I couldn’t speak. I just nodded. Baxter wrapped his sturdy, muscular legs around my waist, crossing his ankles in their hiking boots and locking me in place. He was like a human harness.
“We’ll be back in just a sec,” he said, making me think he was just as uncomfortable as I was. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. You seem more than capable.” If my hands hadn’t been holding onto my harness, my way of preventing them from shaking, I would’ve covered my bright red face. He probably thought I was such a weirdo. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that out loud. But again, either because of grace or indifference, Baxter didn’t respond.
When Baxter, and his arms, had pulled us to the point where we were hovering over the platform, he set his feet down and, keeping one hand on the line, gently grasped my forearm and brought me in and over to the raised area so I could put my feet down as well. He wordlessly unhooked his harness and then mine.
“Thanks,” I said, a little breathlessly, either from residual fear or the sheer strangeness of what had just happened. It wasn’t every day that a certified mountain man, one who you hadn’t noticed at first but now seemed more than a little attractive, used all his might to rescue you. My stomach began turning flip-flops. I couldn’t even look at him.
“Not a problem,” he said, as if he’d just mowed my lawn or carried my groceries.
“Does that happen often?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I meant retreaters getting stuck on the zipline or Baxter rescuing girls in need.
“Honestly?” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Yes, honestly,” I said, my face flushing again. Was he making fun of me?
Baxter shook his head, his blonde curls bobbing. “I saw Joe retrieve someone once before, but that was my first time.”
My eyes widened. “Seriously? I thought you’d done that a million times. You were so calm.” And strong. And able. I blushed again.
“Nah. I knew what to do, thankfully, but I was just as scared as you were. But I knew I didn’t have a choice but to get both of us back on the platform. One hand in front of the other.” He smiled, warmly this time, forcing my own smile in return.
“One hand in front of the other,” I echoed. “That sounds like a good life motto.” I’d have to remember to write it in my quote journal once I was back on solid ground. Baxter nodded, his blue eyes on mine. “Well, thanks,” I said, suddenly shy.
“You’re welcome. Better get you back to the group.” Into his walkie talkie, he said, “Ruth, all clear. She’s on her way down.” He put his hand on my waist, guiding me around him and into position myself to be hooked onto the final line. “You good?”
I didn’t really want to get back on the zipline, but as there wasn’t an easy way to get down, I nodded. “Sure.”
Baxter’s eyes met mine. “Are you really sure?”
No, I wanted to say. I’m not really sure I want to be down there just yet.
My stomach knotted again. “Yes,” I said, in a near whisper.
He hooked me to the line. “See you on the other side.”
Because I’d taken so long to finish the course, everyone else had already taken their harnesses and helmets off and returned them to the storage room. By the time I shrugged off the heavy equipment, Marcus was waiting to pick it up for me and carry it off.
“What happened up there? The group was getting really worried.”
Were you worried? “I didn’t make it to the platform somehow. No big deal.”
“Did that Baxter screw up? He did, didn’t he?” Marcus’s voice had taken on a tone of superiority that I definitely didn’t like. Had it always been there or was it because he was talking about Baxter?
“No, nothing like that. It was my fault. But Baxter knew just what to do. It’s fine. No big deal,” I repeated.
Marcus turned around, scanning the trail we were walking on, and then pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’m starved. Is it time for dinner yet?”
“I think we still have half an hour or so before they start serving.”
“I’m gonna go take a shower then. See you later?” Marcus waggled his eyebrows up and down. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. He took off jogging and didn’t look back.
I needed to process what just happened. Or not. I could probably benefit from not thinking about it too much. I started walking toward my cabin. As I was passing the storage room, I almost ran straight into Baxter on his way out.
We just looked at each other. Unsure of what to say, I opened my mouth, but there were no words. I could have said thank you again. I could have complimented him further on keeping his composure and getting us both off the line safely, told him how impressed I was that he stayed calm under pressure. I said nothing. Absolutely nothing. Feeling confused and strange for the millionth time in the last fifteen minutes, I walked away.
