“You’re going to blame me for this? I saved your life!”
Corrie scoffed. “Again, I didn’t need your help.”
Ford stared blankly at her. “You really can’t accept it, can you? Accept that sometimes you need help from others?”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, in this instance you have done the opposite of help me. Now I don’t have any clothes or a tent for tonight.”
“Like you think any of the three of us would actually let you sleep without a tent.” He rolled his eyes. He then reached for his own bag, yanked off the tent strapped to the side, and tossed it at Corrie. “You can have mine. I’ll sleep by the fire. At least that will give you one less thing to complain about.”
Complain? She opened her mouth to protest, but he stormed off, taking with him the rest of the equipment. Jon and Memo stood silent, clearly not knowing how to respond. But, frankly, as she looked at the tent in her hands, neither did Corrie.
Sure, she was pissed that her bag was gone, though luckily most of her belongings were still at the main camp. But . . . he had rescued her, whether she’d wanted him to or not. And he did hand over his tent. Why was she being so hard-nosed? Why was she letting him get to her?
They set up the camp, and Jon, Memo, and Corrie pitched their tents as Ford started a fire. The small individual tents didn’t have much room, but at least they were easy to put together. Jon and Memo had resumed their pre-rapids conversation about the World Series.
“Here,” Ford said, standing over her as she crouched next to her tent, tacking down the rainfly. In his hand was a wad of fabric.
“What’s that?”
“A long-sleeved T-shirt and some boxers. I don’t have much but thought you might want to change out of those clothes for the night.”
She hesitated for a moment, with the urge to decline on the tip of her tongue. But, much to her surprise—and his—she took the clothes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t wait any longer before heading back to the fire.
The evening was calm, much calmer than the day had been. Corrie and Ford let Jon and Memo do all the talking as they sat and ate their dinner in silence. Ford had been smart enough, at least, to bring a flask. They passed that around, allowing Corrie to take the edge off. After Jon and Memo went to sleep, Corrie and Ford sat by the fire in continued silence, their eyes never connecting. What was there to say, really? Practically every time they opened their mouths they got into an argument. That was the real problem. Corrie wasn’t talked out. She was argued out.
Despite the lack of conversation and eye contact, however, Corrie’s body was on high alert, reacting to every one of Ford’s subtle movements. The flex of muscles in his forearms. The crack of his neck when he stretched. The pop of his lips when he took a nip from the flask. He handed over the flask without words, and she brought the small copper container to her mouth, soaking in the heavy rye scent. Would she ever be able to enjoy rye again without associating it with him?
She sighed to herself. Dammit. She loved rye now.
A rumbling sound came from behind them, likely from a paca or some other nocturnal animal, tearing their attention to the forest. Well, this is going to make for a fun night. Hopefully there weren’t any actual jaguars in this part of the jungle. Sightings were rare in the Lacandon Jungle, but the giant ferns and wild elephant-ear plants surrounding them made the perfect habitat for them to stalk their camp overnight.
They both turned back to face the fire, catching each other’s gazes for the briefest of moments. The flames were reflected in his glasses, but beyond them, a sadness hid behind his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him this was silly, but he quickly tore his gaze away from her and resumed his fire entrancement. The croaks from the frogs, the babble from the river nearby, and the hoots and calls from the other forest creatures couldn’t compete with the deafening silence between them. Yesterday was all but a distant memory at this point.
A drop of water hit Corrie’s nose and she peered up at the sky. Was that . . . rain?
“Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?” he asked, as if being pulled out of deep thought.
“A raindrop.”
He looked up, darkness shrouding the sky above through the thick cover of the trees. And blink.
“Shit,” he said as he searched for cover.
Another drop. Then another. A shower was inevitable.
They both stood, hustling to put their gear away, before Corrie rushed over to the tent. Ford, on the other hand, grabbed a blanket and put it over his head.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trying not to get wet.”
For a brief moment, she debated her next words. But regardless of everything that had happened earlier in the day, she didn’t really have any choice other than to speak them.
“Ford, just sleep in the tent with me.”
“No, I’m fine.” Stubborn, like she would have been.
“No, you’re going to get drenched. Come on. Before I change my mind.”
He stared at her for a second before hurrying over to the tent mere seconds before the rain came pouring down. The rain hit the tent in a thunderous clatter as they barely made it in without getting drenched. Again. But the small, one-person tent really didn’t have enough room for the two of them, especially not when one of them had shoulders like Ford’s. They twisted and turned, shifting their bodies to get situated. Bumping knees. Clocking their heads. But finally, after a minute of flurried movements, they found a comfortable-ish happy medium, with both of them on their sides facing away from each other.
The heat built between their bodies, though. Like that two-inch space between them was a fiery inferno that they were both avoiding, for fear of getting burned. But it took all her might to keep her distance.
“God, it’s loud,” she said, more to herself than to Ford.
But he responded anyway. “You’ll get used to it.”
No shit. Not like it was her first time in a goddamn tent in the rain. But no need to rev the ole argument engine again.
“Camp in the rain often?”
“Used to. I mean, not like a ‘Oh, hey, it’s raining, let’s go camping.’ But more of a consequence of going camping often.”
“Why’d you stop? Camping often, I mean?”
He paused and let out a quick breath. “Addison didn’t like camping.”
Oh.
The silence inside the tent was no match for the rain pelting against the rainfly. Or the questions swirling in her head.
“Why’d you and Addison break up?”
Another sigh.
“Do we really need to talk about this?”
“What else are we going to talk about?”
“We don’t have to talk about anything. We could just go to sleep.” She could hear the frustration in his voice.
“But it’s too loud to sleep.” Outside and in her head.
“I told you. You’ll get used to it.”
“Well, I’m not even tired.” She should have been, given all the physical exertion from the day. But her mind was too wired with Ford close to her. “Are you?”
Nothing. No answer.