Page 99 of Life and Death
“And what’s there, at the pavement’s end?” I wondered.
“A trail.”
“We’re hiking?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.” I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if she thought my truck was slow . . .
“Don’t worry, it’s only five miles or so and we’re in no hurry.”
Five miles. I didn’t answer, so that she wouldn’t hear the panic in my voice. How far had I hiked last Saturday—a mile? And how many times had I managed to trip in that distance? This was going to be humiliating.
We drove in silence for a while. I was imagining what her expression would look like the twentieth time I face-planted.
“What are you thinking?” she asked impatiently after a few minutes.
I lied again. “Just wondering where we’re going.”
“It’s a place I like to go when the weather is nice.” We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds.
“Charlie said it would be warm today.”
“And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle,” she said thoughtfully.
“No, I didn’t.”
“No one knows you’re with me?” Angrily, now.
“That depends. . . . I assume you told Archie?”
“That’s very helpful, Beau,” she snapped.
I pretended I didn’t hear that.
“Is it the weather? Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you’re actually suicidal?”
“You said it might cause problems for you . . . us being together publicly,” I explained.
“So you’re worried about the trouble it might causeme—ifyoudon’t comehome?” Her voice was a mix of ice and acid.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.
She muttered something under her breath, the words flowing so quickly that I couldn’t understand them.
It was silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of fury and disapproval rolling off her, and I couldn’t think of the right way to apologize when I wasn’t sorry.
The road ended at a small wooden marker. I could see the thin foot trail stretching away into the forest. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, not sure what to do because she was angry and I didn’t have driving as an excuse not to look at her anymore.
It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I’d arrived, almost muggy under the thin clouds. I yanked off my sweater and tossed it into the cab, glad I’d worn the t-shirt—especially with five miles of hiking ahead of me.
I heard her door slam, and looked over to see that she’d removed her sweater, too, and twisted her hair into another messy bun. All she had on was a thin tank top. She was facing away from me, staring into the forest, and I could see the delicate shapes of her shoulder blades almost like furled wings under her pale skin. Her arms were so thin; it was hard to believe they contained the strength that I knew was in them.
“This way,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at me, still annoyed. She started walking into the dark forest directly to the east of the truck.
