Everything I Left Unsaid(7)

When you are told that shit day in and day out, you start to believe it.

It’s probably why I stayed so long with Hoyt. Because the unknown was just so…unknown.

But here I was, in the thick of it, and so far, my new life was a million times better than my old life.

So, yes, it was nice.

“And here it is,” he said, coming to a stop in front of an overgrown field full of black garbage bags torn open by animals. Cans, dirty diapers, and newspapers spilled out in the weeds growing as tall as my head. He had to shout over the drone of black flies.

And the smell…

Oh dear God, I take back all that “nice” stuff.

Behind the wall of weeds was a giant oak with a ratty old rope hanging from one of the branches.

“What’s the rope for?” I asked, because surrounded by all this filth it looked like the scene of a terrible crime. The cover of a horror novel.

“Behind the weeds is a real nice watering hole.”

“That’s a watering hole?” I’d been joking about a weedy watering hole last night on the phone, but this was ridiculous.

“Kids play in it all summer, but it’s quiet now that they’re back in school.”

“So…what is this supposed to be?” I looked at the surrounding field. It was huge. An acre at least.

“The Flowered Manor Camp Ground,” he said.

“You’re joking.”

“Absolutely not.” Kevin looked only marginally affronted by my slack-jawed surprise.

“People actually camp here?”

“They will when you’re done.” He nudged my shoulder with his massive one and I was nearly knocked off my feet.

“You really can’t believe the things you read in a bathroom stall,” I muttered.

Dylan would laugh. The thought made me smile before I could stop myself and my lip split again. I licked away the warm copper tang of blood.

Dylan.

I remembered his laughing groan. Low and explict. Dirty, really. One of the dirtiest things I’ve ever heard. Last night, staring up at the plastic dimpled ceiling of the trailer, I’d convinced myself that the conversation had been a product of exhaustion. The fact was, stepping into the trailer for the first time, my fear slipping nervously into tentative relief, I’d been momentarily…not myself.

It would seem only logical that after the stress and focus of the last week, I’d go a little nuts.

And that’s what that conversation was. Nuts.

That’s why I’m not talking to him again.

Because in that wild nuts moment—that moment when I was just not myself—something had changed. Shifted.

And I wanted to talk to him.

I still did.

Which was weird, if not terrifying, because that bikini girl in my dream looking over at that boy, saying everything was fine, whose skin was about to be shredded—I’d already been her.

Only I had been wearing a wedding dress.

“Come on, now,” Kevin said. “I’ll show you our tools.”

Good. Right. Tools. Kevin led me over to a shed and opened the padlock on the door. “I’ll give you a key,” he said. “Once I’m sure you won’t steal nothing.”

“Steal?” I’d never been accused of stealing in my life.

“No offense,” he said. “But we’ve had some real unsavories looking in on this job.”

Inside the shed it looked like I’d have everything I needed for campground cleanup: a tractor mower, a weed whacker. Rakes, shovels. Granted, they were all older than I was, but I could work with it. There were even some gloves and boots by the door.

“You sure you want to do this?” Kevin looked sideways at me and I wondered what he saw. What story my scarf in August in North Carolina, my hair so black it swallowed the light, my increasingly alarming thinness, told him.

Probably nothing good. And frankly, probably a story far too close to the truth.

I am, after all, wearing the official costume of a woman on the run.

“I mean…you’re a kid, ain’t you?”

“No.” Childhood had blended right into adulthood for me, and there had been nothing in between. Like a rainbow that went from yellow right to indigo. “And I’m totally sure I want to do this.” I was used to physical labor at the farm. I liked it. And after a week on the road, I felt listless. Too in my head.

And my head was a shitty place to be.

“Suit yourself. Watch out for snakes.”

“What?” I squeaked.

“And bears.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He shrugged.

“That’s not funny, Kevin.”

“I don’t know, it kinda is.”

Kevin winked—which was weird in and of itself—before he lumbered off, leaving me unsure if he was joking or not.

For my own peace of mind I decided to go with joking. Physical labor—yes.

Snakes? No.

Bears? Hell no.

I traded my tennis shoes for the boots and slipped on the gloves. There was a box of black garbage bags and I tucked five of them in the back of my pants. I grabbed a shovel and rake and headed back over to the weed-and-garbage-filled field.

My feet slipped in the too big boots, but I was grateful for them when I stepped into the weeds and something squished underfoot and a wall of flies buzzed up and away.