by Mia Sheridan
She looked at me. “How do you know this will work?”
“I don’t. But working in robotics, I know at least a little bit about batteries. I’m not positive it will work, but in theory, it could.”
She nodded sharply and breathed out, “Okay,” as if she was trying not to hope too hard. But I saw the flash of excitement in her eyes and for a minute it scared me so much I wanted to give up before I’d started. The thought of failing her terrified me.
Taking a calming breath, I began cutting one of the pieces of foil at the very edge, just coming up short at the end and then going in the other direction so that when I was done, it was one long, thin continuous piece. Making sure I had two ends, I then crumpled the middle section so the fire—if one ignited—would have something to hold on to for a desperate minute. Just long enough to transfer it to our firepit. I’d gone through the process in my head as I’d lain in the dark with Audra the night before, making a plan to warm her as she’d shivered in my arms.
Please, please, please let this work.
“Okay, get ready. If this ignites, I’m going to slowly move it over the pine needles and I need you to be leaning forward over it, ready to blow softly to get it going.”
She nodded quickly, leaning over slightly, tightening the shirt over her head that was tied at the nape of her neck, holding her hair away from her face. Her eyes focused intently on the battery where I had it on the cell phone cover. Carefully, so carefully, I lined up the ends of the foil to the positive and negative terminals on the battery, casting one last breathless glance at Audra before touching them to the tiny copper pieces and using the scissors to hold each side steady.
For a moment nothing happened, and all was quiet except my own heart beating loudly in my ears. And then a tiny wisp of smoke rose, so suddenly, I almost startled. I held the scissors steady so the current passed through the foil, heating it until it finally burst into a small flame. My pulse skyrocketed, but my hands remained steady as I slowly brought the tiny piece of burning foil to the top of the pine needles, just under one of the knotted pages of the magazine, holding my breath, half expecting it to extinguish before my hands had even made the short journey.
Audra was ready just as I placed it on the pile of debris and she blew on it softly, as the top pine needles began smoking as well, the tiny flame growing, my heart lurching with wild joy.
The small flame spread, gaining strength, growing, growing, until Audra looked up, her lips trembling ever so slightly, her eyes wide and shimmering with happy tears. I laughed out loud and though she kept blowing at the blossoming fire, her lips tipped into a tremulous smile between small puffs.
I reached for the smallest branches and when the fire seemed big enough, I added the first one, waiting as the flame began devouring it, becoming bigger, hungrier. A beautiful, glowing beast.
Audra was laughing now as I added one branch after another. Then we both stood slowly, marveling at it. For a second we just looked at each other across the small miracle we’d just created together, grinning like fools, and then she threw herself into my arms. As I caught her, I laughed out loud, spinning her in a half circle and then placing her back on her feet.
Tears streaked down her face, but she was smiling. I caught one glistening drop on my thumb. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we, honey? You and me.”
The moment swelled, making the air feel full, and my chest feel tight. But Audra laughed again, sniffling and nodding, something seeming to break gently in her expression, in contrast to the way she’d been holding herself so stiffly. For just a moment, she allowed herself to sag in my arms so I was holding her up.
“Yeah. Yeah we do,” she said. “You and me. I’m so glad you’re here, Dane.” She shook her head, her eyes a little wild, her hands gripping my biceps as if the small bit of hope she’d allowed herself had broken through something—some wall perhaps. And now her emotions were bleeding out of her.
“Those nights,” she gasped, her eyes shocked like she wasn’t completely in control of her own words, was taking them in just as I was. “Those nights I lay next to you in our shelter, when I didn’t know if you were going to wake up and . . . and . . .” She shook her head again. She’d been so brave. So incredibly brave. “I just, I was so scared. And now you’re here, we’re together, and I’m”—she laughed, a startled sound—“I’m so grateful.”
