues, rolling his eyes self-deprecatingly. ‘But next time if I’m upset with you about something, like being late, I’ll just talk with you about it, rather than try to make you feel bad. I’m sorry I acted like that.’
‘I get it,’ I tell him, because I do. ‘And I appreciate the apology.’
I let Rob kiss me on my grandparents’ doorstep. I keep it short, but not because I’m not enjoying it. He’s a good kisser. Practised. But for some strange reason, I’m thinking about the wildboy and how his bare chest felt under my hand. How he shook when he realized I was touching him.
I say goodnight to Rob and go to bed, thinking about Wildboy chasing deer.
17 JULY
I go there again the next afternoon.
I lay out my blanket and wait, although I tell myself I’m not waiting. I’m just here to read and enjoy the sound of falling water. It rains. I pretend that sitting in the rain was part of my plan all along. I’m not waiting for Wildboy.
Wildboy doesn’t show.
I’m not disappointed, I tell myself. And why would he come back on the off chance that I would too, anyway? It’s not like I impressed him with my philosophy-lite reading choices or my pretentious poetry. We didn’t even tell each other our names.
When I get back to my grandparents’ house, there are two cars in the driveway. One is Rob’s and the other is a black Mercedes coupé I don’t recognize, but that just screams Liam to me.
I’m not wrong. I go inside and find Rob, Liam, Taylor, Mila, and Aura-Blue chatting with Grandma and Grandpa and drinking lemonade. Apparently, showing up at my house is now a thing.
‘Hi,’ I say, waving a desultory hand. ‘Did we make plans?’
‘We just stopped by to see if you wanted to come out with us,’ Mila says. She’s got such a sweet smile, I find myself smiling back at her.
‘I didn’t hear from you all day,’ Rob says, annoyed.
‘I was just hiking,’ I reply.
‘I love to hike,’ Mila croons. ‘We should go together someday.’
I pretend I didn’t hear her while I say, ‘I’m all sweaty. I’d have to clean up.’
‘We’ll wait,’ Liam says.
I look around for a way out and see Grandma’s eyes flash with worry that I’ll turn them down. I have no choice but to say, ‘Great! I’ll be right down.’
Another rushed shower, another sundress with a swipe of lipstick, and I hurry to join my uninvited guests.
‘Have fun,’ Grandma and Grandpa call out from the doorstep as Rob holds open the passenger door for me.
Rob gets in the car to avoid the faint drizzle that is left after the rain, but he doesn’t start the engine right away. He waits for my grandparents to go back inside and for Liam, Mila, Taylor, and Aura-Blue to pull out before he turns to face me.
‘Not even one text?’ he asks. He looks hurt.
‘I . . .’ I stammer, but he’s not done.
‘I thought after that kiss last night, you’d at least answer the phone and talk to me, but I would have settled for a text.’ He sits back and runs his hands through his hair. ‘There are a lot of girls who actually take my calls, you know.’
‘Rob, you’re a catch. I can see that. I’m a mess. Save yourself,’ I say through a laugh. Despite himself, Rob laughs with me.
‘Are you this hard on every guy who’s crazy about you?’ He taps the steering wheel in agitation. ‘I promised you I’d talk with you when something bothered me, rather than play head games, but are you just playing with me? You saw that I called, didn’t you?’
‘No. I usually switch off my phone unless I’m going to use it. Half the time, I don’t take it with me at all when I go hiking.’
He looks utterly baffled. The thought of being separated from technology is unthinkable. ‘Why?’
I don’t have to give him an explanation, but I decide he deserves one anyway. He’s really trying to be straight with me. I respect that. I respect him, I realize, because he’s earning it.
‘A year ago, I was getting a lot of nasty phone calls, and I had to change the way I live. It has nothing to do with you. And I apologize that I left you hanging. I’m not playing with you.’
‘Why were you getting a lot of nasty calls?’ he asks. All his frustration is gone now, and he looks concerned.
I shake my head, refusing to answer.
He sighs and stares at me for a long time. ‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he says quietly.
I smile. ‘You realize
that’s the worst reason to be interested in someone, right?’
He starts the car. ‘So I’m learning,’ he says ruefully as he pulls out.
The rain stops, so we play mini-golf. It’s silly and fun and it works great because there are three guys and three girls, and everyone can pair up. We joke around for a while, taking selfies and saying ridiculous stuff, but it’s clear this is an intelligent group of people. The conversation inevitably turns to more serious things.
