Boys, Bears And A Serious Pair Of Hiking Boots Part 13

"Uh-huh." I have nothing else to do, so I follow his orders and look straight over at him.

Reeve isn't wearing a s.h.i.+rt.

I must have registered this earlier, but in my terrified haze, I didn't really pay much attention. Now I do.

"Are you feeling any calmer?" he asks, concerned.

"Umm, maybe." I'm still gazing at his chest. Inappropriate, perhaps, but excellent distraction from my impending death. "Talk to me. I think it helps."

"About what?"

"I don't know, anything. How's your mom?"

"OK." He s.h.i.+fts position again, light and easy. "She's not craving pickles anymore."

"No?"

"Nope, now it's hot sauce. With everything. She made lasagna last night; I nearly died."

I manage to smile. "When's she due?"

"December." He pauses, looking back at the rock before adding, "It's kind of why I'm not sure about college this year. She says she'll be fine, but I don't know about leaving her alone. I have two younger sisters. They're kind of a handful already."

"Oh. Is your dad not . . . ?" I trail off, embarra.s.sed.

He gives me a rueful look. "Yeah, no. He's not. He took off a few years back. And this kid's father isn't around, either." Reeve lets out a long breath. "So . . . I'm kind of the only man left standing. Sorry," he says, forcing a laugh. "I didn't mean to lay all of this -"

"No! It's fine." I pause a moment, watching. "I think it's good, what you're doing for your mom," I add shyly.

"Thanks." He looks awkward. "What about your folks? You must miss them, being away all summer."

I flex my aching fingers and sigh. "I do and I don't." He gives me a curious look, but even though he's confided in me, I don't know what to say. I've become so used to pus.h.i.+ng back all the cold, scary thoughts of my parents, and the future, and everything else, that I almost can't think about them now when I want to.

"Things, at home, I don't know if they'll be OK." It's all I manage, in a quiet voice. "Dad's working abroad, and they say it's just for the summer, but I don't know. . . ." I stop. I've been trying not to think about it, and the way Dad keeps hinting about having to stay longer. "It's a great opportunity here," he said three times during our last phone call. "You'll love it." Like I don't know what that means. He might not be coming back.

When I look over again, Reeve is watching me. His expression is soft, as if he understands everything I can't say. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I forget I'm hanging precariously from a tiny ledge.

Something other than fear pulls inside me. I never noticed how his lips are - "Hey, Jenna?"

"Uh-huh," I murmur, the fear gripping me now making way for something else. Something light and warm and - "You want to move your foot down, to the right?"

"OK." I do as he says, almost without thinking.

"Great, now s.h.i.+ft your right arm."

Mid-reach, I wake up. "I'm moving!" I cry.

He laughs. "Yup. You want to keep going?"

"You mean up?" I gulp. "Umm . . ."

"That's OK. You can go down the fun way."

"There's a fun way?"

"Sure. Just let me get back to your rope, and I'll show you."

I wait there, full of relief but at the same time, a little regretful that the moment is over. "Umm, Reeve?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Sooner than I imagined, life in Stillwater becomes almost routine. My mom calls every few days to check on me, Olivia texts me her latest camp - and Cash - updates, Fiona keeps up her icy demeanor, and I settle into a lazy schedule of sunbathing and helping Susie out with B and B projects. The hours start to drift in that sleepy, summer way, where an afternoon sprawled out reading in the shade of the backyard trees slips past in no time at all. Adam digs me out one of their rusted bicycles, and I start cycling the wide dirt road into town most days, stopping by the gas station for Popsicles and hanging out with Ethan at the hardware store.

But I can't stop thinking about Reeve.

It started that day we went climbing. Something s.h.i.+fted between us up there on the rock, as if we connected for the first time, and suddenly, I'm gone. From zero to crush in twenty minutes, it's crazy, I know - like I've been gripped by some kind of temporary insanity - but I can't help it. I find myself changing s.h.i.+rts three times before leaving the house, trying to get that perfectly casual look, and lingering out by the lake longer than I would just in case he comes for an after-work swim.

It was never like this with my old boyfriend, Mike, even when we were dating, but I can't stop myself. And even though I know I'm building this out of nothing more than a few friendly words, I've become suddenly - painfully - aware of his every move.

