“They sold their houses,” I told him. “They have nothing left but this life.”
“They can have the property.”
“You’ll be lucky if they don’t sue you.”
“I can’t believe I did this.”
“You were trying to help them,” I said. I needed to calm him down, for his safety and mine. “You were trying to help me.”
“I mean this.” He kicked the empty Oreo tray. “I haven’t eaten junk for years—and now… a whole package. I can feel it inside me, Sasha. I feel so disgusting—so stupid and fat.” We raced to the bathroom and I reached the toilet before him, sat on the lid.
“You really want me to suffer?”
“I want you to sit with this feeling,” I said. “No matter how much it hurts.”
He grabbed a bottle of melatonin from the medicine cabinet and shook it. There couldn’t have been more than five pills inside. He swallowed them all and unloaded a stuttering cough, hand planted over his heart, as if auditioning for a soap opera.
“You don’t get to sleep through this,” I said. I trailed him to the living room and slapped his face to keep him awake. “You don’t get to leave me alone with the men anymore.”
“You’re so much stronger than me,” he mumbled. He stretched out on the couch with Barney clutched to his chest. No one had ever been more dramatic. “I’ll be with you shortly, my baby,” he said to the cat. “This life wasn’t made for creatures like us.”
“The pills won’t even kill you!” I shouted.
He dissolved into slumber.
thirty-six
I CRACKED OPEN the door.
“Welcome back,” Randy said from the porch. His tracksuit sleeves were rolled to his biceps. His hair was slicked to the left with canola oil. He reeked of fire and meat.
Dyson snored on the couch. I joined Randy outside and shut the door behind me.
“We left you a present upstairs.” He flashed a teeth-gritted snarl meant to intimidate me.
It worked how he wanted it to. But I covered my mouth to hide my fear. “Very threatening, Randy. I see you men haven’t learned anything since you got here.”
He chewed his cheek and tilted back on his heels. “Tell Dyson we need our money back.”
“What do you plan to do with it?”
“I’d give it to charity. A charity for unfortunate women. The most unfortunate women I can imagine.” He mimed a hat tip. “To prove to you how much I’ve learned from your lessons.”
“You entrusted your money to Dyson. You entrusted it to The Atmosphere. A group that I manage on a day-to-day basis. Therefore, you entrusted it to me, and what I want to know, Randy, is why you deserve the money more than the group?”
“I need to start a new life.”
“You’re not ready for that. This whole thing—”
“What thing?”
“This thing with murdering an innocent cat, blackmailing me, setting fire to sheds, and threatening Dyson. You’re no helpless victim. You chose to join this community, and now you want out because you regret the choices you made. Well, that’s bullshit, Randy. You need to live with your decisions. That’s what’s wrong with all of you here. You’ve never had to deal with the consequences of your decisions. But that changes today.”
Randy stood there breathing at me like a dog on a chain. Dyson’s snoring grew louder. I felt more alone than ever here. All these trees, all the leaves and lichen and stones, and not one thing could protect me. I folded my hands together and smiled impatiently. Condescension seemed like my most potent defense.
“Dyson used to be there for us,” he said.
“Heartbreaking.”
“He used to listen, and now he’s so wrapped in his plans to expand.”
“Would you rather The Atmosphere fall apart?”
“I’d rather he gives us what he promised us: jobs, financial support.”
“Go apply for a job. Surely you’re a better candidate now.”
His voice deepened with importance. “Dyson used to be there for us.”
“You’ve told me,” I said. “Now tell me how you plan to move forward. Do you plan to pity yourself and wish the world were kinder to you? Do you plan to moan about your broken relationship with Dyson? You’ve been here over four months. You’ve been participating in therapy for nearly a year, yet you have shown minimal emotional growth.”
“You’re a bully,” he said. “You’re bullying me just like you bullied that man.”
“What a waste of potential.” I stared through him. The wind bent the branches of trees at his back. Each second of silence seemed to signal I had done something wrong, that Randy, tonguing his cheek and bunching his fists, was preparing to lunge for my neck.
When he came for me, though, he came crumpled and slumped. He wept into my shoulder, desperate for touch. “This has been so much harder than I expected.”
I eased him away from me. “Let it out,” I muttered. “Let it out.”
He wiped his eyes. “I want things to go back to normal.”
“Those days are over—you need to accept that.”
“We want the old Dyson back.”
Dyson stirred on the couch, calling my name.
I leaned close to Randy. “Listen, I understand completely. I miss the old Dyson, too. We do need him back. And I’m going to do everything I can to restore him to his previous form. But I need you to take control of the camp.”
Randy asked if Dyson was inside.
I snapped for his attention. “Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I can do that.”
“You think you can or you can?”
“I can. Absolutely,” he said. “You’ve made the right choice.” He saluted me and scrambled into the forest.
Dyson called for me again. I remained on the porch wondering what to tell him. Randy didn’t really want the old Dyson back—despite what he said. He wanted to skip backwards in time and start over. The old Dyson only existed in Randy’s sentimental memories. If the two men sat down together—even with the intention to work everything out—it could only end in disappointment. More likely, in tragedy.
I entered the cabin
