What She Found in the Woods Read online

  Not surprisingly, there is a whole section in the public library dedicated to outdoor living in the Pacific Northwest and to bushcraft in general. It’s overwhelming.

  I decide to start with the basics. Shelter, fire, water, that sort of thing. I want to be able to ask Bo questions, not stare at him with my mouth hanging open.

  This is how I know I’m crazy about him. It’s not because my joints turn to goo when he kisses me. It’s because I want to understand everything about him.

  ‘Planning a hike?’

  I turn to find the librarian standing behind me with a mild look on her face. She’s a matronly woman, midlife, portly.

  ‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘Just curious about the outdoors and –’ I gesture to the books on the shelf right next to us – ‘survival.’

  ‘If you have any questions, I’d be happy to help,’ she offers.

  So I take her up on her offer. I ask her what books I would need in order to understand what it is to live in the wild with as little contact with society as possible. She gives me a blank look, and then starts pulling books from the shelf. I take three and follow her to the checkout counter. I fill out a library card and take my books home before Mila arrives to pick me up for our shift at the shelter.

  When we pick up Aura-Blue, she’s as chatty and upbeat as usual, but by the time we’re done for the day, I get the feeling that something happened between her and Mila while they worked out front.

  At the end of the shift, I’m last out to the car, as usual. Normally the two of them would have the radio on and they’d be talking and texting and sorting out plans for what they were doing later, but today they’re just sitting there. The tension between them is painfully obvious.

  ‘Ah . . . what happened?’ I ask as I climb into the back seat, although I don’t really want to know.

  ‘Not sure. Maybe you can explain it to her, AB?’ Mila looks over at Aura-Blue, but Aura-Blue refuses to turn her head. Mila glances over her shoulder at me and shrugs. ‘I guess nothing,’ she says, and then she starts the car and pulls out faster than is necessary, so I know whatever happened is probably Mila’s fault.

  After we drop off Aura-Blue, I move to the front seat. A strained silence follows until I feel I have to say something about it.

  ‘She seemed upset,’ I say lightly.

  Mila gives me a roguish half-smile. ‘Aura-Blue is a good girl,’ she says. ‘Sometimes I’m not. She doesn’t like it when I –’ she searches for the right word – ‘stray.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  I guess Mila is cheating on Liam. I’ve kissed him, so I don’t blame her. Something like that can really screw with group dynamics, so I can see why Aura-Blue is upset. Still, it’s none of her business.

  ‘She’ll get over it,’ I say, shrugging. ‘It’s not really up to her, is it? It’s your body.’

  Mila pulls up to my grandparents’ house, stops the car, and turns to me. ‘I’m not going crazy or anything,’ she says. ‘I just need a little something extra every now and again.’

  I nod. ‘I get it.’ She gives me a disbelieving look, and I smile. ‘I am no one to judge anyone else about needing extra,’ I say, thinking about Rob and Bo.

  I almost tell Mila all about him. I actually take a breath and open my mouth. I look at her. But she’s so much like Jinka. And I feel this deep longing and a bottomlessness that I’ve never felt from a break-up with a guy. I shut my mouth. I can’t go through that again.

  ‘Look, it’s summertime,’ I say. ‘I’ve never heard anyone say, “I should have partied less this summer.” Have you?’

  Mila leans her head back on the headrest and runs her palms lightly over the steering wheel. It’s a sensual thing – her breathing in, feeling the lowering sun on her face through the windscreen.

  ‘No,’ she says, her eyes still closed. ‘I’ve never heard anyone say that.’ She opens her eyes and looks at me. ‘I wish you went out with us more.’

  ‘I’d only slow you down,’ I say. I think about Bo, and I know I’m done looking for extra. ‘I just can’t hang any more.’

  She nods sagely and doesn’t push. ‘I’m glad you’re back in town anyway. Even if you never come out with us.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say.

  She gives me hug. I feel her ribs under my hand. ‘Maybe stay in a night or two, though?’ I say hesitantly when we break apart. ‘You still need to eat and sleep.’

  She grins at me. ‘Awesomeness is all the fuel I need.’

