by Vivian Wood
Grayson tilts his head. “Do you know what day it is?”
I think for a second. “Is it the fourth of July?”
He scrunches up his face. “Nope. That already happened. We were deep in the woods, I think.”
That gives me pause. I try to count the days, but it’s no use. “God, it’s not my birthday, is it?”
“It is. I thought you would be more excited.” He squints at me, taking a seat beside me on the bed.
“Crap.” I shake my head, taking another sip of coffee. “I… I can’t believe you remembered, honestly. I stopped celebrating after my 21st birthday. It seems like a waste of energy to celebrate something so pointless.”
The fact that he did remember makes my heart flutter.
He smiles gently. “What if I told you that I signed you up to volunteer today?”
“Out here?” I ask, a little surprised. I have no idea what he’s talking about. What kind of volunteer work is out here?
All I can think of is downing trees or something, but… I don't think that Grayson would have signed me up to volunteer doing that on my birthday. I frown.
“Yep. We are gonna borrow Jonah’s truck and drive just a little way down the highway. We’re actually due there soon, so you should probably get dressed.”
“Is this a surprise?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “Yeah. Until we get there it is.”
“Hmm.” I sit up, eyeing him. He is dressed like any other day, wearing a faded gray tee shirt and black hiking shorts. “Any clothing recommendations?”
“Not really.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then stands up. “I’m going to go pull the truck around. You get ready.”
He catches my free hand, leaning down and kissing me. It seems so simple, the gesture hardly thought out. Innocent. It reminds me of how things used to be between us, back before everything went to hell.
Afterward, we are both a little bashful. He clears his throat. “See you in a minute,” he says.
Then he ducks out of the cabin. I hurry to get dressed, noticing that this cabin has a small mirror. I stand before it, frowning a little. My cheeks look a little more hollow. My hair could definitely use a wash. I haven’t bothered with makeup for weeks. Overall, I could be mistaken for someone completely different than the person who first stepped into this forest.
Is this what 25 looks like?
Outside, I hear the rumble of the truck’s engine. I leave the mirror behind with a sigh, taking a last sip of my coffee. Then I head outside to find Grayson grinning behind the wheel of an old pickup. He revs the engine and wiggles his eyebrows at me. His expression melts away whatever bad feelings I had before.
Climbing in the ancient truck and slamming the door behind me, I look to Grayson.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, smiling at the way he sits in the driver’s seat. His left elbow is out the window, his right arm splayed out along the old bench of the truck. He throws the truck into gear and pulls out. There are no seatbelts in this truck, so I just sit back and try to relax.
He's trying to surprise me, and I’m trying to let him. It’s really sweet that he makes any effort to evoke any sort of emotion in me. After all that we’ve been through, he still tries.
And that gives my heart wings.
I’m a little surprised to find that a little two-lane highway is nearby. It seems quiet and all, but I guess I assumed that roads just didn’t get so far inward into the forest. We bump down the road for about fifteen minutes. I roll the window down on my side of the truck and stick my head out, enjoying the feel of the air against my face.
Soon Grayson takes a turn off the highway, heading to somewhere that is labeled Wynoochee Valley Farms. I peer at Grayson, puzzled, but he doesn’t seem perturbed. The little lane he pulls down has recently been trimmed back, the greenery all cut in a uniform line about a foot away from either side of the road.
As I gaze out of the window, I see we are approaching a very large clearing, almost as large as Whiskey Bend’s whole case camp. There are a number of large enclosures of mesh fencing to the left. To the right side there are three mismatched looking RVs, their wheels missing.
“This is the place we’re supposed to be volunteering?” I wonder out loud.
We pull up close to the RVs, next to two other ancient trucks. Then I see movement behind the closest mesh enclosure. I squint. Whatever it is seems large, fuzzy, and brown-black. “Is that…”
“A black bear?” Grayson puts the truck in park. “Yes. Wynoochee Valley Farms is a rehab center for wounded animals.”
He gets out of the truck, so I do too. Four dogs of different breeds come running up to us just as an older man pops his head out of one of the RVs. At a glance, I guess him to be a Pacific Islander, but his accent is straight up Southern.
“C’mon back!” the man calls to us. “Y’all are just in time.”
Petting the German Shepherd who puts his head under my hand, I follow Grayson toward the RVs. He strides right to the middle RV and ducks inside, like he owns this whole place.
I trail after him up the stairs, emerging into the inside of the bus. The inside has been retrofitted to be a large kitchen. Plastic bowls of every color are spread out across the counter. I raise onto my tiptoes and see that the bowls are full of different stuff. Raw salmon in one, half an uncooked chicken in another. Still others are filled with multicolored berries.
“Rachel, this is Jim,” Grayson says. “He runs this place.”
Jim doesn’t even look up from filling the last bowl. “Nice to meet you. I’m just about done here. You came at just the right time. It’s breakfast.”
Grayson picks up a few bowls and hands them to me. I juggle the bowls, waiting until Jim loads up his arms and carries them out of the RV. Then I follow Grayson uncertainly.
