Page 46 of Cherry Picked
“Well, yes, but…” I jogged to catch up to him.
“I moved my stuff there to ride out the storm. And, since you asked, my father would say job well done sincehe’sthe one who taught me all the trails on this mountain and how to seek shelter during a storm. The cave I chose doesn’t have water issues or other hazards near the entrance, which would be the only reasons to avoid it.”
“The only reason? How about comfort and safety? You can’t tell me that this cave on a mountain is safer than your house. Hawk? Hawk!”
Hawk ignored me, and I followed him a quarter mile in moody silence to the familiar wide entrance of Kirkcaster. It was the largest cave in the Glassy system and a favorite with tourists because of its solid appearance and interesting history.
I let out a breath. At least he’d selected one with multiple entrances. It was large enough to stand up comfortably in and even large enough to fit the tent and all of his other supplies.
“You may go now,” he said once we’d escaped the increasing drizzle and entered the cave. “Might as well get back to the parking area before you wind up drenched.” He turned his back to me and busied himself unrolling his sleeping bag and setting up his battery-operated lantern.
I scowled, though he couldn’t see me. “I’m not leaving.”
Hawk didn’t turn, but I saw his back stiffen. “Don’t stay on my account. I’d hate for you to be in a situation where you don’t feel perfectlysafeandcomfortable.” He plumped his pillow before setting it inside the tent and said mockingly, “Save yourself, Jack.”
My shoulders fell on a frustrated exhale. “Fine. Point taken. For the record, I still think it’s bullshit to stage a protest by camping in the woods like you’re some kind of modern-day Thoreau. And I’m talking ‘Mr. Bennet-allowing-Lydia-to-trot-off-to-Brighton-with-the-soldiers’-level bullshit. You know just how much I hate that part, right? But I’m not leaving you to be stupid alone.”
Hawk turned to face me, and for just a split second, his face softened, recognizing the echo of our recent fight. Then he turned back to the tent.
I reached for his backpack to pull out his camp stove and other cooking supplies. Getting a hot drink into both of us would help us stay warm since we couldn’t build a fire inside the cave.
“You know,” Hawk said without turning around, “no one said Henry David Thoreau was stupid when he went out to the woods.”
I glanced up from pouring one of the water bottles I’d brought into his small kettle. “He went to the woods to livedeliberately. Not to stop Evola from bringing necessary funding to his small Vermont town. And pretty sure Thoreau lived in a cabin, not a tent or a cold-as-fuck cave.”
He settled himself on the sleeping bag just inside the tent and dug out a bag of trail mix. “He lived like twenty minutes’ walk from his parents’ house, but you don’t hear stories about people trying to draghimhome every time it rained.”
“Twenty minutes? Hm. That’s… less impressive than the Walden experience I’d imagined,” I admitted. I chanced another glance in his direction. “You look good.”
He paused with a handful of snack mix in his hand.
My face went hot. “I mean, you lookbetter. Calmer. Than the last time I saw you. More confident, maybe.”
He tossed the trail mix in his mouth and crunched thoughtfully, staring into the middle distance. “I think… there are things that have been bothering me for a while,” he said slowly. “And I’ve been waiting for other people to wake up and notice them and come up with a plan for us to fix them, then getting progressively angrier when no one did. Crys called me on it the other night. She reminded me that if I want things to change,Ineed to change them myself. Or at least try.”
I hated that working with me, talkingto me, was something he needed to change, but… “I’m glad it’s working.”
Hawk nodded and smiled suddenly. “Can’t lie, though. I’m dying for a shower and a good meal. Splashing in the creek and eating rehydrated stew is getting a little old.”
“Well, I don’t know if it counts as a good meal, but I brought some sandwiches from the diner if you’re hungry.”
Hawk looked at me intently, like he was trying to peer into my skull and read my mind. Good luck to him trying to find any clear thoughts in there. I’d been running on instinct and desperation all day.
“You came up here to drag me back to town… but also brought sandwiches? Why?”
“Seven years,” I croaked.
“Huh?”
“That’s how long we’ve been friends, right? And when we hike, I bring snacks. That’s my job. That’s… what I do. You decide where we’re going, I make sure we get there safely. I’m kind of a creature of habit if you hadn’t noticed.”
He swallowed. “I noticed,” he said softly.
The air felt heavy. Charged. I tried to play it off. “Besides, it’s not a big deal. I didn’t go to any trouble,” I lied. “Just some Havarti-and-apple paninis that were left over from lunch. I can heat them up if you’re hungry. They’re in there.” I nodded to my backpack.
Hawk reached for it at the same time I remembered—
“Wait just a second,” I said, holding out a hand, but it was too late. Hawk tilted the bag, and out tumbled not only the foil-wrapped sandwiches but also two thick paperbacks.
