Again he runs his fingers through his hair and groans in exasperation. “I want my fucking hat back,” he bellows.
“It’s just a hat,” I grumble.
“It’s not just a hat. It was the first team issued thing I ever got,” he practically barks. So much for not letting them get to him.
We walk another mile or so without conversation. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. On the plane he made me remember what it’s like to be alive and have fun. I felt like myself, like a person…not a widow. But if he’s unable to make simple conversation then maybe he’s struggling more that he’ll admit. I, for one, cannot take the silence anymore. To me it symbolizes death and defeat and it’s depressing as hell.
“Fine. I’ll talk. I’m not going to spend the night or die in the woods with a man who doesn’t know shit about me even though I don’t know shit about him.”
“You’re being dramatic,” he tells me somewhat annoyed.
“Thought you liked me feisty,” I reply a bit snarky, and unsurprisingly, he doesn’t reply. I’m throwing a fit and to make my point clear I pick up my pace to so he trails slightly behind me.
“My favorite color is turquoise.” I begin my ramble, not caring if he thinks I’m crazy. “Like the Caribbean Ocean. My parents took me there when I was young and I thought it was the most beautiful color. We spent hours walking the beach, collecting seashells and listening to the waves. I never got in the water past my ankles because my dad was afraid I’d get eaten by a shark.” I laugh to myself because he created a fear in me that has never gone away. “I’ve thought about taking the kids back to that beach, or any beach…but that would require getting on a plane and I don’t think I’ll be doing that any time soon.”
I wait a few minutes to see if he’ll join in the conversation on his own, but I’m met with silence.
“I’ve never had a pet,” I continue. “The kids have been begging for a dog for years. I thought about it before Mark died but we never got one because I selfishly didn’t want to add another responsibility to my list. After he died it seemed like the only thing I thought about was death and I worried I’d somehow kill it, so that was out. A friend suggested I get a cat but they freak me out…almost as much as clowns. Anyway, Colin’s old enough to help now. Maybe it’s time for a dog.”
I glance back at Drew, hoping he’ll say something. He doesn’t appear interested in sharing, though I think he’s listening. Not that it matters if he is or not. I’m ok with the fact that this is for my benefit because at the moment it’s working, so I continue.
“I can’t stand girlie drinks. I like wine. In fact, my dream is to one day own a bed and breakfast and winery. I have no idea what it would involve but I’m guessing I could learn. I don’t really want to move to California but I’d probably have to for that.” I step over a fallen log and rack my brain for more random topics.
“I let the kids listen to my eclectic collection of adult music from back in the day. Colin’s favorite is Aerosmith. The girls like Boys II Men and New Kids on the Block,” I laugh and then add, “And when they aren’t in the car I sometimes listen to their Disney soundtracks. I’m a sucker for love songs.
“Ah, what else? Oh, Mark didn’t want a third baby. I had two miscarriages after Aubrey, which…I don’t even know how to describe it. I knew I wanted at least one more so I practically forced him to keep trying.”
Damn, he’s like a rock. No reaction at all.
“I had my first kiss when I was thirteen or fourteen. I remember the guy but it wasn’t anything special. He looked like George Michael and did that one-legged pant thing like LL Cool J. I was disappointed because my parents were over the top in love and were always kissing when they thought I wasn’t looking. I thought if I kissed someone I’d be that in love too. Boy was I wrong. I felt nothing and his breath smelled like onions. It was a long time before I kissed anyone else.”
Will I ever have another kiss? Before I let my mind race on that subject my stomach rumbles from the lack of sustenance I’ve had today. It wouldn’t be satisfying but I could eat another bag of chips. I consider it but remember we don’t know how long we’ll be out here. It’s too bad because I really love to eat. Food is, and always has been, a big part of my life and family traditions.
“On any given day my go-to meal of choice is pizza. But if you asked me what my favorite food is it would have to be clam chowder. Not just any clam chowder, but my grandmother’s. It completely melts in your mouth. She taught me how to make it when I was about six years old and every time she visited we’d make it together,” I explain, my mouth watering at the memory. “And nothing tops it off better than peach cobbler. Not the homemade kind, I’m talking about jarred baby food. I swear it’s like crack. My kids haven’t eaten baby food in years and I still buy it for myself.”
Finally, he speaks. “Are you playing twenty questions by yourself?” he asks slightly intrigued and I shrug.
“Want to play?” I call over my shoulder, to which he shakes his head no. “You spent most of the morning trying to get me to talk. This is me giving in. You don’t have to talk. But when it’s quiet my mind wanders and I see the other passengers dying and I can’t bear it. It’s…I just can’t,” I explain unapologetically.