“We feel them according to size,” Jim calls over his shoulder. “The bears first, then the cougar. Then the smaller animals.”
The black bear that I saw when I first arrived is waiting pretty impatiently, standing on its hind legs and sniffing the air.
“I think we will let you feed the bears and the cougar. We want to be able to step inside the pens while we feed the other animals.”
“Okay,” Jim says distractedly. “You’ve been here often enough. You go on ahead.”
“Got it,” Grayson responds. He looks at me with a wink. “I think we’ll do the deer first.”
He heads over to the other side of the clearing, passing foxes playing and several empty-looking pens. A few deer raise their heads when they hear the food bowls rattling. I watch, awestruck, as they timidly come over to the fence.
“The big bowls of greenery are for the deer,” Grayson says, setting the other bowls down. “Do you have any?”
I scan the bowls I’m holding and then shake my head. “Nope.”
“Here.” He thrusts a bowl over the fence. It’s overflowing with clover, lettuce, and greens that look like they just came off of a tree. Setting my other bowls down, I take the one he offers. Then I follow his lead of offering the bowl to the shy deer. A couple are more interested in food than safety, so they venture toward us, sniffing everything first.
I forget to breathe for a second, staring as one of the does nibbles at my bowl. She is really spectacular, her downy coat light brown with a bright white tail. I reach for Grayson automatically. Not because I am scared, but because I’m amazed.
God, I can’t honestly believe that he brought me here.
Soon all of the deer decide that we aren’t dangerous. The small group presses in, trying to get to the food first. One of the deer licks my hand, testing it to see if it can be eaten.
“Oh my god,” I say with a laugh. I sprinkle the rest of the greenery on the ground, where the deer happily graze on it.
I glance at Grayson, who is looking at me with some amusement.
“What?” I ask.
“Happy birthday, Rachel.”
My face warms. I’d genuinely forg
otten about that until he said something. “Thanks.”
“You ready to go feed some foxes?” he asks. He tosses the little bit of greenery left in his bowl onto the ground.
“Yep.” We bend down and pick up the rest of the bowls, heading over to the fox enclosure.
As we go, I admit to myself that this is a pretty good distraction from my worries. It doesn’t fix anything, but as far as birthdays go, it’s exactly what I needed.
As I watch Grayson feeding the foxes and being nurturing to the pygmy rabbits, I can’t help but think that he will eventually make a great dad. Not that I will have anything to do with that. I’m going to leave this state in twelve days and never look back.
Still, some woman doesn’t even realize how lucky she will be someday.
That thought makes me a little sad, but I refuse to dwell on it. I just smile and focus on feeding bunnies and shrews.
35
Grayson
As we leave Wynoochee Valley Farms, Rachel snuggles up next to me in the truck. I put my arm around her. The gesture is almost automatic, but it still makes my heart trip in my chest.
This feeling that I have right now — warm and fuzzy, steady and certain — it’s almost overwhelming. I struggle to name it on the way back to camp. The word I’m looking for to describe this feeling is hiding somewhere in my brain, but it is still on the edges of my awareness. I’ve felt it before, I just don't know exactly what to call it.
When we get back to the cabin, she wraps her legs around my torso and presses her lips against mine. There is something a little bit desperate about her insistence just now, as if her birthday is reminding her that time marches on and that eventually she’ll be gone again.
My heart thunders as I taste her. I feel like I’m doused with her scent; it just takes up all the air in the most erotic way. I stand more than a head taller than Rachel, but she makes me feel like I’m on my knees
Worship. I worship her.
That’s what I’m feeling right now, although I choose my timing poorly.
She will leave. Facts are facts. I have to remember that.
I don't ask questions. I just push that dull thought out of my mind and bury myself in her, tasting the salty skin of her neck and cupping the fullness of her breasts in both hands.
We fuck silently and quickly. And then when I’m usually spent, she reaches for my cock again, sliding to her knees and putting her mouth to good use. This time when I fist my cock and slide it into her pussy, she’s louder and more vocal than I’m used to. When she’s riding me, she brings my hand up to her throat and makes me squeeze gently.
That’s more than fine too, except when I see a sheen of tears in her eyes. I still.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Yes,” she says, urging me to move. “Just fuck me, please. Please, Gray.”
I’m helpless to do anything but what she says. Gripping her thighs, I fuck her hard, hammering up into her pussy until we both unravel together.
After that we drowse for a while. I stir while she is still mostly asleep, my throat as parched as a desert. When I head outside to grab some water for both of us and take a piss, Jonah lopes up to me.
“Hey, man. You got some mail. Looks important.”
He passes a thick padded envelope to me, the outside studded with overnight mail stickers. Shifting the water bottles to one side, I frown at the envelope.
“Thanks, man.”
Jonah shades his eyes. “Are you guys going to stay on after tomorrow? I have some tourists coming in and I need to decide if I’m going to build an outside shelter for them or not. If so, I’ll have to get some tarps out of the shed or something…”
“Nah. Tomorrow morning we have to split. We still have most of the eastern side of the park left to canvas.”
Jonah nods. “Be well, man. If I don't see you guys, tell your old lady I said goodbye.”