I smiled gently at her, pulling her closer, hugging her tightly as she hugged me back. I understood that expressing herself to me that way had been difficult for her. There were bigger walls behind that one, I knew that as well. But joy raced through my heart, a feeling of victory expanding my chest that wasn’t only because of the blooming fire warming the air around us.
After a minute, Audra pulled away, turning to the fire and putting her bare hands up, as she tipped her head back. “God, that feels amazing.”
I put my hands up as well, feeling the wonderful heat as it warmed my skin, causing my muscles to relax and a final shivering tremor to move through me as if the cold that had been wrapped around my bones for days was finally, blessedly, leaving my body. Even if it’d only been a little sliver, Audra sharing a piece of her heart with me felt so good.
The warmth felt like heaven, like joy, like life, and I turned back to Audra, taking her in my arms again as she laughed. I swayed with her next to the dancing flame, the air filled with the light, bitter scent of smoke. “Tonight, partner,” I said, “we dine on beef jerky, pretzels, and chocolate.”
Audra moaned, tipping her head back and grinning at me. “I never imagined the thought of a dried rope of beef could be so wonderful.”
“We have Dustin to thank for that. When we get back, we’ll buy him a real steak dinner.”
Her smile faltered slightly, and I wondered if it was the mention of the word we that had caused her to react that way. I was in too good of a mood to let it bother me, though, so I twirled her around as she yelped out a laugh. I did too. “You know what else?” I whispered close to her ear, leaning back with a grin.
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“We’re going to heat some water and clean ourselves up.”
“A bath?” Audra practically groaned. “Oh God, how? What do we have to heat water in?”
“We can use a plastic bottle. As long as we fill it completely so there’s no air in it, the plastic won’t melt.”
“How do you know that?”
I laughed. “Want to know the truth?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I saw it on Naked and Afraid once. I swear, I’ve watched two episodes of that show, unintentionally, and somehow I remember that.”
Audra laughed, shaking her head. “Well, thank God, because I need to wash my hair like nobody’s business.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Audra
I’d waited for the water to cool enough that it wasn’t scalding and then partially stripped in front of the fire, scrubbing my skin with a sock, my trial-sized bottle of body wash, and the deliciously hot water. Dane went back to gather a little more wood, leaving me to my makeshift bath.
Few things in my life had ever felt so good as that soapy water sluicing over my skin, taking the grime of several days of hard wilderness living with it. I dried myself very quickly with a nightshirt, re-dressed, and then laid the damp T-shirt and wet sock over a rock near the fire. The rock felt warm to my touch and I laid my hands on it, reveling in the heat against my skin. What a difference physical warmth made to my mood. Hopefully this rock would help the T-shirt dry a little before Dane wanted to use it.
Dane. Warmth filled my chest when I remembered the way he’d taken me in his arms when I’d had a mini-breakdown after the intensity of our fire-lighting experiment. It wasn’t only the joy of accomplishment I’d seen in his expression, it had been . . . pride. Pride that had encompassed both of us, not only him. He’d been proud of our teamwork, and I’d recognized it because I’d seen it before. He’d looked at me that same way when we mo
ved into our house—looking at me from where we’d collapsed on opposite sides of the living room, piles of boxes between us on the floor. He’d had that look in his eyes as I’d told him my plans for the building he’d bought as a wedding gift. And even though it had been coupled with terrible sadness, he’d looked at me that way after our son’s funer—
I moaned aloud, grimacing and biting at my lip, the thought alone sending a sharp lancing pain straight through me. I took a deep breath, allowing a small piece of the memory in anyway, despite the way it hurt. Yes, I could see him now, standing in our kitchen, what seemed like hundreds of casseroles and baked goods sitting on the counters, never to be eaten. What had happened to those casseroles? Had someone eventually thrown them away? Dane had looked at me, and though his eyes were filled with sorrow, he’d smiled as if to say: We made it through this day, didn’t we? You and me.