“Do you really want to open a winery?” he asks.
“One day, yes.”
“Do you really eat baby food?” He sounds disgusted and I don’t care…I know he’s humoring me and I’m happy that he’s interacting.
“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” I tease, slowing down so we can walk side by side.
“I’d say I’d take your word for it but I no longer trust your judgment,” he jokingly admonishes and I laugh.
“Trust me when I say I will force feed it to you, and you’ll like it.”
“Only if you promise to do the airplane trick, complete with sound effects,” he compromises.
“Deal,” I agree, and then before he can become a mute again I add, “Do you cook?”
“Not unless you count toast,” he admits. “If I tried to cook for you, you’d leave before taking your first bite.”
“That bad, huh? Maybe I could teach you. My son cooks with me all the time. I’m sure you could pick it up easily…I mean, you were valedictorian,” I say in jest.
“Very funny. How about you just let me take you to dinner,” he suggests and almost immediately looks like he regrets the offer.
“Technically, we’ve already eaten together so you’re off the hook. Thanks for the picnic by the way. And offering to walk me hundreds of miles home afterwards? Nice touch…it’s been a very special first date.”
He considered this and then fires back, “If you thought that was special, just wait for our second date,” he says, and then whispers, “I have nuts.”
“You did not just offer me your nuts.” I have no idea where his mind went earlier. For a moment, at least, he seems to be back to the person I met this morning.
“Well you did offer me your cookie earlier,” he replies and I playfully swat him. This man could make a sexual innuendo out of anything. “I don’t even want to think about how many people you’ve made that offered to before.”
“Only three,” I reveal without hesitation. Drew raises his eyebrows and smirks. “What?”
“Hmm, I could live with that. Four is actually my baseball number.”
“While I’m glad you could live with being number four, I don’t think I could live with the number that I’d be, so you’ll have to settle for cookies from a bag.”
“You say that now,” he kids. At least, I think he’s kidding.
“Not that your wiseass comments aren’t entertaining, but do you think we could have a normal conversation?” I ask and he sighs.
“Oh, I’m the smartass?” he questions. “Depends on what you consider normal.”
“Will you tell me what your parents are like?” He goes quiet again and I think he’s going to say no, so when he complies I’m pleased.<
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“Both of my parents are school teachers. My dad is retiring this year, which I can’t imagine because teaching has been his life. He teaches high-school math and loves old cars. Instead of throwing the ball around with me, he would quiz me on math problems while we took old cars apart and put them back together. I think that’s how my passion for engineering started,” he explains before going quiet for a few minutes. “My mom is really shy and sweet. I’m pretty sure she can find something nice to say about anybody she’s ever met,” he smiles fondly.
“So if your father wasn’t into sports, how did you get into baseball?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“My dad likes sports, he just wasn’t athletic. My parents were older when they had me and my sister so by the time I was getting heavily into sports he wasn’t exactly limber enough to practice with,” he explains with a hint of disappointment. It makes me wonder if he feels like he was deprived the experience of tossing balls around in the front yard. I make a mental note to do more of this with my kids when I get home.
“They used to joke that when I was younger that I would throw anything I could find, so when I was old enough for tee-ball they signed me up. There were kids my age in town that played so I’d throw with them most of the time. I have a picture of me from when I was five-years old, sleeping with a baseball in my hand and the glove under my pillow,” he laughs, recalling the memory.
“What about your sister? Is she in New York too?” I ask.
“No,” he replies flatly.
“Is she into sports?”
“Not really,” he says forlorn, with a half-hearted smile before looking down. I’d interrogate further but he seems upset. I let it go and decide that I’m done badgering him. If he wants to talk he’ll let me know.
By 4:30 in the afternoon I am so tired, stiff and achy that I can’t go any further. Drew agrees to rest as soon as we find someplace safe to stay. I haven’t seen or heard anything aside from birds to cause my unease, but I can’t shake the feeling that we will be some animal’s dinner if we sleep on the ground. A few miles earlier we passed by a rocky embankment that had a shallow cavern but Drew felt it was probably some animal’s den so we continued. I’m about to give up and agree to sleep on the ground when we spot a structure in a tree not too far ahead.
As we close in on the structure, which I estimate to be possibly fifteen or so feet off the ground, I see that it’s nestled nicely in the center of a net of thick branches. It reminds me of a tree house; something I always wanted as a kid but never had. Leading up to the structure are individual blocks of wood that have been nailed into the trunk of the tree, each block a half foot or so above the last, creating a make-shift ladder.
“Do you think it’s sturdy?” I ask optimistic.
“Only one way to find out,” and before I know it Drew is climbing up the tree.
