by Rebecca Rode
I give her a one-arm hug, and she lets out a sigh.
“I can’t thank you enough for bringing her back the other day.”
“I’m glad we did,” I reply, and we start hiking again. Zara amazes me. Who has to deal with their father’s death and care for their mother at our age? That’s got to be though. I admire her for trying to keep some normalcy in her life with all that going on.
The trail ends at a cable footbridge across a ravine. It hangs one hundred seventy feet above the bottom of the gorge and spans the rim for more than three hundred feet. As we approach it, I remember the negotiations our company and several other outfitters went through to make this bridge happen. It was our first big project with the government agency overseeing the national park. I’ve never had a chance to cross it, and I feel a thrill of accomplishment today.
Because of the weight limits, we have to space out as we walk across to the final tower. Each person clips on the safety line overhead and then walks along the narrow planks to the other side. Finally, we climb the ladder to the tree stand we’ll use to take off.
The scene around me is breathtaking, like standing on the top of the world—peaks and valleys in every direction I look and not a single building. The wind is crisp. Off in the distance is Longs Peak. At over fourteen thousand feet above sea level, it’s an imposing sight. I make a mental note to climb the flat face before I leave.
At the top, Zara takes a deep breath and blows it out, then another quick one. I can’t imagine her being nervous about anything. “Well, I’m next.” She attaches her chord to the line, and I look close to make sure it’s on right.
“You’re clear,” I say so she can go down the final line. As I look up at her, she kisses my cheek, just shy of my lips. Her eyes connect with mine, and I can see that all the nervousness from a moment ago is gone. She’s about to jump off a platform four stories in the air, hang from a single line, fly down a mountain at fifty miles per hour—dodging birds and tree limbs—and kissing me made her nervous.
Now her face shows only mischief and a little satisfaction. She smells sweet despite the heat. Before I can think of anything to say or do, she throws herself off the platform.
I can still feel her soft lips on that one little spot. I grin like a fool, but shake my head—same gutsy Zara. I look over my shoulder at Elena, the only person on the stand with me—who’s laughing—and ask her, “She hasn’t changed one bit, has she?”
“Oh, I think she has. She’s definitely worse.” Elena moves to the line. “So, are you coming? Tonight, I mean?” She’s clipped on, ready to go, but waiting for my answer.
I want to see Zara again, and it’s her birthday, a perfect excuse. “I think so,” I reply with a small shrug.
She waits for a couple more seconds, as if there is more to my answer, then smiles and says, “I hope you decide to. Zara has talked about you non-stop since she saw you the other night. But don’t tell her I told you that. She’d kill me.” And with a wink, she leaves.
I wait a moment before I follow, then spend the whole ride down thinking that I want to go to Zara’s party, and telling myself I’m crazy if I don’t.
3
Zara Hollis
THE PARTY TECHNICALLY STARTS IN twenty minutes, but there are already several people milling around Elena’s house. The upside of living in a small town your entire life is the friends. You’ve known each other since your grannies were in kindergarten, and everyone shows up for everything.
Everyone except the one person I really want to see. I don’t know why it means so much to me, but it does. Trev is back, and I want a little calm around me again.
I walk into the kitchen, and Elena hands me a drink. “Relax a bit. He said he’s coming, but in the meantime, you do have other guests here already.” She motions to the people filling the kitchen, dining room, and living room.
“I know. I’m just excited, and a lot nervous.” I take a swig out of my cup and look out the front window through the corner of my eye. “What if he changes his mind? Do you think he’d call and tell me? Should I call him? Maybe he’s lost and needs directions.” I set the cup on the counter and pull out my phone, but before I’m able to bring up the contacts list, she snatches it from my hands.
“You’re acting seventeen again, waiting for a date to show up. But, can I remind you, this is not a date. It’s your birthday party. He’ll come when he comes, and you need to keep your cool or you’ll freak him out. Now seriously, go have fun.”
She waves the phone at me before tucking it into her pocket. I’ll have to swipe it back later. For now, I pick up my cup and head into the living room with her to find Sienna.
Rob practically runs into us as we round the corner.
“Elena,” Rob says, looking only at her. “Great party. Thanks for the invite. Do you want to dance?”
Chase steps up behind Elena and places his hands on her waist and answers. “She does.” He turns her around and pulls her away.
“That’s her boyfriend.” I point Rob across the room. “You remember Sienna. Those are our friends Chloe and Jan with her. Go introduce yourself.”
It’s almost nine pm when I look out the front window again and see a Jeep in the drive. I check around for Trev. Maybe he snuck in while I was distracted by my other guests. Nope. Not here, and it’s too dark now to see into the car from this window.
I grab some doughnut holes, and head out the door, thinking they’ll be a conversation starter. Just as I thought, he’s in the Jeep, his head back on the headrest, listening to music with his eyes shut.
I admire his strong jawline for a moment before I tap lightly on the window and step back a bit from the car. He looks over in surprise and unrolls the window.