I bit harder at my lip, clenching my eyes shut. Oh no, God, it hurt too much. I couldn’t think about that anymore. Not now. Not here. On this desolate mountain where I already felt desperate and—
“Hey.”
I whirled around and whatever was on my face caused Dane to stop in his tracks, concern coming immediately to his expression. “Audra? What’s wrong?”
I forced a smile, shaking my head, willing this terrible feeling away. “Nothing. It just felt cold to step away from the fire.” I stepped back toward it, holding my hands out to the welcome heat. “Ah, that’s better.”
His frown remained, though he moved closer, coming to stand across from me. “How was the bath?”
I smiled at him again, a real one this time. “It was wonderful.” I pointed at the two bottles already sitting among the fire. “I just put those on. They need another four minutes or so.”
Dane nodded, beginning to remove his jacket. I pointed to my cosmetic bag. “There’s body wash in there, if you don’t have any.” Why did I feel so nervous as he began to undress?
“Bundle up. It’s getting colder. It’ll be freezing again by tonight.”
I nodded, zipping into my jacket and quickly tying my “headscarf” on. I grabbed the magazine still near the fire, hesitating and then turning to my suitcase where my small purse was at the top. I opened it and took out the pen, turned, gave Dane a tiny smile and began moving toward the break in the trees. “Enjoy.”
He gave me a head nod as I passed him, his expression still slightly confused. I released a pent-up breath when I stepped into the open area, closing my eyes against the wind, turning my head away as snowflakes stuck to my eyelashes. God, it was really coming down. I’d realized it was snowing, but the tree cover really protected the area where our shelter was. Tomorrow Dane and I would go back to the place where we’d spotted the plane and build a second fire, one we hoped would be more visible from the sky.
I sat down by a rock wall and looked thankfully at the lone tree that somehow grew out of the side of a mountain, protecting me from the worst of the snowfall. Almost immediately, I began shivering, but I brought the magazine from where I’d had it inside my jacket and gripped the pen in my hand. Turning to a full-page ad with lots of white space, I poised the pen to write. I’d been intending on . . . what? I hadn’t made an actual plan. A will? A note to Jay? A half-formed thought that if this didn’t end well, I’d want someone to have my house, my business. At the present moment, the building my business was housed in belonged to Luella Townsend. If Dane and I never made it to Laurelton, Luella would have a funeral for Dane, or a memorial service if our bodies were never found, take over my building, dismantle everything I’d . . . Shaking my head, I leaned my head back, tapping it twice against the hard stone. This line of thought wasn’t doing me any good. And if I was going to make a will, I was going to wait until death was imminent. Making one now felt . . . too hopeless. It felt as if I’d already given up.
So, no.
Still, I put the pen to the glossy paper and watched as it moved, almost of its own accord. My hand was in control, but my mind wandered, reliving the moment I’d seen that tiny spark of fire, the joy that had simultaneously flared inside me. Such terrible conditions and yet, when was the last time I’d felt a burst of jubilation like that?
Except for the flowers, the one bright thing I’d clung to, everything else in my life was . . . colorless. Sitting under a bent tree on the side of a cliff on a lonely mountain, I realized how joyless my existence had been. For so long. But not Dane. He’d been able to move on. Find happiness. Find another person to love. My chest tightened, constricting my lungs.
The wind howled, growing louder, and the snow was coming down fast and furiously now, a blinding curtain of white. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, casting the landscape in platinum shadows. Alarmed, I closed the magazine, returning it to the inside of my jacket.
I made my way to the copse of trees, fighting the wind, my arm shielding my face against the icy snow. Once I had stepped into the shelter of the trees, the wind felt less harsh, the snow a gentle flurry in the crisp pine-scented air. It was still cold as all hell, though, and I rushed toward the fire, the smoky tinge in the air, luring me forward.
Dane was kneeling at the side of the fire, rubbing the same shirt I’d used to dry myself off on his hair, obviously having just finished washing it. My breath hitched and I came up short.