  I roll my eyes and grin back at her. The sun glows behind her hair, twice as bright, as if it loves her more than other people. She looks wistful as she leans closer to me. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she says.

  And then she kisses me. It’s a fluttering, barely-there kiss. Her skin is warm, but her mouth is cool. I think of a kiss given to me long ago by someone so much like her I almost call her by the wrong name again. She moves closer, but I stop her.

  ‘I can’t.’

  She shakes herself, like she’s as surprised as I am that she kissed me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, embarrassed.

  ‘No, don’t be,’ I tell her. ‘But I’m with someone, and I can’t do this to him.’

  She laughs and covers her face. ‘I don’t know what got into me.’ She scrubs her blushing cheeks and looks over at me. ‘Just forget I did that.’

  I pop open my door. ‘Mila. I sincerely doubt anyone who’s kissed you will ever forget it.’

  She smacks my thigh with the back of her hand. ‘Get out of my car, you tease,’ she says, still blushing and grinning.

  I laugh and go inside, worried that despite my best efforts, I might be starting to think of Mila as a true friend.

  26 JULY. MORNING

  If someone had told me nine months ago that I would be running to and from the middle of the forest every other day looking to hook up with some home-schooled tree hugger who’d never been kissed before me, I would have asked for some of whatever they were smoking.

  Because to look at me then in my up-and-coming-designer-only wardrobe, carrying my It bag and wearing the shoes that you’ll need as soon as you see them, you would know that anyone who would guess that in a few short months I’d be making out with a Marxist Mowgli would have to be smoking some pretty powerful shit.

  And yet here I am. Literally running to throw myself into Bo’s arms. It’s pathetic. I’ve never been this happy before.

  I wade through the river. I shuck off my backpack. I’m hot. I’m cold. I’m effervescing out of my skin. I can’t remember feeling anything this sharply before. Not even regret. It’s remarkable, considering the current chemical composition of my blood. No, more than that. It’s simply remarkable to feel this. Period.

  He catches me easily and swings me around, and I wrap my legs around his waist, like we’ve done this a million times before.

  ‘You’re good at catching hurling bodies,’ I notice.

  ‘I’ve had lots of practice,’ he replies.

  I jerk back. ‘With who?’ I demand. I’m jealous – wildly, insanely jealous in an instant. Probably because I feel so guilty about killing some poor animal and I haven’t told him. Yet. I’ll tell him eventually.

  Bo laughs, but his look is cautious when he sees I’m not kidding. ‘I have five little brothers and sisters,’ he reminds me. ‘I can’t walk ten feet without one of them jumping on me.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say sheepishly.

  ‘Moth, my littlest sister, thinks it’s a game. She jumps out of trees to see if she can surprise me. It’s like she’s trying to make me drop her.’

  I imagine a little four-year-old girl tossing herself at Bo, and I soften. ‘Have you ever?’

  ‘Dropped her? Of course not,’ he says, like that’s a crazy thing to ask. And maybe it is. Bo doesn’t let people down.

  He kisses me. I feel him smiling inside the kiss. The smile builds into a laugh.

  ‘You got jealous,’ he comments, grinning against my lips.

  ‘Of course I got jealous,’ I say
defensively. ‘You told me you’d never had a girlfriend before.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ he says. And then his eyes slide down. ‘Is that what you are? My girlfriend.’

  ‘Ah . . . yeah,’ I say. I gesture at my legs, still wrapped around his waist. ‘This is not the way I greet buddies.’

  He laughs, and I love the way his laugh feels when I have my legs wrapped around him.

  ‘Good,’ he says.

  He kisses me and lowers us gently down to the ground. He’s so strong. Like, gorilla strong, but he keeps it all in check. He slows himself, steadies himself, forces his hands to be gentler. I feel precious under him.

  He suddenly pulls back.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Have you had boyfriends?’ he asks with a frown.

  I know this is going to hurt him, but it’s better we just get this over with. In this, at least, I’m going to be honest from the start. So many things I’m withholding already. But this I will tell him. No matter what.

