Open House(35)

Obviously, I write back. How dumb does he think I am? I’m camping tonight, I write. Why don’t you meet me here? I can find a spot where no one will see us.

Perfect, he writes back. Governor’s Trail?

Yep, I text. There are only three real trails. The woods behind campus are only five or so square miles. I close my eyes and try to steady myself, but I feel even sicker from the sounds of Josie and Noah ribbing each other as they unpack the trunk. When I turn to look through the window, I see Josie sock Noah across the shoulder. It’s childish, and I don’t think Noah likes it. Josie is so incredibly beautiful, but he’s just not under her spell like other guys are, and I think she knows it. I study him through the glass, the way he glances sideways at her, the way his smile looks forced, and the way he turns and buries his gaze in a red-and-white cooler. He’s all mine.

It gives me a buzz of pleasure; it fortifies me. I push open the door and say, “Dibs on the fleecy one,” because as juvenile as it sounds, I know that if I don’t say it, Josie will claim the warmest sleeping bag, and I’m not going to shiver all night.

“They all have fleece lining,” Josie snaps.

“You guys go ahead,” I say to both of them.

Noah turns to look at me. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

“I’m meeting a friend on the trails.”

“What friend?” Josie asks, making a face like I’ve said something absurd.

“A friend!” I say, laughing. They exchange a glance I can’t read, and Noah shakes his head. “What?” I say testily. “Can’t I have other friends?”

“Emma,” Noah says, his voice sounding way too sure that he’ll be able to convince me to stay with him. “I’d rather you not be in the woods by yourself. You don’t really know the trails that well.”

“I do, actually,” I say. “I know them from when I was little and we used to come here.”

“That’s a nice memory,” Noah says rudely, “but it’s different at night.”

I roll my eyes.

“Just tell your friend to meet us at the party,” Noah goes on, stuffing a half-drunk grape Gatorade into his backpack. My heart starts beating faster. I really need to get rid of them.

“Maybe I just need a little break from you guys,” I say, knowing it will work. I reach down to grab the black backpack I think is mine, but Josie leaps toward me and snatches it from my hands.

“Don’t open that!” she says. And then, “That one’s for Chris and me.”

I look up, startled. “Um, okay, sorry,” I say. The streetlight flickers, then makes a dull buzzing noise like it’s about to die.

Her face is flushed. She breaks my stare and grabs a smaller bag. “This one’s yours,” she says, still not looking at me. “It’s just waters and stuff.”

I take the bag and wonder what she has in hers. Probably drugs, something harder than pot, or else she wouldn’t be so weird about it.

Noah finally gives up on me. “Do you have your phone?” he asks, nudging his boot into the side of his pack, pushing it upright.

“I do,” I say. “Do we definitely get service in the woods?”

Josie nods. Her blond hair is piled high on her head, and wispy tendrils frame her heart-shaped face. She always thinks she knows everything, but she’s barely been in the woods this year. “Noah?” I ask, and he nods at me.

“We get service,” he says. “But don’t take too long to find us.” He towers over me, and smiles. “The wolves come out at night,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Thanks,” I say, making my voice sound a lot tougher than I feel right now.

I lift my hand in a wave, watching as they sling their backpacks onto their shoulders. Noah grabs the cooler and asks Josie, “Ready?” But she doesn’t answer him. She just starts walking toward the woods, seeming as confident as she always does, even though I know deep down she’s scared of where she’s going. Sometimes I think it’s that current of fear that keeps Josie moving forward toward something intangible, something she knows she wants but doesn’t quite know how to get.

I pull out my phone. Meet me at Governor’s Trail marker two, I text Brad.

I watch Josie’s slim form and Noah’s tall, broad back as they make their way into the woods and the cold night. I stare until they become swallowed by the darkness and disappear completely.





TWENTY-EIGHT

Haley

Haley let her eyes glaze over as she stared out the police car’s windshield at the frigid white sky. An officer drove her toward Waverly Memorial Hospital, the audio from his radio buzzing in and out. Haley noted how much better the front seat of a police car felt than the back, and wondered if she’d been upgraded because the cops were now operating on the assumption that she hadn’t done anything wrong. She tried to relax and close her eyes, but snapped them back open when images of bodies flooded her mind. She tried to blink the bodies away, to think of anything else. Her mind settled on Dean—on his pensive, handsome face and strong hands. She wanted his arms around her; she wanted the cops to release him to her so they could be a family again.

A family.

The cop slowed for a yellow light, and Haley thought about the word as they idled. She could admit to herself that it wasn’t how she usually thought of Dean, but increasingly she found herself imagining what they could be to each other with time. She fantasized about holding a little boy between them who looked just like Dean, and she imagined the way she would love her child. She imagined all the ways Dean and the little boy would be her new family, and all the ways she would protect them from the fate that had befallen her old family.