The Roots of Us

by Candace Knoebel

  I noticed RVs tucked within groupings of tall pine trees, and as I moved further away from the communal area, the lots grew sparser and more secluded. Old cabins popped up like popcorn kernels among more spruce and firs. They blended in within the trees, and I imagined the wood used to build them were from the timber the park was rich with.

  I parked when I reached cabin twenty-two. You got this, Hartley, I told myself when I noticed some of the crew grouped around someone I couldn’t see. Their heads were bent, peering at the screen of a camera.

  When I got out and shut the door, the small group turned in my direction. Some squinted, as if trying to discern who I was. Others turned back to what they were looking at. But one… the one I couldn’t see in the middle… he parted through the group of people and headed toward me.

  I didn’t know if I should meet him halfway or wait, because he was near jogging toward me, so I stood awkwardly, peering at the rotting leaves on the ground.

  When he stopped in front of me, there was a slight shock in his gaze. I noted he had eyes like a forest, dark and vast with specks of gold, like sunlight shining through leaves. There was a wildness to them, like they’d seen a thing or two. Like the sturdy trunk of a tree swallowing secrets whole, never letting them go. His sandy-colored hair was an unruly mess that hung over his eyes, shielding them like leaves on a branch. A broad nose and sturdy lips, softening the strength of his jawline. He was lean, but muscular, skin kissed with bronze.

  But there was something else about him I couldn’t put my finger on, a familiarity in his eyes I didn’t understand…

  “I… uh… I’m Hartley Fernsby,” I said, sticking out my hand and jutting my chin to give the allusion I had my shit together.

  His eyes brightened with recognition as he took my hand in his. “James Taiga.” His hands weren’t like Hudson’s. They didn’t have the thick calluses I’d come to love. They didn’t make my skin come alive.

  Stop it. Don’t compare, I told myself.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, sticking his hands in his back pockets. “It was about four years ago. During the launch party for Starry-Eyed Productions. I was that weird guy you bumped into near the woods when you tried to escape the madness inside Stan’s mansion.”

  My mouth fell open. “Oh my God!” I said, hugging him. “Of course. I remember your face now.” He’d been so kind. I remember we spent all night talking, until my friend found me and pulled me back inside.

  “We didn’t exchange names or numbers,” he said as he hugged me back. “It’s something to this day I regret. Had I known who you were, I would have tried hiring you sooner.”

  I pulled back. He was nice from what I remembered, but the wounds were fresh and I wasn’t in the mood to fancy him.

  Maybe he noticed, because his stance shifted, the air lightening around us. “So.” He clapped his hands together. “How was the drive?”

  I forced smile. “Long.”

  Truth be told, I was exhausted. I only stopped a few times to sleep, and didn’t let myself sleep longer than five hours at a time. I told myself it was because I wanted to be prompt. Not because I was scared if I didn’t get there soon enough, I’d turn around.

  “I can only imagine. Driving all the way from Florida… the company would have paid for your flight.”

  “I hate flying,” I admitted.

  He chuckled. It was a light and airy sound, not like Hudson’s marrow-deep sound that woke something inside me.

  “Come on,” James said. “Let me introduce you to the crew.” He had a warm smile. The kind that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. “I was showing the crew some clips I took during my hike this morning,” he continued as we fell in step beside each other. “This place is magnificent. An unspoiled, hidden gem.”

  Nature shots were the biggest pull of Taiga Productions. He had an eye for capturing nature in a way I’d never witnessed before.

  “From the little I’ve seen so far, I’d have to say I agree.”

  “Everyone, this is Hartley… the final piece to our puzzle and your new lead editor,” he said as soon as we were within earshot. He moved like he couldn’t sit still. I imagined him rocking or swaying or fiddling with something when he was in his idle moments.

  I did a small wave as they said hello.

  “I’m Sarah,” a young, redheaded woman said, offering her hand. She wore black shorts with a burgundy flannel shirt tied around her waist. A white crop top, and a ton of facial piercings.

  I was jealous. Only my nose was pierced. I never found the time to get more.

  “James assigned me and Matt to work under you.” She pointed to a guy with jet-black hair hiding near the backside of a cabin, smoking a cigarette. He was dressed in all black with jeans that hugged his thighs and a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  My kind of people.

  I felt more certain about my decision. “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”

  Her grin was sweet. “Matt and I arrived this morning. We did a tour of the cutting lab. James has pulled out all the stops for this project.” She leaned closer, raising her eyebrows. “I think he’s trying to impress you.”

  I felt my face squish together. “Me? Why?”

  She snorted. “You’re the Hartley Fernsby. Everyone knows you’re the next Dede Allen. You’re making waves in the editing industry with your use of modern and old Hollywood techniques. If there was anyone I’d want to be running this editing marathon with… it’s you.”

  My cheeks burned. “I’m not that big of a deal.” The compliment felt baggy against my skin. It didn’t fit how I saw myself.

  Her eyebrows rose. “If you say so.”

  “Hartley,” James called as the few gathered around him began to dissipate.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Sarah.

  “Once you’re settled, I’d like to invite you to my cabin so we can go over the storyline I have fleshed out,” James said. “I want to ensure we don’t waste a single second of our time here. The budget is tight with this project.”

