The only interaction we’d had in the last month was through her homework assignments. I read them upstairs in the computer room, ashamed of how much I reacted to her words on the page. Regardless of anything else that had happened, she was still one of the brightest, most agile-minded students I had known. She introduced argument after argument, defeating her own points and turning on a dime to embrace some entirely new theory that she later questioned and half-hung at the end of her paper like both a prize and a warning. She clearly didn’t draft her essays, but I loved that she didn’t. It was like watching her think out loud, as if the page itself was breathing. I didn’t give her anything less than an A, even when her narrative structure obviously needed some improvement, because I knew she would challenge me on the grade and I couldn’t risk any chance of having to talk to her one-on-one.
And after all of that careful distance she ambushed me anyway, just when I’d started to relax and think she’d moved on. She handed me that piece of paper and tossed me right back into the fucking fire.
Turning into the parking lot for Lake Crosby, I passed an empty pickup. There was no one around; the truck looked like it could have been left for dead weeks ago. I slowed my pace as I reached the uneven terrain on the trail that circled the lake. Soften your stride, I’d told the boys. Tense your core.
Then I didn’t need any reminders. My gut clenched as I jogged around the far side of the empty barn and spotted a small glow coming from the window under the oak tree.
No. It couldn’t be.
I stopped, not nearly as winded as I’d tried to make myself. The nightly runs—supposed to be both punishment and escape—had only made me stronger, but apparently not strong enough to keep running.
It was just kids, I tried to reason even as I clicked off my head lamp. Just a couple of kids having beers or smoking pot. I crept closer, tempering my breathing, all the while calling myself a damn idiot for not turning away and sprinting for the woods.
I got close enough to see inside and there she was.
She had a blanket spread out on the floor and a camp lantern next to her. She sat cross-legged with a book in her lap and a bottle of water nearby. Her long hair was tucked away in her hood and her cheeks gleamed orange in the lantern light. Despite the recent warmth, I could see small puffs of her breath against her jacket. Something about her straight posture or the tilt of her head reminded me of Alice in Wonderland and a vertigo came over me, like I was the one tumbling down the rabbit hole.
I turned and walked silently to where the trail picked up again. I could just make out the line of trees that marked the border of Elsa’s land. All I had to do was click the light on again and run. My calves were cooling off and stiffening up. It was time to move, but I couldn’t.
I looked back at the barn and the empty horizon behind it. She was alone, exposed, and suddenly all my anger vaulted toward her with a stunning satisfaction. I crossed the clearing in five paces and shoved open the creaking door. She looked up, startled at the intrusion.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
A smile broke over her face as she registered it was me.
“Studying.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I’m studying history. The Renaissance was definitely not bullshit.” Her smile only grew wider, until she saw the strap on my head.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a headlamp.” I ripped it off and shoved it in my pocket.
“Okay.” She seemed amused by my sweaty clothes and my rage.
“Answer the question, Hattie. What are you doing here?”
“I told you already. I’m doing some homework.”
“No, you should be doing homework in your house or at school or the library.”
“The library’s closed.”
“In a warm, well-lit room.” I bit out each word, ignoring her attempts at cute quips. “Not in a condemned, unheated building in the middle of the winter.”
Setting the book aside, she stood up and faced me earnestly, pushing the hood back on the quilted blue jacket that made her look about five years old. “Come on, it’s like forty degrees. We could have a pool party.”
She laughed, and then added, “I was waiting for you.”
“How did you know I’d be running out here?”
“I didn’t, but I thought you might come. After what I told you.”
“And if I didn’t? Would you just sit out here freezing every night waiting for someone to stumble on you?” I stalked toward her.
“Who would be out here?”
“Anyone! God, Hattie. Don’t you think?”
“I think you’re overreacting.” She was starting to get irritated. Good.
“You could be raped or mugged.”
“Morbid much?”
“No one would hear you scream.” I stood on the edge of her ridiculous picnic setup, looming over her.
“This isn’t Minneapolis, Peter. In case you hadn’t noticed. This is Pine Valley, where nothing bad ever happens except maybe drought. And see? I’ve got some water right here.”
She was trying to lighten the mood again. Screw that.
“Why are you dating him?”
“Tommy?” She instantly brightened, like I’d asked the question she’d been hoping for. “What do you think? Is he a good choice?”
“Tell me you like that moron. Tell me you’re not using him to get closer to me.”
“I look at it as more of a public service. Everyone’s happy. You have no idea.” She looked infinitely pleased with herself and it sent me over the edge.
“Why?” I grabbed her arms and shook her over the top of the lantern, throwing her shadow violently across the walls and ceiling. The force of it wiped the pleasure off her face. She understood I wasn’t playing her little game.
I shook her again, pulling her up and bruising her arms. “Why are you doing this?”