Page 72 of Falling Slowly
Bess’s voice lifted in excitement. “How about we tell them… we know it’s expensive to be poor. You’re not stupid, but you’re stressed. You’re tired. You’re constantly playing catch-up, always a little behind. You need a break… more than that, you need a lucky break. We’re on your side. Our financial experts have helped hundreds of people improve their bank account balance.” She lifted her hand off my chest, gesturing with it, her voice rising in excitement. “I don’t know how many people they’ve helped, but it would be cool to know, wouldn’t it? Even get some data on how much money they’ve saved or earned or what they’ve managed to do with it. Like putting their kid through college. Getting their teeth fixed. Real goals that might feel unachievable.”
“Yes!” I grabbed my phone and quickly typed in her words to keep them safe. “Bess, you’re a lifesaver.”
“We could use real stories of people. Maybe with silhouettes and different names if they want to remain anonymous. But it’d still be impactful to see people who’ve turned their lives around and hear their words.”
“That’s brilliant!”
I could hardly contain my excitement, even if the hammock was containing most of my movement. I’d been right about Bess.She had ideas and passion. So much value even Dad couldn’t dismiss it.
“You’ll need to pitch this,” I said.
She stiffened. “I couldn’t! You do it. Don’t even mention my name. I’m totally happy to be in the background. I’m glad if I can help.”
“No, you must. I can’t do this one.”
“Why not? You can pitch anything.”
“Not this one,” I insisted. “They need to hear it from you.”
Otherwise, they won’t see your worth.
If I told her the truth, she’d freak out. I couldn’t risk her jumping up and down and destroying the hammock that was separating us from death by hypothermia.
“Can we do it together?” She finally suggested.
“Yeah, sure.” I’d make sure she took center stage and shined.
She relaxed against my chest and we both sighed. Sudden exhaustion swept over me. “This has been the strangest, most terrifying, but also the best night of my life.” I meant it with all my heart.
“Me, too.” She shifted, reaching her hand down my leg.
It took me a while to realize she was looking for her leggings. She helped me find my jeans as well, and we both dressed up with slow, careful movements to avoid rocking the hammock too much. Once fully dressed, she bundled her jacket under her head. Then she slid next to me. There was no room. The tight fabric pinned us together like hot dogs in a bun, but I was tired and deliriously happy. Happy for her and her ideas. Happy to be alive. And that’s how I eventually fell asleep, dreaming of everything we could do, together.
Chapter Thirty
Bess
Ifell into strange twilight sleep, too exhausted to move, yet too uncomfortable to truly relax. Each time I cracked my eyelids, I saw the same darkness. The night was as long as it was uncomfortable. Like sitting on a crowded bus, desperately trying to respect everyone’s personal space when there simply wasn’t space. So, you eventually gave up and became part of the human wall, shoulder to shoulder, moving in unison at every turn. Charlie was a good sport, resting his hand against my back, not once making frustrated sounds. Unlike me.
It was one thing to hug and cuddle while we were awake but sleeping in such a tight cocoon put us in danger of cutting off each other’s circulation. At some point, I woke up with a numb arm and had to turn around. “I’m turning to even things out,” I grumbled. “To make the other arm numb as well.”
Charlie grunted in response and turned to spoon me, carefully resting his hand on my hip. I fell asleep again.
When I woke up, I could finally see a faint light. The sun was rising. My every limb stiff and a little cold, my armpits oddly sweaty, I reached up to unzip the cover. “Charlie,” I whispered. “I think it’s morning.”
“Thank God!” He tried to stretch his arms overhead, but there was no space.
I tried to move over him without crushing him to death. “I’ll get out and walk around. Maybe restart the fire if I can find the lighter. You can go back to sleep.”
“No, I’ll go,” he protested, eyes half-open. “You don’t know how to use my travel espresso machine.”
“Seriously?”
He opened the rest of the cover, letting the freezing morning air into the hammock. I burrowed down into the padded fabric, every muscle tightening against the cold. Feeling a little embarrassed but ultimately grateful, I let him get out and zip up the cover. Without him, the hammock felt like a giant, soft cloud that hugged me from every direction. The warmth slowly returned, and the gentle swaying made me sleepy again. Before I knew it, I’d drifted off into a deep, vivid dream. In it, we walked around the empty office floor, got lost and camped out under his desk.
I woke up to the smell of coffee and the crackle of fire and discovered one thing. There is no better way to wake up than swaying in a hammock in the middle of wilderness, smelling an open fire and coffee. Nothing beats it. The absolute bliss lasted for about ten seconds, before my mind began cataloguing things to worry about. Being lost in the forest. Not having cell phone reception or enough food. The possibility of being pregnant. Having to present my half-baked campaign idea to clients that I normally wasn’t allowed to talk to. But, despite all the bombarding thoughts, the smell of coffee still helped.
I pulled on my jacket and unzipped the hammock. Pale morning light had transformed the scenery into something fresh and serene. I could hear the babbling creek and saw the clearing we’d stumbled across in the dark, covered in long, dewy grass and one hundred percent less scary. Near the blazing fire, the air didn’t feel as cold as before. Charlie sat perched on a log next to the fire pit. Seeing me, he raised his steel cup and smiled. “Coffee? We’ll have to share this cup.”