  It was every editor’s job to work with the directors and producers to make sure the footage matched the goal of the story. And at times, to elevate the story. I waited for my nerves to kick in, but they never did. I was ready.

  “We’ve turned cabin twenty-three into your cutting lab, so you can work on-site. Luckily, the park has their own tower, so Wi-Fi isn’t an issue.”

  “Awesome,” I said, my mood shifting by the second.

  “I think we’ve hit the jackpot with this project,” James said, his bright eyes finding mine. “The beauty of nature coinciding with the beauty of the human spirit in its most raw form…” He shook his head. He spoke with such passion, his voice lifting with inspiration that tugged at the artist deep inside me.

  “What drove you to pursue this idea?” I asked, feeling a hunger stirring. I was ready to work. Ready to put my mind on something other than the miles I’d put between Florida and me. My stomach was a boiling mess of emotions I wasn’t ready to process. I had to keep my head in the game.

  It was what I was best at.

  “The unspoken dormancy in our society,” he said. “I mean, what’s the common image you see on someone’s computer background? Landscape images from some faraway place. And why do you think that is? Because we weren’t born to be sedentary. We weren’t meant to sit in a chair in front of a screen while life passes us by. This…” he said, squatting down, digging his hands into the earth. “This is what life is about. Touching. Loving. Experiencing nature. They’ve found a way to tap into that here, and I want to capture it.”

  He had a point.

  He pointed to my bus. “Do you need help with your bags?”

  “Sure.”

  Once I opened the back, James peered inside and said, “Wow. Did you draw these?”

  “Sometimes pictures aren’t enough.” I reached for a suitcase. A weird protectiveness took over. I wanted to shield them from him.

  He
was examining them all, his mouth open in wonder. “The Empire State. The Eiffel Tower.” He looked to the left and pointed. “Are those Indians?”

  I nodded, hurrying to grab what I needed so I could shut the doors. “I did my thesis on their outlook of nature versus ours.”

  He skimmed his fingers over the drawings, tracing the tall blades of grass they stood within. “This is… Wow, Hartley.”

  The only person who had ever reacted like that was Hudson. We’d spent an entire afternoon making love beneath my drawings, and then talking about all the places I’d been. I wanted to protect them from this new stranger admiring them. Wanted them to remain frozen with Hudson.

  My heart cracked a little.

  “I’m going to take these,” I said, pushing him to move. “I only need that crate, and I should be good to go.” I pointed to the crate holding my must-haves for editing. My headphones, guide books, DVDs of my favorite films, my lucky mouse, and tablet.

  “The essentials,” he said, sounding impressed. He grabbed the crate, and I hurriedly shut the door before heading toward the cabin I’d call home.

  After opening the door, I stepped through and stopped. There were three beds packed inside the small space with only a tiny table wedged between each. The shiplap walls were a blushing shade of pink. Two of the three beds already had suitcases on top of them.

  “Oh yeah… we all have to room together,” James said as he came up behind me. “With having to turn a few of the cabins into our studio and editing space, the space became limited. You don’t mind, right?”

  “No,” I said quickly, even though my heart was thudding hard in my ears. I wasn’t ready to room with people. I never had been good at sharing personal space. Especially not within such close quarters. But I wouldn’t let them see that.

  “Good. So… does eight sound good? I’ll order in pizza. We can spend the night getting to know each other and cramming in as much storyline rework as we can.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said, letting life move for me.

  Because at the moment, I didn’t have it in me to do it for myself.

  IT ONLY TOOK ME A half hour to put my things away. The only possession of mine that was a keepsake was my bus. The one dresser in the room was crammed against the wall by the front door, moved to accommodate the extra beds. Two of the four drawers had already been claimed.

  This should be fun, I thought as I bent to the bottom drawer. The feeling of unpacking had always been the same every time I unloaded a suitcase into a foreign drawer. It was a thrilling, scary excitement. But this time was different. The thrill was replaced by dispirited melancholy. The excitement replaced by a jaded sadness that sat like a cement block in the pit of my stomach.

  I’ll be here, waiting, he’d said.

  The room blurred in front of me, the bright pink walls a contradiction to the black spreading through my heart. I kept the tears from falling and steeled myself. Some dreams were bigger than a single, solitary heart could contain. Some traveled a road paved with the pieces of the hearts they shattered. It was safer that way. Better than resigning to a life half-lived. Love was for the lost, my mom used to say.

  I wasn’t lost.

  I wasn’t.

  I put the last pair of socks in the drawer, then grabbed my phone and dialed my mom’s number.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “So you’re alive then? I was about to file a missing person’s report.”

  I rolled my eyes, but welcomed the shaky smile that tugged at the corners of my lips.

  “Where are you?”

  “Oregon,” I said, lying on my bed. Trying not to think about how many naked bodies had laid there before. The ceiling had a circular smudge of brown in the far corner, a stain of the forgotten and overlooked. My heart kicked against my chest, as if agreeing in protest.

  “Oregon?” she repeated in shock. I could imagine her brown eyes bulging on the other end, eyebrows jarred into two stunned slashes.