Hannah wasn’t in the cabin when I got there, which was just as well. I crawled up on the bed and stared at the ceiling, reliving the most awkward zipline in history, my chest tight and heart racing. I heard my father’s voice in my head. Why didn’t you pay closer attention to the directions? Did anyone see you screw up?
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to turn him off. But it was no use. Once my dad wormed his way into my brain, it was impossible to get him to go away. I took a few deep breaths, practicing the stress relief technique of counting and breathing I’d learned in my psychology class. I hadn’t used it much since it had been taught, but it now seemed appropriate. Unfortunately, it didn’t work and I could see my dad’s face in my mind, disgusted with me.
I pounded my palms on the bed in disgust and grabbed my quote journal, flipping to find something that made sense to me. Somehow the words and wisdom of others always seemed better than whatever was in my own head.
I LIKE DIGGING HOLES, HIDING
THINGS INSIDE THEM.
Alice Merton
Song lyrics. So deceptively simple. I leapt off the top bunk and landed on the cabin floor with a thud. I grabbed my pens and headed out the door, slamming it behind me. I jogged up the trail toward a patch of pine trees, choosing a tall, thick one off the path. I took the metal part of a pen cap and tried to carve into the trunk, but the metal broke off. I kicked the dirt and the metal went flying. I groaned.
Digging holes. I picked up a sharp branch lying nearby and scratched into the ground, in letters as big as I could make them, Alice Merton’s words. By the time I’d finished, my dad’s voice was barely audible.
Only then did I feel relaxed enough to return for dinner. Hannah was waiting for me at our usual table, waving a little piece of white paper like a flag. “Two things. One, Deb wants you to do inventory with me tomorrow. Be prepared for the most boring day of your life. Or, as I like to call it, where did all the lifejackets go.”
I rolled my eyes, but only half-heartedly. A day with Hannah, no matter how boring, would be better than another day fetching coffee and Swedish Fish for Deb.
“Sounds fabulous. I’ll oil up my spreadsheet skills.”
“Sold. And, number two, Dad called. He said to tell you he’ll be here bright and early Saturday morning to pick you up. Six fifteen to be exact. And you better not wake me up when you leave. I’m not on the clock until eight, which means I can stay in bed until seven forty-five and still get to the kiosk on time.”
“Hold up. What? Why is he picking me up?” Was I in trouble? Had my little mistakes somehow added up on a giant secret tally Deb was keeping and she was firing me?
Hannah’s face blanched. “Um. He’s getting you so you can go see your dad. I thought you knew.”
I gritted my teeth. I should’ve guessed. Dad said I’d be able to visit him. It was weirdly convenient that he was only about an hour away from here. More than a coincidence that he chose Uncle Ed and Aunt Greta’s house for my “supervision” this summer. Of course. This had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him keeping control. He could not have cared less if I was with family. He just wanted
to be sure I was still within arm’s reach of his control. One day, I promised myself, when he was giving me the lecture about following the rules and conducting myself responsibly, I would give it right back to him. Ask him if he was being responsible.
I shrugged, trying to take a page from Hannah’s guide to nonchalant behavior. “Maybe I did. I might’ve just blocked it out. Maybe I was too caught up in all the millions of things I have to take care of here. You know, I’m so very busy.” I waved my hands, imitating Deb.
Hannah laughed loudly. “You know, sometimes you’re funny.”
“I have my moments.”
“Well, at any rate, Dad said to be ready down by the gate, he’ll do a drive by. Six fifteen. Don’t wake me up.”
I saluted her. “I’ll put my alarm clock under my pillow, how’s that?”
“Perfect.”
“Why are you setting an alarm on your day off, Hannah?” Baxter sat down next to my cousin, a glass of iced tea in his hand. He took a big gulp and looked at me over the rim.