  ‘Tons,’ I admit.

  Words catch in his throat. ‘How many?’ he finally asks.

  ‘I honestly don’t remember, but pretty much a different boyfriend every month or so. Sometimes if he didn’t bother me too much, I’d date him for longer, but they always started to bother me. I’ve never dated a guy longer than three months. I started dating five years ago, so . . .’ I calculate fast. ‘I’d say I’ve dated about twenty guys. And I’ve kissed a couple of girls. My friend Mila kissed me just yesterday, but I stopped her before it got real.’

  Bo sits up. He’s chalk white, and it looks like he’s going to be sick.

  ‘OK. Ask me,’ I say.

  ‘Ask you what?’

  I sit up. ‘Ask me if I ever gave a shit about any of the boys I’ve dated.’

  He looks confused and overwhelmed. ‘Did you ever—’

  ‘No.’ He’s looking better, but still unwell. ‘Ask me if I ever had sex with any of them.’

  He roils with discomfort, shifting this way and that with no idea which way to look.

  ‘No,’ I say, answering the question he can’t bring himself to ask. ‘I barely let any of them touch me because I’ve never wanted anyone to touch me before I met you.’

  I mean, I touched them – of course. Something physical has to happen or you aren’t really dating, but Bo doesn’t ever need to know that. It doesn’t matter anyway because it’s not like I ever even registered it. The truth is, no guy before Bo has ever touched me, inside or out.

  ‘So think of it this way,’ I continue, ‘there are twenty guys out there who never saw me make an ass of myself running through a freezing cold river to jump into their arms.’

  He looks down, flattered, but still troubled. ‘But why did you date them if you didn’t want them?’ he asks.

  ‘Politics.’ I laugh at the dumbstruck look on his face. ‘Not politics like you know them,’ I amend, thinking of his radical Leftist family. ‘High school politics.’

  ‘I have no idea what that means,’ he tells me.

  I lean forward until my face is barely an inch from his. ‘I know,’ I say. And I kiss him. I push him on to his back and climb on top of him.

  After a very long time, Bo mumbles, ‘My mother,’ around my lips.

  I prop myself up over him. ‘Just a tip. Mentioning your mother while you’re making out with someone is never a good idea.’

  He smiles up at me, holding my hair back with his hands. ‘I was supposed to bring you home with me today. My mother is expecting us for dinner.’

  I look up at the canopy, but with no sun and only filtered light to go by, of course I can’t tell what time it is. ‘Can we still make it?’ I ask him, because I know he can tell what time it is.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies. An anxious look crosses his face. ‘If you still want to go.’

  I stand up. ‘Definitely,’ I say.

  And then I start to feel worried too. I mean, really, what do they eat? I’m imagining deer jerky and possum soup. Bo hasn’t really told me much about how his family lives out here. What if it’s disgusting?

  ‘So, what’s your mom making for dinner tonight?’ I ask as nonchalantly as I can.

  ‘It depends on her mood.’ Bo is quiet while I put on my backpack. When I face him, he says, ‘You know what? Maybe we should do this another day.’

  ‘Why?’ I say. My voice is too high. I sound phoney and forced.

  ‘This is a bad idea.’ He starts to pull away from me, and it’s like hooks are dragging me with him.

  I grab his hand. ‘I’m an idiot,’ I say, pulling him back to me. ‘I freaked out because you started freaking out, but I don’t care if your mom puts a bowl full of live grubs in front of me. I want to know where you come from. I want to know everything about you.’

  He looks down while he considers it. ‘You say that now, but . . .’ He blows out a deep breath and shakes his head.

  ‘But what?’ I ask.

  He won’t look at me while he speaks. ‘When the novelty wears off, you’ll just think I’m strange.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ I say. He shakes his head, but I keep talking. ‘Because I already know you’re strange. The good news is, so am I.’

  He still looks uncertain, so I smile at him and move closer. ‘Come on.’ I tilt my face under his so he has no choice but to look at me. ‘I’m just going to follow you home anyway.’

  He breaks a smile, at least. ‘You’d never keep up with me.’

