Page 20 of Last Light

I don’t know what to do when I’m done, and Travis doesn’t say anything.

He was listening though. I can tell he was listening.

Finally I shake myself out of the daze. I get up to pee behind a tree, and then I fold up the last dry towel as a pillow and crawl into the sleeping bag to lie down. “I’ll sleep for half the night. Just wake me up when it’s your turn.”

He grunts.

I sit up and catch his eye. “You can’t stay up the whole night. You need sleep too. Promise me you’ll wake me up when it’s my turn.”

He gives me an impatient look and makes another wordless sound.

“A grunt is not a promise. Promise me.”

“Damn, girl, you’re stubborn. Fine. I promise.”

I nod, pleased with my victory, and stretch out in the sleeping bag.

It’s thick and warm and smells strongly of Travis. The ground is hard and lumpy, but I’m comfortable enough to sleep.

I like the crackle of the fire. I like that Travis is sitting so close that I can reach out and touch him if I need to. I like that, for once, I don’t smell my sweat every time I move.

I lie on my back and close my eyes and listen to the night.

After a minute I realize what I hear beyond the sound of the fire and the creek. My eyes pop open. “Bugs!”

He shifts from his position. “What, now?”

“Bugs. Listen. You hear them?”

“Yeah. Not much. But somethin’. Crickets. Katydids.”

“It’s been ages since I’ve heard them at all.” I’m smiling up toward the sky. “I remember as a kid, on summer nights they’d be so loud I felt like covering my ears.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe the scientists were right. Maybe the planet will eventually bounce back. They said it would take several years, but it would happen. Maybe the world will come back to life.”

“Maybe.”

I turn my head to look at his face in the orange firelight. He’s watching me. Not smiling, but for once he doesn’t look grumpy.

“Maybe when we’re old we’ll go camping again, and the woods will be green and filled with bugs and birds and critters. Rabbits. Squirrels. Raccoons. Possums.”

“And deer,” Travis murmurs thickly.

“And deer. There used to be so many of them around that they’d roam all over our neighborhood. Come right up to our back porch and eat my grandma’s hostas.” I giggle. “She got so mad. I’d sneak out in the mornings and throw them apples.”

“Shouldn’t have fed ’em.”

“I know that.” I scowl at him but without any heat. “But they were so cute, munching away on the apples.” I breathe deeply, wrapped up in the sleeping bag and the heat from the fire and the darkness of the night. “Listen to those bugs. I thought I’d never hear them again.”

We both listen for a long time. After several minutes, I adjust my head to see what Travis is doing, and I catch him turning away from me.

I wonder what he’s thinking.

I’m not likely to ever know.

He’s not a man who lets people in.

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