“I’m not. Ashlyn is.” Hannah eyed me. I eyed her back. She nodded almost imperceptibly. Was she telling me it was safe to tell him? Given that Baxter and I had shared one of the strangest experiences of my life thus far, maybe he was worthy of knowing what was going on. My dirty not-so-little secret. One hand in front of the other.
I sipped some ice water from my glass, cleared my throat, and said, “I’m going to visit my dad in prison. Apparently, that means I need to wake up with the sun.” Once it was out of my mouth, something inside me loosened. A little hole opened, like a cork was removed. And, contrary to what I thought would happen, I actually felt . . . better. Lighter somehow. Like letting those words trickle out removed a little bit of the metaphorical burden my parents had forced me to carry. Up to this point, Tatum was the only person I’d ever told anything so personal to. My fingers twisted the pearl at my neck, waiting for Bax’s response.
Baxter took another drink, his face unchanged. “I’ve heard visiting hours are often at weird times. Sometimes you have to wait a while before they let you in. So, that makes sense. Waking up early, I mean.”
A sob lodged itself in my throat. He didn’t ask why my dad was in prison. He didn’t make a sad or shocked or judgmental face. It was a small kindness, maybe not even one he did on purpose, but I was grateful to Baxter. For not prying. For not judging. For just taking what I’d said at face value.
Then, inevitably, my dad’s voice showed up.
That was none of his business. You know nothing about him. We do not air our family concerns.
My appetite disappeared and my stomach began doing somersaults. I stood up and picked up my glass. “I’m not very hungry, actually. I think I’m just going to go finish up at the gym. I’ll see you later.”
Hannah’s brows knitted together but she didn’t press. “Want me to bring you something back to the cabin for later?” We weren’t supposed to have food in our rooms, bugs and mice and whatnot, but it was nice she was willing to take the risk.
“No, thanks.” I waved and walked out. The hole I’d opened earlier was beginning to close, the pressure building once again. Why did I say that? He didn’t need to know. I took off down the dirt path, not caring where I ended up. Anywhere was better than here.
“Hey, where’s the fire?”
I’d walked right past Marcus, swinging his keys on a Sweetwater lanyard. “Nowhere.”
“Wanna come have dinner with me? I’m starving.” I looked at him, his damp brown hair curling slightly from the shower, his eyes on me like there was no other girl in the world. And who cared if that was true or not. He made me feel good and that was something.
“I’m not really hungry.” I met his gaze. “For food, that is.” It had been a long time since I’d been so bold. But the emptiness inside me needed to be filled. Somehow.
As the sun began its descent, I held my hand out and Marcus, gaze never leaving mine, took it, smiling. I led him to a secluded spot under a circle of pine trees, where he backed me against a trunk and let me kiss him senseless.
Afterward, when he went to the cafeteria and I to my cabin, I couldn’t help but notice that while the kissing was nice, the emptiness I’d been looking to fill was still there, and I felt exactly the same. Annoyed, I pushed into the cabin and called it a night.
Chapter 13
Williams Correctional Facility, the sign read. It was completely surreal. How had we gotten here? We had everything. Or, at least my dad did. Now, nothing. Not even his freedom. I felt as if I was walking onto a movie set or a simulation. There was no way this was real life, was there?
The officer who greeted me and Uncle Ed at the gate gave us a laundry list of what to do, what not to do, what to say, what not to say, what we couldn’t bring in, what it would look like in the visitation area, how long we could stay, and how to leave the room and retrieve any items we’d left before entering.
What he didn’t tell us was what to expect. He didn’t tell us how it would feel to inhale the stale prison-scent for the first time. He didn’t tell us how the person sitting across the table from us would look simultaneously like a stranger and someone you saw every day for the majority of your life. He didn’t tell us how emotional we would feel. He didn’t give us a heads up on how hard it would be—how heavy our bodies would feel, carrying so much. So much.
I sat in the chair, waiting for the guards to bring my dad in, my knee bouncing so fast I shook the table.