“Hey, everything okay?” I ask.
“Oh! Um—yeah. I was…thinking.” He looks over at the clock on the dash “Sorry. I’m coming in—now.”
“No hurry. Can I sit with you?” Without waiting for an answer, I walk around to the passenger door. When it clicks open, I slide inside. “I brought you a treat.” I hold out the doughnut decorated like an eyeball, and he takes it.
“What is this?” He smiles and takes a bite.
“Just a doughnut hole and icing, but it’s the little things that pull a party theme together.” I nod solemnly. “I take party décor very seriously.”
“What’s the theme? It’s a few months too early for Halloween, and I don’t think you’re an optometrist on the side.” He throws the last bite in his mouth while waiting for me to answer.
“It could be ‘Life’s short—eat eyeballs.’ Or it might be—” I point to my eye. “‘Eye love zombies.’ Or maybe just, ‘Let them eat eyeballs.’ Take your pick.”
“Naturally, that’s the obvious choice for any woman turning twenty-four.” He laughs a little, and I join in.
I know why he and my dad got along so well. They were both quiet, but when you got to know them, they were honest and warm. Actually, I’m a little surprised, in a very good way, that he came. My stomach tingles at that, realizing he came for me.
He doesn’t look like he’s ready to join the party. I’ll have to break him in easy. “Hey, are you hungry? Let’s go get fries.” I start to buckle myself in. He follows with his own seatbelt, then turns the key. “What brought you back to town? I mean, if your parents are still in California and all.”
We ride in silence for a block as he turns on the radio and adjusts the sound. I know it’s a diversion to keep from answering right away. By the way he’s worrying his bottom lip, I wonder if I’ve asked a question he’d rather not answer. Now I’m really curious. What would be too personal about moving?
He turns the corner before he answers. “I missed the mountains here, and the snow. I think I needed a change, but I wasn’t ready for something completely brand new, so I came here.”
“Wow. You just packed up and moved? Did you have a place to live or a job or anything?” Oh, crap. Even I think that’s too personal. Yes, well, I should
think before I ask—but I never do. “You don’t have to answer.”
“Ready, fire, aim?” His voice teases me with the joke from our past.
I’m not sure if I should be thrilled that he remembered or chagrined that I haven’t changed. “Yeah, I’m still that girl.”
“It’s okay. I like it.” His eyes leave the road for a moment to look at me. “No, I figured there would be something here I could do, and I’d find it when I got here. I saw the help wanted sign for Black Diamond Adventures and dropped by the day I got to town. Started work the following morning.” He shrugs and looks over at me again.
He somehow seems so much older, like he’s seen more and has better perspective. Or maybe I’m imagining it.
He pulls off the road and into the drive-thru, ordering a large fry and Dr. Pepper before turning to me. “Would you like a drink with those fries?”
“Yes, thanks. A root beer with no ice.”
He gives me a funny look before relaying my order and pulling forward.
“I don’t like ice. It waters down the drink if I take too long drinking it, and I worry that they don’t clean the ice machines as often as they should.” I glance over at him as he processes my admission. “And the hoses and connectors are probably filled with fungus, mildew, mold, bacteria, and spores.”
“Spores?” He chuckles.
The deep sound makes my heart flutter. I want to hear it again.
“All right. Any other oddities you’ve developed since we were fourteen?” He gives me a side smirk and pulls to the window, pays, then hands across the drinks and fries.
“Sure. For example, I write zombie poetry.” I pick up three short fries and pop them in my mouth.
“Well, that one doesn’t surprise me since your dad was the town mortician.”
“Yeah. I’ve taken over the mortuary and have been running it since...well, since Mom is…” The word “incompetent” won’t come out. It’s hard to think that about the woman who answered all my questions growing up.
I haven’t really told anyone how bad mom’s disease is getting. It’s hard to admit to myself that my mom isn’t capable of working at the mortuary, living alone, or even sometimes being safe.
“It’s been hard, but Mom and I have managed to take care of each other.” My voice cracks a little. He met my mom. He probably has at least a little idea what’s going on.
Trev’s hand reaches across the console and touches my arm, then gives it a quick squeeze. Just as quickly, it returns to the steering wheel when he parks the car.
He didn’t say what I hear so often. “That’s too bad.” “She’s lucky to have you.” “How are you holding up?” The comments are fine, and I appreciate the concern people show. But the touch, the physical connection warms me throughout. For a brief second, I’m not alone.
The horizon along the northern mountains randomly illuminates and then darkens. Another storm is moving our way. We both watch silently. It doesn’t move across town, but skirts along the mountain peaks. I’ll bet Rocky Mountain National Park is getting soaked.
After a long pause and some sips of soda, Trev says, “Okay, I’m dying to hear some of this zombie poetry.”
“You’re dying. Really?” I tease him, but I’m thankful for the change of topic and the beautiful smile he gives me with it. The other conversation could get too real too fast. I’m not ready to go there. “All right, let me see your phone. I have them on a private blog.”