He was like a shimmering fantasy in the light of the flame, snowflakes fluttering down to melt on his skin, still warm from the heat of the fire and the water with which he’d bathed. On his knees that way, his head bent, his defined muscles glowing in the flickering shadows, he looked like a broken warrior and oh, I wanted to draw him this way. The thought brought with it a mild sense of surprise. I’d sketched just a few minutes ago, but I wasn’t used to being inspired to sketch by visual input, the way I’d constantly been . . . before.
As I stepped toward him, coming to the edge of the fire, Dane lifted his head and smiled. “You’re right, that was amazing.”
I grinned, holding my hands up to the fire and allowing it to chase the cold from my blood. He twisted at the waist to grab his shirt lying behind him, and my eyes snagged on a tattoo on his right bicep. My brow furrowed as I stepped toward him to investigate the art that had definitely not been on his skin when we’d been married.
When he turned back, he saw me attempting to look at his arm and frowned. “What?” I tilted my head, my eyes still on his bicep and he glanced at it, bringing it up in front of his chest so I could see it. It was a tree, next to a frozen pond, a banner of sorts twining up the trunk with the name Theodore John and our son’s birth date written on it. My stomach seized and I made a small gasp, stepping back.
“Audra?” Dane asked in confusion.
“I . . . when did you get that?”
He lowered his arm, glancing at it again before meeting my eyes. “I thought you saw it the other night.”
The other night. In my hotel room. We’d both been . . . naked. Very naked. I swallowed. Only, it’d been dim in the room and I’d been half out of my mind with desire for him. With the things he was making me feel. The colors bursting all around me. Inside me. I shook my head sharply. “No.”
A gust of wind blew, causing the flames to dance and flicker. Dane shivered, pulling his shirt over his head and putting his coat on. “I got it right before I moved to San Francisco.” He regarded me for a moment, something moving through his expression I wasn’t sure I could read. Or perhaps didn’t want to. “It was hard for me, Audra, to . . . leave him behind, not to be able to visit his grave whenever I wanted. This was a way for me to take him with me.” Oh. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, my throat tight. When I opened my eyes, Dane was watching me, his eyes filled with sadness. “But I knew,” he said, clearing his throat. “I knew you’d take good care of him and that made it a little bit easier.”
Oh God.
I knew you’d take good care of him and that made it a little bit easier.
If I’d been able to take care of him, he’d be alive.
“It’s hard to believe we’d have an eight-year-old now, isn’t it?” Dane asked very gently, almost cautiously.
Pain shivered through me and I wrapped my arms around myself. It felt like the cold had invaded my veins, was sinking into my bones, though the fire’s heat was right in front of me. An eight-year-old. Yes, of course I knew.
It’s his heart. I’m so sorry.
There’s no heartbeat. I’m so sorry.
Oh God, life changed so quickly it could steal your breath—your soul. How was it that I tried so hard not to think about what would have been and yet could still say in a moment how old he’d be today? Tomorrow. All my life.
Dane watched me closely, and I didn’t know what to do with the look of pure sympathy on his face. How was it that he had been expressing his own pain and his sympathy was for me? Why? But I couldn’t. I couldn’t come out from behind this wall of pain . . .
You set all the rules. How hard to knock at the door you locked yourself behind, when to leave you alone. Your rules, never negotiable . . . you didn’t have to spell them out in words. Your actions spoke louder than words. Stay away. I don’t need you.
I did need him, I did. But I’d been so hurt, so angry. And most of all, I’d needed to set him free. And that was all in the past . . . wasn’t it?
“Audra—”
“If I’m going to wash my hair, I guess I should do it before the sun gets any lower and before this storm kicks up any more than it is.” The snow was finding its way through the small breaks in the canopy of evergreen and swirling in the air.
Dane was quiet for a moment, looking as if he was considering something. But then he smiled and it was gentle. “Come on, let me help you. It’ll be quicker.”