“It’s okay, Ashlyn,” Uncle Ed whispered, trying his best to comfort me, to make it better, but I think even he knew his words were pointless. There was no way to prepare for seeing your father locked up.
When they brought him in, I felt all those emotions that had been draped over me, a bulletproof vest of nerves and anger and anticipation, liquefy and drain all over the floor, leaving me completely exposed.
“Hi, Ashlyn,” my dad said calmly, sitting down. Gone was the perfectly tailored suit, replaced by a bland khaki uniform that resembled hospital scrubs. “Ed.” Dad nodded at his brother and extended his hand. They shook for half a second, both dropping their hands into their laps quickly “How are things?”
I tried to imagine we were sitting at the dinner table or in his office, instead of a federal prison, with the sickening fluorescent lights and reinforced windows. “Things are good. Work is really interesting.”
“That’s good. What kinds of tasks have you been doing?”
My jaw was stiff, my voice robotic. “I keep the gym clean. Sometimes I serve in the dining hall. I mostly work in the office with the director, though. Whatever she needs.”
“Ms. Gress. Highly experienced woman according to your aunt. That’s a position of power, being her assistant. If you do a good job for her, that can lead to a letter of recommendation. Hard workers who have the respect of their supervisors go far, Ashlyn.”
There was no use telling him that working for Deb was just about the most useless, least rewarding position at the retreat center. I knew better than to tell him she’d practically dismissed me when I’d handed her the list of items that needed to be ordered for the equipment kiosk, including lifejackets, and compiled a list of repairs that needed to be made, notably patching holes in canoes and restringing tennis rackets. Nor did I tell him that when I’d also given her the printed list of safety regulations we were supposed to be following, she threw that down on her desk and asked me to make her another cup of coffee. No, working in Deb’s office was not a position of power. It was the exact opposite.
“Ashlyn is doing a great job,” Uncle Ed chimed in. I knew he had no idea if I was doing a good job or not, but I appreciated the support.
“Well, that’s fine, just fine. I’ve got a job here too.” Dad launched into an account of how he was learning the art of building maintenance. Though he made it seem like he was doing something really important and prestigious in the hierarchy of prison jobs, all I heard was mopping floors and cleaning toilets. He droned on about the
importance of sanitation in an environment where “your proximity to large groups of people is inevitable.” I laughed, on the inside, at the mental image of my father, on his knees, scrubbing a tile floor with a toothbrush. The perfect job for the man who hired a cleaning company to keep our house entertainment-ready at all times.
When he’d finally finished his story, Dad said, “Ashlyn, do you think you could give your uncle and me just a minute alone?”
My head popped up from where I’d been fiddling with the hem of my shirt. “Oh, sure.”
Dad signaled to a guard to come escort me out of the room. As the uniformed woman approached, my dad rose and opened his arms. I didn’t really want to touch him. In here, he wasn’t my dad. Or, he was, but he was my dad in some alternate universe and maybe if I hugged him, I’d fall through some black hole and get stuck in that other world. But, guilt won.
So I hugged him. And despite the scratchy fabric of his uniform and the black scruff on his chin that he never would’ve allowed at home, he smelled exactly the same. Two years ago, when I was the youngest member of the Quiz Bowl team back at Henderson High School, before everything changed, I won the regional tournament for our team by answering a question correctly about humans being able to detect emotion through scent, notably anxiety. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t allowed to wear his very expensive cologne here in the prison, and perhaps it was because, maybe, he was feeling nervous or scared today, but whatever it was, he smelled even more like Dad. I breathed him in. He smelled strong and clean and warm. He smelled like home.
I let go, mumbled, “See you next time,” and bolted out of the room. I managed to hold my tears in long enough to collect my wallet from the entrance and duck into a bathroom. I clicked the lock into place, slid to the ground, and started sobbing. Scalding tears fell down my cheeks and ugly sobs erupted from my throat. I was certain the guards on the other side of the door thought I’d unleashed some kind of wounded, wild animal.
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