I wait on the ground, constantly looking over my shoulder. Without him next to me I feel very uneasy. A few minutes go by before he leans out of the structure and makes his way back down.
“This may be the first piece of luck we’ve had,” he says, smiling. “You go up and I’ll follow behind you.”
“Why don’t you go first?” I suggest, unsure of my ability to make it up without falling.
“If you’re self-conscious about me gawking at your ass the entire time, you shouldn’t be. I mean, I will be looking, but you have nothing to worry about,” Drew says, and then wags his eyebrows.
“I wasn’t worried. Actually, I was hoping to stare at yours,” I reply, but feel my cheeks flush.
“I’d love to play poker with you sometime,” he laughs.
“Watch yourself,” I warn. “I can be quite convincing when it counts.”
“Come on, you have a concussion, Breanne. No more injuries today.”
I roll my eyes and turn, making my way up the ladder. Surprisingly, it requires all of my upper arm strength. I’m actually glad he’s behind me. By the time I pull myself inside my arms are trembling. Exhausted, I crawl further inside to one of the corners to get a better look. The tree house is well constructed. It’s about five feet in both directions. Aside from water damage near one of the windows it looks new. You’d think this would freak me out, make me wonder who the owner was and when they were coming back. But I’m too relieved at not having to spend the night on the ground to care at this point.
For the first time since the plane went down I actually feel relief fall over me. Drew pulls himself in and shuts the door behind him, making the space pitch dark. I stand up and feel my way towards one of the windows to open it and provide us with some light and air. Looking around I note that it’s not much, but it’s enough. I sit back down and dig my phone out of my purse. I know it’s a long shot but I have to at least see if we have a signal or not. No such luck.
Well, at least we can eat. I offer Drew his choice of chips or peanuts and decide on chips myself. Sticking my hand back in my purse, I feel my hand brush against a box, which I immediately pull out. Band-Aids! I open the box and dump them on the floor. I have at least twelve bandages in various sizes. They have cartoon characters on them but I am too elated to care. I totally forgot I had these. What else is in there? I dump the contents of my purse and feel like I’ve won the lottery. To anyone else the contents would seem small. But to a mother this purse contains simple treasures that can solve many problems.
Along with the Band-Aids I find a small tube of antibacterial ointment, three cereal bars somewhat smushed but completely edible, my make-up bag, a brush, mint flavored gum, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a few small toys, Tylenol, the book I brought with my family’s picture, his jersey, the blanket from the airplane, and my tin jewelry case. I squeal in delight and kick off my shoes and start doing triage on my blisters. For a moment I am lost in my discoveries and forget I’m not alone. I glance up through my lashes and find Drew staring at me with a sweet expression on his face.
“My feet are killing me,” I exclaim. “I can’t believe I had all this in here!” I say gesturing to the poor-man’s pharmacy scattered between us. “Do me a favor and remind me to buy a pair of running shoes when we get back. I have quite the selection of high-heels, but I’m never wearing anything but sneakers again…ever!”
Placing another bandage on my heel, I pause. Does he have any wounds? I haven’t even thought about asking him how he is and I suddenly feel incredibly selfish. This man that I barely know, saved my life. And I haven’t given his wellbeing enough thought.
“Do you need any of this?” I ask, gesturing to the supplies spread out between us.
“I’m fine,” he says softly before clearing his throat. “When you’re done with your feet I’d like to clean up your head wound.”
I quickly finish with my blisters and announce that I’m ready. He pops a piece of gum into his mouth and hands me one as well, before returning his attention to our supplies. From the heap he picks the wipes, antibacterial ointment, and a large bandage before he scoots closer. Grasping my chin with his hand he tilts my head back and gently lifts my face towards his. Using a wipe he carefully cleans my wound, and although he’s being gentle, it sends sharp pains that reverberate in my already aching head. Despite the pain I can’t ignore the other feelings his touch is causing.
I grit my teeth and clinch my eyes tightly shut in response, trying to block it out. Thankfully, the cool gel of the ointment soothes the gash followed by the comforting feeling of the bandage. The pain has subsided only slightly, but I remind myself that I would rather feel this than not feel anything, and the image of the lifeless passenger’s flashes in my mind.
“All done, you can open your eyes,” he says in a hushed tone. “You need stitches but there’s not much else I can do.”
I thank him and again feel inadequate that he’s done so much for me today that I haven’t been able to reciprocate. Either my eyes give me away or Drew is a mind reader.
“You do realize that you saved my life, right?” he asks, and I’m not sure
if it’s my cloudy memory at the moment, but I can’t think of one way that I have helped him. In fact, I think I’ve slowed him down. Puzzled, I stare at him.
Curveball Page 11