  I rubbed my fingers across my forehead. “I took the job offer.”

  “Hmm,” she said, as if it clicked into place. “So that’s why you’ve been dodging my calls?”

  “I haven’t been dodging anything.”

  “Hartley, this is your mother you’re speaking to. You dodged the four-letter word when you accepted this job. And you dodged talking to me about it because you knew I would try to talk you out of leaving.”

  Maybe she was right, but I wouldn’t dare tell her that.

  “So, how is Oregon?” She shifted the subject at the pace she knew I needed. If she hadn’t, she knew it’d result in another three weeks of not answering her calls.

  “A little like Washington, only more beautiful.” I scanned the small cabin. I couldn’t believe I’d have to share this space with two other people. Judging by the floral suitcase on one bed, and the black, grungy duffle bag on the other, I figured I’d be sharing with Sarah and Matt.

  “Are you going to call him?”

  How had I known she wouldn’t let the subject of Hudson go? It was part of why I wasn’t answering her calls. She never let go of something once she sank her teeth into it.

  “No, Mom.”

  “I think you should. I know you want to. I wouldn’t doubt you’ve already almost done it by now.”

  “I haven’t, and Nona said we should never poke at what’s dead.”

  She snorted. “That sounds like some kooky shit your grandmother would say.”

  “Nona was wise,” I said in her defense, forehead slanted.

  She was quick to come back at me. “Your nona liked to wash Ziploc bags and reuse them as if they were Tupperware.”

  “See? Wise. Resourceful.”

  “No. She was foolish and a hoarder.”

  It went silent. I pulled at the collar of my shirt, feeling like it was too tight. I tried to think of an excuse to get off the phone, but there wasn’t a thing I could say that’d she believe.

  “Just… don’t hold back, Hartley. If your heart is warring with your mind, maybe you should give those thoughts a break and listen to that heart of yours for a change. I don’t… I don’t want you to have the same regrets I did.”

  I sat up. “You walked away from someone?” It was rare for my mom to let me see behind the curtain to who she was when she wasn’t being my mother.

  “Yes,” she tried to say evenly, but I didn’t miss the note of regret. I knew it all too well.

  This was a jolt to reality. “When?”

  “A few years after your father left us. I met him at work. He chased and chased me but in the end, I decided it wasn’t worth risking another heartache, so I let him go. I let a lot of hims go.”

  I was dumbfounded. “That’s when the moving began, wasn’t it?”

  Her silence was enough of an answer. I shook my head as so many things began to make sense. We had moved so many times after Dad left, but I never once considered it was because she was running from relationships. I thought it was because of finances. But I remembered being home alone a lot. I remembered her coming home smelling like booze. I remembered waking up late at night listening to her screaming in her bedroom, throwing shoes at the wall.

  “How many?” I asked as my skin heated to an uncomfortable level. “How many did you leave?”

  “As many as it took to quell the rage from his abandonment.”

  MY FIST TAPPED LIGHTLY AGAINST the weathered wood. I stood back, waiting as a guy passed behind me. He was nude, tall, and looked like he could crush skulls like they were cans. My fist tightened around the key I clutched in between my fingers as protection. It was dark, we were in the woods, and I’d watched one too many Lifetime movies.

  He nodded hello, but kept walking.

  A warm beam of light encompassed me, and I let out the breath I held.

  “Hartley,” James said as soon as he opened the door. He was wearing one of those rainbow smiles, full of color and wonder.

  I returned a shaky smile.

  He move
d aside so I could enter.

  “I hope I didn’t come too early. I didn’t have much to unpack, and I was beginning to feel stir crazy.”

  Truthfully, I just didn’t want to be left alone with my thoughts.

  He chuckled, the sound pleasant to the ears. “You should have seen me waiting for the crew to arrive. I’ve already found two thinking spots in the woods.”

  Unlike the rest of us, he had a cabin to himself. It was smaller than the rest. There was a twin bed against the far wall, a small table next to it, a chair against the other wall, and just enough space for a tiny closet that wasn’t filled with much. The walls were painted in a bright green, some of the paint scuffed and peeling in different spots.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked. The room was lived in. The sheet was hanging half off the bed. I could barely make out the floor beneath the hoard of dirty clothing, crumpled papers, and various paper bags from the takeout he must have ordered.

  “A couple of days.” He rushed past me to start picking up the papers that were scattered across his bed. “Sorry,” he said with nervous laughter. “I got caught up in making revisions on the script. I wanted it to be ready for when you got here.”

  “It’s okay.” I took note of the picture on the stand next to his bed. It was an older woman with hair like spun gold. I could see James in her eyes, and guessed it was his mother.

  “Is that your mom?” I asked, pointing to the picture.

  The smile that overcame his face was almost breathtaking. “Yeah,” he said, love protruding from his gaze. “She passed away when I was younger.”

  I wrapped an arm across my chest. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The light in his smile dimmed. He set the papers down on the small table littered with empty chip bags and soda cans, then pointed to the bed. “You can sit on my bed if you like.” I sat as he took a seat across from me, pushing a dirty sock onto the floor. “I’m going to dive right in, okay?”