I look up from the envelope, a little taken aback at that. “She’s not… I mean, we’re not… like… dating. Not really.”
Jonah looks surprised. “Oh! I’m sorry, man. I just assumed. Well, tell her bye anyway.”
He takes off, shaking his head. I’m left wondering just what he saw that made him think that Rachel and I were together. He probably assumed that because I have slept in her cabin since we arrived here, we were serious.
But we aren’t.
We can’t be.
I mean, she’s leaving.
My heart thuds dully in my chest. The sound threatens to grow to a full-on roar, but I refuse to let it. I can’t be mopey about it now, not while she’s still here. But I have a feeling that when Rachel leaves, I will feel more alone than I have in all my days working as a park ranger.
I go refill both of our water containers, then finally piss. Turning back toward the cabin, I can’t get the idea of Rachel leaving out of my head.
I picture her packing her bags and leaving, a guilty look on her face. Is that a possibility? Do I need to say something to her in order for that not to happen?
I open the envelope, needing a diversion.
Inside I find a few folded sheets of paper and a plane ticket in my name, already booked for Dulles Airport in Virginia. The ticket is dated for a week from now. I’m a little baffled by it.
Unfolding the sheets of paper, I start to read the attached letter.
Dear Mr. Sellwood —
It is our understanding that you would like to help military veterans. As such, we have secured for you a position working for Chester, Millington, and Ives — a not-for-profit lobbyist group. There, you would be able to attend many events of great importance in order to lobby in the favor of your fellow veterans. It would be immensely helpful to the men and women who have served this country.
You would also receive a starting salary of $300,000 in addition to an expense budget to include a car service and housing in the DC area. The position must be filled by next week. Please let us know if we do anything else to help you on your journey.
Best wishes,
Civicore Management Group
I read the letter a few times, unsure what I am seeing. Why would Civicore go out of their way to find me a paid position at some lobbyist firm? It’s got to be some sort of bribe, but I don't fully understand it. Especially the date of the ticket… why a week from today? What significance does that have?
Hopefully Rachel will be able to shed some light on the offer. After all, it is from her family company.
Heading back to the cabin, I set the water bottles down and sit beside her on the twin bed. Her honey colored hair is messy in a special way that means we’ve just had sex. She stirs in her sleep, her brown eyes fluttering open.
Fuck, she is so damn perfect.
“Hmm?” she asks drowsily.
Her hand finds mine, twining. She tugs on my hand to get me to come back to bed.
I clear my throat. “Civicore sent me a letter.”
Her face scrunches. She sits up halfway. “Huh?”
“They sent me a job offer. Not working for them — it’s for a job in Washington. And a plane ticket for a week from today. Someone seems to think that I will be a free agent in a week, even though our summer excursion isn’t scheduled to be over for another six weeks.”
Guilt is written all over her face as she pushes herself upright. She blows out a long stream of breath. “That’s because my father has issued me an ultimatum. Either I come home in a week or I’m cut off.”
My eyebrows rise. I pull away from her touch. “You are leaving so soon? And you didn’t think to share that with me?”
She grabs for my hand again. “I’m not planning on going back in a week. I don't march to my father’s tune.”
My eyes narrow on her flushed face. “No? What are you planning, then?”
Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips. “Well… I’m planning on staying the rest of the summer, but… there is something else you should know.”
She cringes as she says it. Acid starts to
simmer in the pit of my stomach.
“What?”
She blows out a breath. “Apparently the water samples we collected were used to determine the mineral makeup of different areas of the park. You could’ve guessed that, I’m sure. But what you didn’t know — what neither of us knew — is that Civicore has a lot of interest in fracking around the Olympic Peninsula. They have been interested for years.”
Surprised, I huff a laugh. I can’t even give credence to the things she is saying. “What? Why? Who in their right mind would think that they could frack here?”
She bites her lip for a second, hesitating. “Apparently Civicore has some big politician on their side. They think that they can get the contract. That’s why I’ve been called back… I’ve done what they needed me to do, although…” She tears up. “You have to believe me, Gray. It was unknowingly.”
I’m too shocked to respond. This is my home. This is my sanctuary from the rest of the world.
She starts to cry, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She sniffles as she does it, not quite a full-blown crying jag but almost. A little voice in the back of my head whispers that Rachel had to have known about this.
But I push that voice aside and concentrate on what she’s telling me. If she says she didn’t know, then I believe her. I realize that I trust her, though I put that fact aside to be examined later.
“Hey. Come here,” I say softly. “It’s okay. It’ll be alright.”
She meets my eyes for a second, reads me correctly, and then buries her head against my chest. Her arms loop around my waist. Her tears wet a couple of spots on my shirt.
While she cries, I try to think.
Why does Civicore think that they will be allowed to frack here, so close to Seattle?
And who is the politician they have on their side?
Rachel isn’t much help. When I ask her, she just says she doesn’t know anything.
I do know one thing, though. If I have decided that I trust Rachel, then I’ll have to count her story about being called back to New York early as true. And if that’s true, then…