"More soda?"

I flinch, startled at Reeve's offer, and send a stack of DVD cases tumbling to the ground.

"Graceful," Fiona informs me. She's lying flat out on the living-room floor at the Johnsons', emptying crumbs from a pack of cookies into her mouth. We're nearing the end of our Kudos sci-fi marathon, with Grady sprawled on the cream carpet nearby and Ethan lounging on one of the floral print armchairs.

Reeve is sitting on the couch with me.

"Umm, no thanks," I tell him, scrambling to pick up the mess. "I'm good."

Good is stretching it; a wreck might be closer to the truth. All evening, I've been frozen in place, hyper-aware of his body and the tiny section of his jeans touching my leg. Every time he s.h.i.+fts for snacks or the remote, I can't help wondering: Is he leaning closer on purpose? Did that nudge mean anything at all? Does this mean he's comfortable around me or that he couldn't care less? I don't think I've ever focused so much on three square inches in my life.

"I could use another drink," Ethan adds, not lifting his head.

"And if you find any more of those brownies -" Grady burps, the floor around him already littered with junk-food debris.

"Dude, get off your a.s.s." Reeve kicks him as he steps over their bodies.

"Mnueh."

As he disappears toward the kitchen, I look around, checking that n.o.body has seen my awkwardness. But they're all lolling back, eyes glazed by hours of TV. I try to relax, stretching the muscles that have been set, tense, for hours now. I never realized crus.h.i.+ng on a guy could be so exhausting, but the amount of extra effort it takes to act totally casual around Reeve is wiping me out.

"You know, we should probably get going soon," I tell Fiona, noticing the digital display on the TV with some relief. "It's nearly ten thirty."

"So?" She shrugs.

"So, Susie said to be back by then." It's only after I reply that I realize my reason will probably have her camped out here until dawn.

Sure enough, Fiona reaches for the next disc.

"Fiona." I sigh as Reeve wanders back in the room. I pause, distracted. His faded gray s.h.i.+rt hangs close to his torso, and he gives me a half smile, holding up the six-pack of soda.

"Last chance?"

I shake my head. He breaks off cans to toss to the other boys and then collapses back next to me, utterly relaxed. "Where are we up to - episode fifteen, sixteen?"

"The girls might bail." Ethan looks over, questioning.

I pause, torn. I don't want to cause problems with Susie, but if Reeve is staying . . .

"Fine!" Fiona exclaims suddenly, as if I've been nagging her for hours. "We'll go now." She gets to her feet and pulls on a hooded sweater. "You so better not watch any without me," she tells the boys before stalking out of the room, leaving a mess of wrappings and empty cans on the floor.

"Sorry," I apologize tiredly, leaping up. "See you tomorrow?"

"Maybe." Ethan nods. "We might be heading into Kamloops with Dad. I'll call or something."

"Later, Jenna." Reeve nods. Grady makes a noise of agreement as I grab my bag and hurry out.

"Fiona, wait up!"

I catch up with her out on the road. It's dark outside, but she's not using our mandated flashlights; instead, she just kicks at gravel with her hands deep in her front pocket.

"That was kind of rude," I say cautiously, falling into step beside her. The warm glow of the Johnsons' neighbors' light melts away behind us, and I s.h.i.+ver - I'm still wary of wandering around here after dark. "We should have stayed to help clean up."

"So why didn't you? Oh, right, I forgot, you have to get home to your precious Susie." Her voice sneers on the last word. It's nothing but the same b.i.t.c.hy c.r.a.p I've been dealing with all month, but for once, something in me snaps.

"What the h.e.l.l is your problem?" I exclaim. Moving quickly to block her way, I demand, "Seriously, this spoiled brat thing of yours is getting ridiculous."

Fiona rolls her eyes and tries to push past me, but I stand firm in the middle of the dark road. Jeremiah B. Coombes would probably tell me to flee the wild beast and retreat to safety, but I'm sick of tolerating all her c.r.a.p. No more.

"I mean it," I insist. "What's going on? I get that you're angry and you miss your mom, but don't you want Adam to be happy?"

"I want him to be happy, just not with her." Fiona glares back at me. It's the kind of stare that would wither anyone in their tracks, but I have a jolt of adrenaline running through me now, and I won't quit so easily.

