Page 8 of Keep Me, Knox
"You're good at that," he says.
I glance over my shoulder. "What?"
"Building a fire. Most city people either smother it or burn the place down."
"Who says I'm from the city?"
He pauses, spatula halfway to flipping something. "Aren't you?"
"Knoxville," I admit. "But I spent summers with my grandmother in Montana. She had a cabin not too different from this one."
"That where you learned about bears?"
"That's where I learned to love the woods." I dust off my hands and stand, brushing bark chips from my jeans. "I knew I wanted a career that allowed me to be in nature, but I didn’t decideto focus on black bears until a college internship at Smoky Mountains National Park."
He nods, stirring something that smells incredible. "What made you stick with it?"
The question is casual, but I can tell he's really listening. Not just waiting for his turn to talk.
"They're misunderstood," I say, settling onto one of the kitchen stools. "People think they're these big scary monsters, but mostly they just want to be left alone. They're smart, careful, protective of their families. They mind their own business unless someone gives them a reason not to."
Knox glances at me, something unreadable in his expression. "Sounds familiar."
"Does it?"
He doesn't answer directly, just plates the venison with roasted vegetables and hands me a fork. We eat standing at the counter, and I have to bite back a moan at the first bite.
"This is incredible," I say. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
"Trial and error, mostly. Gets boring eating the same five things every night." He leans back against the sink, watching me eat. "What about you? You cook?"
"I can manage. Nothing fancy. I'm usually too tired when I get home from fieldwork to do much more than heat up leftovers."
"Sounds lonely."
The observation catches me off guard. Not because it's wrong, but because it's so right.
"Sometimes," I admit. "But the work is worth it. Most of the time."
"Most of the time?"
I set down my fork, considering. "There are days when I wonder if I'm making any real difference. All this data collection,all these reports, and development keeps creeping into their habitat anyway."
Knox is quiet for a moment, then says, "My uncle used to say something about that."
"Yeah?"
"He'd say, 'Sometimes the most important thing you can do is witness. Just... see what needs to be seen. Bear witness to it.' No pun intended."
I laugh softly. "Your uncle sounds wise."
"He was. Lived up here for forty years before I inherited the place. Taught me most of what I know about getting by on the mountain."
"Is that what you're doing? Just getting by?"
The question comes out more pointed than I intended, but Knox doesn't seem offended. He studies me for a moment, then says, "Used to think so. Lately, I’m not so sure."
There's something in his voice—something that makes my chest tight.