‘Did you hear about the woman who was mauled?’ Mila says.
‘No. Where?’ I ask.
‘The woods,’ Rob says with a shrug, stepping up to the tee. ‘You know, where you love to read or write or hike or whatever it is you’re doing.’
I’m stunned. ‘But I’ve never seen a bear.’
‘Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there,’ Rob says, putting his ball between the whirling blades of a windmill. ‘You all tease me for never going into the woods, but there are no bears in the ocean. No Lyme disease, either.’
‘What happened?’ I ask. I turn to Aura-Blue, who seems to know what’s going on. ‘Who was she?’
‘Some hunter from out of state,’ Aura-Blue says sadly. ‘They found her rifle first by the side of the river. She’d discharged it a few times, and the authorities think she must have made a bear angry. I mean, what did she think was going to happen? Bears have a right to defend themselves. They live in the woods; we don’t. We’re the intruders.’
Liam, Taylor, and Mila share a knowing look. They’re obviously used to Aura-Blue’s earthy-crunchy indignation.
‘You know, she was found partially eaten,’ Taylor says, revelling in that gory detail.
The thought makes me sick. ‘No way,’ I reply, covering my mouth.
‘Taylor,’ Mila chides. She turns to me. ‘She was found in the river.’
‘Yeah. Partially eaten,’ Taylor insists, and both Aura-Blue and Mila smack one of his arms. ‘Ow!’ he says, rubbing his big bicep.
Everyone is ready to change the subject at this point, but I can’t let it go. ‘When did she die?’ I ask.
‘Yesterday, they think,’ Rob answers. ‘They found her this morning.’
I’m thinking about Wildboy. If that woman couldn’t stop a bear with a rifle, how could he defend himself with a bow and arrow?
‘Magda?’ Rob touches my arm. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah.’ I shake myself at how maudlin I’m acting. I don’t know Wildboy. I’m not invested. ‘It’s just sad.’
‘Hunting is sad,’ Aura-Blue insists. ‘Murdering animals with guns is sad.’
Liam leans in conspiratorially. ‘She’s vegan, if you hadn’t guessed.’
We talk about hunting and then slide into a lively debate about gun laws. Taylor is adamant about his Second Amendment rights.
‘No one’s going to take my guns,’ he says. That’s when I know he has never read the Second Amendment.
Aura-Blue rolls her eyes. ‘It takes months of classes and two separate tests to get a driver’s licence because cars can kill. Don’t you think we should at least have the same set-up for something that is specifically designed to kill?’
‘I don’t kill people with my guns,’ Taylor grumbles without answering Aura-Blue’s question.
‘I think the one thing we can all agree on is that people who have a mental illness shouldn’t be allowed to have guns, right?’ Rob says. Even Taylor agrees with that. I stay quiet, but I can feel Rob’s eyes on me.
‘Will you teach me to shoot?’ I ask Taylor.
He looks stunned. ‘Yeah. Sure. Rifle or handgun?’
I shrug. ‘Both, I guess.’ He laughs, and I take the golf club out of his hand and step up to the tee. ‘What is it?’ I ask, off his look.
‘You just don’t seem the type.’
I line up my shot. ‘Well, you know.’ I tap my ball directly into the pirate ship, down the ramps, and into the hole. My father spent lots of money on my swing. It’s impressive. ‘Bears.’
We get pizza and beer after. Everyone has fake IDs except for me.
‘You can put your glass down here,’ Mila says, pointing under the table to the space between us on the banquet. Her Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet flashes on her wrist. ‘I’ll watch out for the waiter while you drink.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t have alcohol,’ I say. I grimace mournfully. ‘Unfortunately.’
Mila smiles. ‘Antibiotics?’ she asks. I laugh and look down, letting her think whatever she wants.
They kill a pitcher of beer before the pizza even arrives. Rob is the only one who has barely even tasted his first glass.
‘Do you ever drink?’ he asks me.
‘I used to,’ I admit. ‘But not any more.’
He hands his beer to Taylor. ‘Here, man. I’m done.’
‘You don’t have to . . .’ I begin, but Rob leans forward suddenly and brushes my long hair behind my shoulder.
‘If you don’t drink, neither do I,’ he says. The pizza arrives before I can tell him the gesture, although sweet, is not necessary.