  ‘Very true. I’d probably get lost and wander around the forest, starving and . . .’

  He suddenly wraps his arms around me and holds me. ‘Don’t joke about that,’ he says, frightened. ‘People have died out here.’

  I think about that woman who wasn’t killed by a bear and realize that my joke was really tasteless. She might have got lost and just . . . died. It happens here.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, still crushed against him. ‘You’ll have to teach me how to hike better. I really should know how to navigate and stuff.’

  Bo pulls back and looks me over. ‘OK,’ he decides, but only after giving me some serious consideration. ‘I’ll teach you.’

  ‘That was a pretty long time you took thinking it over. You were the one who said I was a good student,’ I remind him.

  ‘Yeah, but this is different from the bow and arrow.’ He frowns and looks past me, almost like he’s remembering something. ‘It’s hard work.’

  I’m a little offended that he thinks I don’t know what hard work is, but I don’t say anything because, if I’m being objective about my life, he’s probably right.

  True to his word, Bo starts to teach me some basics as we walk mostly uphill to his campsite.

  ‘OK, let’s start with what’s in your pack,’ he says.

  ‘Well, apart from books and my picnic blanket, I have water, energy bars, and a hat,’ I say.

  ‘That’s a good start,’ he says encouragingly. ‘But there are a few more things that you should always have with you, no matter what.’ He ticks the items off on his fingers. ‘A knife, a way to make fire, a very loud whistle, and a sheet of plastic large enough for you to stay dry under.’

  In typical Pacific Northwest style, it starts to drizzle at the mention of staying dry. Bo makes me memorize his list and tells me I should always carry it, even if I’m just going into the woods for a few hours.

  ‘But you’re not carrying all that stuff,’ I say.

  Bo smiles and says softly, ‘All I need is flint and a steel knife.’

  I’m just about to tease him for being the big, tough survival guy, but I think better of it. Bo isn’t trying to impress me. He’s the furthest thing from macho I can imagine, but he is also a genuine badass. He could probably build a hut, start a fire, kill a wild boar, and whittle a miniature wooden masterpiece with just a piece of flint and that giant knife he has strapped to his thigh.

  I feel something touch my arm, and I startle before I realize that Bo is just trying to hold my hand. He shies away,
but I reach out and take his hand. We walk like that, hand in hand and silent for a while, before Bo starts the lesson again.

  ‘What direction do you think we’re going in?’ he asks.

  ‘Up?’ I say, hazarding a guess. Bo laughs.

  ‘I meant compass direction, but up is right.’ He looks over at me, and his face turns serious. ‘If you get confused, remember that town is down.’

  ‘Town is down,’ I repeat.

  ‘There are rises in between, but in general, if you’re heading down the mountain, you’re headed back home.’

  ‘Town is down,’ I say again, trying to seal it in my leaky memory. ‘If the zombie apocalypse happens, I’m with you,’ I tell him.

  He gives me a strange look. ‘OK,’ he says, even though it’s clear he has no context for my pop-culture reference. He gets quiet and uncomfortable, focusing on the disconnect between us again now that I’ve gone and underlined it in red.

  ‘That was a dumb joke,’ I say.

  He smiles at me to indicate that he’s letting it go, but I can tell it sticks with him.

  I look down. ‘It’s a bad habit of mine. When I feel like someone might be better than me, I try to be funny to prove I’m clever.’

  ‘I’m not better than you,’ he says. ‘And I don’t know if that joke was funny or not, but I think you’re clever.’

  ‘I used to think so, too.’

  My lie worked too well.

  I used to think there was no such thing. How can ‘too well’ mean awful instead of great? But it can.

  For three months, our Cultural Outreach Club did exactly what we needed it to. We had an iron-clad reason to get out of any meeting or social function that we knew would bore the crap out us. The Five of us did whatever we wanted and we still looked like saints.

  If we got ‘caught’ by someone who saw us at one party when we were supposed to be at another, all we said was that the goat-blood ceremony or whatever it was ended early because, duh, they didn’t actually kill a goat any more in modern voodoo.