"So what happens if you get your way? Do you really think that will make things better? Your dad will just have another divorce on his hands, and you'll find something else to b.i.t.c.h about."

"Nope." She smiles tightly. "That would pretty much solve everything."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Would you listen to yourself? I'd understand if Susie was the wicked stepmother or something, but she's awesome. Really amazing, and she's falling over herself to give you everything you want!"

"She shouldn't be here," Fiona replies stubbornly.

I throw my hands up. "But she is! And if you don't think the way you act hurts her, you're wrong. And that goes for me too," I add, quieter. I've been tiptoeing around her for too long. "You've been mean since I got here, and I'm sick of it, Fiona."

"And . . . ?" she drawls, extra-sarcastic, like she's just trying to show how insignificant my feelings are.

"And if you keep going like this, you'll end up with n.o.body!"

Fiona seems unmoved. I wonder if she cares about anyone here. She's got to. n.o.body can get by without friends, especially way out here where there's n.o.body for company for another fifty miles in any direction. "The way you b.i.t.c.h at us all the time - Ethan, Reeve, Grady . . . You know it sucks," I say bluntly, spying my opening. It may not matter what Susie and I think, but the others . . . ? And sure, they tolerate it for now, but one of these days, they'll get sick of it, too, and then you'll be left alone. Is that what you want? Really?"

Fiona is looking at me defiantly, but I think I see something flicker in her expression.

Or maybe that's just sheer rage.

"Think about it." I sigh, backing away. "You just keep acting like the same spoiled, selfish brat you always do, and see who's around to be your friend." Now it's my turn for sarcasm. Crossing my arms, I begin to stride away, but not before I turn back with one last warning. "Either way, for now you're stuck with me!"

I soon find that instead of making things better, my fight with Fiona unleashes, well, h.e.l.l. Her tantrums go from loud to epic, the door-slamming never ends, and over the next three days, Susie is reduced to tears on two different occasions. My headache is most definitely back.

When I head downstairs the morning after a particularly obnoxious fight (in which Fiona screamed that she wished Susie was, and I quote, "mauled by wolves") and find her sitting at the breakfast nook, eating Cocoa Puffs, my heart sinks. I grab some cereal and try to a.s.semble breakfast before she breaks out with another chorus of "I hate you/you're evil/life isn't fair!"

"Morning," Fiona says, not looking up.

I stop dead.

"Umm, hey?" Shooting her a glance, I check for a scowl and sarcasm, but she just looks . . . normal. Almost relaxed.

I edge closer. "How are you?"

"OK." She shrugs, returning to her book, but I can't believe the change. Deciding to push my luck, I actually sit down at the table and pour myself a bowl. Yesterday's paper is folded on the side, so we sit there, reading in companionable silence for a moment, while I try to figure out what's going on. Our fight was days ago, and it's not like she would ever care about my feelings. I pause. Maybe not mine, but that stuff I said about the others . . . ?

Perhaps I finally got through to her.

"How's the website going?" Fiona asks out of nowhere.

I blink. Neutral tone, normal expression - now I'm really weirded out.

"Good!" I recover. "Ethan's kind of lost interest, so I was thinking of taking it over. We put up the photos of town, and the video posts, but it's still pretty bare."

She puts her finger in between her pages to keep the place. "You should probably start getting pictures of the house now, right? A couple of rooms are done, and if you look at the outside from way out back, you can get an angle where the plastic doesn't show."

"Oh. Thanks."

Before I try to wrap my head around the miracle of this new, civil Fiona, she adds, "I don't know what good it'll be. I mean, they'll never be done in time."

"Still, it'll help." I decide. Baby steps.

When Susie finds us later, photographing the parts of the house that actually look habitable, her expression is exactly what I expect. After all, there's no screaming, stomping, or sulking going on - unheard of in Fiona-related activities.

"Hi, girls!" She edges over as if the slightest move could unbalance this precious calm.

"Hi, Susie." I look up from the camera. "Everything's coming along great. I like the wallpaper in the living room."

"Thanks." Looking breathlessly between us, she seems at a loss for words. "I was just at the store, and I got some ice cream. Did you girls want some?"

"That sounds great."

"OK," Fiona says reluctantly, and then, quieter, "That would be cool."