…
The woods around us were dark, and two owls on either side of the fire hooted back and forth. I grabbed my copy of
“I’m going to bed,” I announced, heading toward the tent. “You staying up, Mel?” When I turned around, both Mel and Tyler were looking at Henry, who was sitting on the ground on a blanket, staring vacantly into the fire.
“It’s ten thirty,” Mel replied. “I’m not tired.”
I covered my yawning mouth with one hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.” The early spring wind had picked up once the sun set, and it was chilly. I hurried into the tent.
No formal sleeping spots had been designated, so I unrolled my sleeping bag and situated it in the far right corner, farthest from the flap. I was hoping I would be fast asleep by the time the others came in. Mel promised no hanky panky. Still, I did not want to know what was going on once the butane lantern was turned off.
Feeling strangely modest, I crawled into my sleeping bag to change out of my jeans and sweatshirt and into my soft and snuggly flannel pajama pants and long-sleeve T-shirt. I fluffed and punched my pillow before lying back, prepared for exhaustion to overtake.
I pinched my eyes closed, then opened them. I rolled onto my side. It was probably an hour of tossing and turning later when I threw back the tent flap and wandered toward the campfire, huddled in my pajamas and coat.
Henry sat before the yellow fire, toasting a very well done marshmallow off the end of a wire hanger. He was alone.
Chapter 22
“
“Did you just say, ‘How now brown cow?’” I asked as I ambled toward the fire.
He smiled, keeping his eyes down.
I stood across from him, warming the front of my body. “Where are the others?”
“Night hike.” He pointed the end of the hanger toward the dark woods. “I wouldn’t expect them for a while.”
I rotated, warming my back now, remembering Mel’s warning about not trying to find them if they split away from the group. Mel and I were best friends, but there were some sides of her I didn’t need to see.
“Probably not,” I agreed.
“Can’t sleep?”
I turned my head in time to see the crispy marshmallow slide off the hanger and disappear into the licking flames. “I guess I’m restless,” I said as I walked past him to the stump I’d been sitting on earlier. “Ever had one of those nights when your mind is racing but you can’t figure out what you’re trying to think?”
“More often than I’d like,” he replied. “Especially lately.”
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Probably too much caffeine.”
After staring into the fire for a moment longer, Henry tossed the hanger to the side and shifted his weight toward me. “Spring—” He cut short, his head snapping to the side.
A shiver ran up my spine when I realized he’d heard a sound coming from the woods. My eyes shot in the direction of where he was looking, but I saw nothing and heard nothing…until Mel and Tyler stumbled out of the darkness. I glanced at Henry, who had already relaxed his stance.
Mel was hanging onto Tyler’s hand and swinging it between them. “Still holding out?” she said to Henry, then she noticed me sitting on the other side of the fire. “Oh, hey Springer. Thought you were asleep.”
“She tried,” Henry said. “Now that you two are back”—he rolled to his knees and stood up—“Spring and I are going for a drive.” He walked over and stopped in front of me. “Ready?” He extended his hand to help me up.
When I didn’t react, his eyes went tight and his jaw clenched. The expression screamed impatience, like I wasn’t going along with some secret plan we’d earlier devised. After a moment, he sighed and grabbed the end of my coat sleeve, pulling me to my feet.
“Toss me your keys, man,” he said to Tyler. The silver ring flew through the air.
Without a second thought, I followed. “It would appear,” I announced to Mel over my shoulder, “that we will be going for a drive.” I didn’t look back to take note of her expression.
The engine hummed softly as we wound along the dark road away from the campground. I didn’t take the time to dissect what Henry’s motivation might have been. A drive sounded nice and the car was warmer than the tent, with less bugs.
I slouched down in my seat, kicked off my shoes and propped my feet on the dashboard. When we first got in the car the radio was on, but Henry turned it off at once, so it was quiet for the first few minutes. After fishing around the inside pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled out his phone and plugged it into the jack. He held the silver device in one hand, working his thumb along the face. I could tell he was scanning through music tracks.
A song came on. I recognized it immediately, but he skipped past it as well as the next few, which I also recognized as part of a familiar, and now deleted, playlist.
“Track six, please.”
Henry turned to me, lifting an eyebrow. A few seconds later, my request came spilling through the speakers. “You like this one?”
“Very much,” I admitted. “Dave Matthews Band. Classic nineties.”
“I always suspected there was more to you than Alanis Morissette.”
I exhaled tranquilly and closed my eyes, taking in the much needed serenity. The darkness, the bluesy ballad, the rhythm of the moving car, that aftershave…
“Are you hungry?” he asked in a low voice. I liked the way it sounded coupled against the music. “We’re close to a town.”
“No, thanks,” I said. Just as it had been back in the tent during my tumultuous hour of tossing and turning, my mind was racing again. Murky thoughts jumped, abstract and disconnected images flashed behind my closed eyes. Motorcycles, a black Viper, an argyle sweater hanging over the bend of a palm tree.
Suddenly, the car was stifling, and it felt like a pile of hot bricks was stacked on my chest. I snuck a quick glance at my driver. He seemed pensive, too. His lips were pressed together in a line and I could see his strong jaw muscles working. Although I’m sure his Rhodes Scholar brain was focused on something more substantial than mine was.
“Feeling any better?” Henry asked after the song ended.
“Yes, thanks,” I replied, allowing my eyes to linger on his face, but that only made my hands break out in a cold sweat. Sudden hot flashes coupled with chills? I was probably coming down with the flu. “Where are we going?”
“Don’t know.” His brooding eyes smoothed out. “I haven’t been this way in years.”
A new song came on, prompting a question that I’d tucked away months ago. “This playlist.” I pointed at his cell balanced in the cup holder between us. “What was your motive?”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I do,” I blurted. “I was just”—I rubbed my nose—“a little surprised by some of your choices.” Of course I was remembering the theory Mel had insinuated, how those ten songs were all tied together with a similar “theme.”
“As far as there being a common thread, there isn’t.”
I exhaled, choosing to believe him over my sex-on-the-brain best friend.