It’s not New York pizza, but nothing is. I wonder if I’ll ever have another real New York slice, standing on a corner, midtown traffic lapping like waves around me, the sky humming with the urgency of the city. I doubt it.
‘How’s your pizza?’ Aura-Blue asks as she bites into her salad.
‘Great,’ I say, shoving the greasy cardboard between my teeth. I chew for a bit.
She watches my expression sceptically.
‘Not so great,’ I admit. ‘I should have gotten one of those.’ I point to her salad, and she smiles.
‘I think there might be another vegan among us,’ she sings teasingly. Everyone else groans.
‘First alcohol, now I’ve got to give up meat, too?’ Rob says.
And we’re all laughing and enjoying this and tucking our performances away so we can rethink them and wonder if we could have been a little more charming in this moment or a little less ostentatious in that one.
At the end of the night, I let Rob kiss me for a while in his car, but that’s it. I stop him and tell him I’m not ready for anything else – we’re just getting to know each other. He understands. He doesn’t push. He walks me to the door and tells me to call him tomorrow. Or at least turn on my phone so he can call me.
I’m waiting to feel something. It’s the meds, I tell myself.
19 JULY
The next two days, I dodge Rob and go there.
I need alone time, I tell him. I’m not lying, either. Towards the end of the second day – and that makes it a full three afternoons I’ve spent waiting by the waterfall – Wildboy still hasn’t shown. So technically I’ve been alone this whole time. Although I wish I wasn’t.
My notebook sits next to me. I touch the cover, but before I can pick it up, I hear a snap behind me. I jump to my feet and look up the sheer wall. The first thing I think is – Bear! Do I run? No. They eat you if you run because you look like prey. I’m supposed to yell, right? How do you yell when the fear in your throat is as thick as sand?
‘Who’s there?’ I call out. I hear movement and back away from the wall so I can see over the crest of it. ‘Come out!’
‘OK,’ I hear behind me.
I whirl around, a scream halfway up my throat, and there he is.
Wildboy.
No mud this time, so I can see his face. He’s fair with closely cropped blond hair. He’s not magazine beautiful, but he has nice features and a strong chin. His teeth are a little crooked. He’s muscular and tall, but he’s not puffed up and sculpted like Taylor, Liam, and Rob. He doesn’t have a gym-rat body. He has a functional body – limber and lean. If I were to pass him on the street in New York, I’d think he was definitely above average, but not light-your-panties-on-fire sexy. At least, my former friends wouldn’t think he was. So why am I hot all over?
‘Were you watching me?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he says, looking down. He’s blushing. �
�You came back.’
‘I’ve been coming back,’ I admit.
‘I know.’
‘Wait. How long have you been watching me?’
He smiles but doesn’t answer. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Lena.’ It just pops out. But that’s what I want him to call me. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Bo.’
The sound of the river fills the silence. I still can’t believe he’s here. He’s real.
‘Did you catch that deer?’ I ask at the same time Bo asks, ‘Did you finish Walden?’
We both laugh. I say, ‘No,’ the same moment he says, ‘Yes.’
‘You know, if we both keep talking at the same time, our conversations will take half as long,’ I remark.
He thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t want our conversations to take half as long,’ he replies. ‘Maybe instead we can both say twice as much.’
I smile at him because while that might have sounded like a pick-up line from a different guy, from him it’s genuine. Because he’s genuine, I realize. He’s a real person. I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve met one of those. Another long silence. I could stay like this with him all day, comfortably quiet as I watch the filtered light morph across his face, but he looks anxious. Embarrassed, even, so I say the first thing that pops into my head.
‘Why do you hate Thoreau?’
He smiles slowly. ‘I’ll get you started on some John Stuart Mill. We’ll go from there.’
‘Really?’ I say, laughing. ‘That sounds serious. What are you? Some sort of wildboy philosopher?’ It sounds silly coming out of my mouth, but that’s how I picture him.
He shakes his head. ‘My mom is the philosopher. Or she was a professor of philosophy. I just read what she tells me to read.’
‘She was?’ I ask, emphasizing the past tense as delicately as I can.
‘Oh, she’s alive,’ he replies. ‘She just doesn’t teach any more, although sometimes she still writes for some political journals. She loves to write.’ He looks down at my notebook. ‘Like you.’
‘No,’ I say, waving a dismissive hand at my long-neglected notebook. Why do I even carry that thing around any more? ‘I’m not a writer.’
What She Found in the Woods Page 3