“And where is your phone?” he asks, keying in the passcode to unlock his.
“Elena took it away from me. She thought I’d become a stalker, or at least a pest, if you didn’t show up at my party soon. It’s not like I’d shoot off a hundred texts—my personal best is only ninety-three. But really, I might have already called and left a message or five.” I give him my best “I’m-not-a-crazy-person” shrug.
I log into the blog and hold the tiny screen between us. His head leans toward me, and I smell the crisp scent of his body wash. Maybe if I fumble around “trying to find the posts,” I can enjoy his nearness a little longer.
I pinch and expand the screen, then read the first haiku aloud.
“A zombie salad:
Rat’s nest of hair, bones, toenails.
Vegetarian.”
He cracks up and gives me a round of applause. “I love it, but isn’t that a little inappropriate, given your profession?”
“No. I fully embrace what I do, including myths. And I’d never share any of this with a mourning family. That’s why they are all on a private blog.” I hold the phone back toward him. “I’m glad you like them, but I don’t want to throw too much at you all at once.”
“Give me one more.”
Shooting a quick thank you to the universe that I haven’t freaked him out yet, I click through the menu and find one I wrote for Valentine’s Day. “This one will prove that zombies can be romantic.” So can sitting in a dark car with a gorgeous guy when our cheeks are nearly touching.
“You were beautiful
So stiff and cold. I still wear
Your heart on my sleeve.”
Without planning to, I find myself looking into Trev’s eyes as I recite the last sentence.
We were pretty young and had a crush, but we never acted on it. We did what kids sometimes do—I told my friends about it, and they told his friends. Then his friends told mine about his crush. That’s as far as it went. Except that we kissed—for research purposes.
Now we know what to do, but neither of us closes the gap. His chest rises and falls, and he swallows deeply. I’m hyper aware of how close his lips are to mine, and that our noses are less than an inch apart.
I know what keeps me from leaning forward—there’s a lot on my plate. As much as I crave knowing what his real kiss is like, I’m aware of how limited I am in my life. Do I have the energy or the time needed to build a relationship right now? I honestly have to answer no.
What is it that keeps him an inch away?
Maybe he isn’t really interested in a girlfriend. He might just be looking for a friend. I don’t think I want to know which it might be. He’s probably wondering how to get out of this.
I relax back against my seat. “You haven’t really made it to my party yet. Wanna go?”
His gaze definitely drops to my lips as he pulls away.
4
Trev Cooley
THE MOMENT WE WALK THROUGH the door into Elena’s house, the sights, sounds, and smells pull me back in time. I haven’t really gone to a house party since…I don’t know when. I usually don’t fit in, since it’s the expectation that you’re social and you socialize. I’ve never figured out how people do that beyond regular networking. Business people and I have the same goal—grow our businesses—and that makes it easier.
Truthfully, I’ve never figured out how to do casual conversation. And it scares me to go places where that’s expected. My brain is shouting for me to run the other direction. Instead, I unlock my knees, and concentrate on Zara’s hand pulling me through the crowd.
Her black hair sways in front of me. I must have grown a foot since we were younger, and I doubt Zara’s added more than an inch. Her small hand is warm and delicate, her fingers wrapping around the side of my palm, pulling with a gentle tug as she walks ahead of me. I relax a little, knowing that as long as I keep her hand in mine, I won’t be alone.
“Do you want a drink?” she asks. “They’re barbecuing out back too. Burgers, I think.”
I had a drink a few minutes ago, but it would be nice to have something to do with my other hand. “A Dr. Pepper.”
Zara begins to reach for a glass, but I interrupt. “I don’t need a cup. The can is fine.” I’m not letting go of her. Of course it’s lame. I’m a grown man—afraid of conversation. I’d rather army-crawl through a two-foot hole, wiggle into a pitch-dark cave, and drag myself through mud where the only way out is twisting hundreds of feet ahead of me than walk through this crowd alone. Yep, that about sums it up.
She pulls the pop from the ice-filled sink and holds it in front of me, water still dripping from her hand, but she tightens her grip on our clasped hands so I won’t let go to open it. She rests it on the counter, and I flip the tab open, then take the can from her for a gulp.
“Thanks.” I wonder if she’s guessed what I’m feeling. Something in Zara has changed since that first night I saw her again. She’s less tired and worried, more alive, younger.
“You remember Josie Payton and Ron MacLean?”
I nod in reply.
“They’re married now, with a baby. They were here earlier, but had to leave at nine to relieve the sitter. So basically, they’re boring now.” She winks at me to show she’s teasing. She introduces me to several groups, but we only stay at each one long enough for them to ask me the most basic questions, no ad libbing necessary.
Music drifts down from upstairs as Zara leads me up. “I’d like you to meet Elena’s boyfriend.”
There’s a guy in the loft at the top of the stairs, playing guitar.
“Trev, this is Chase. Chase, Trev.” Zara gestures between the two of us.
That guy looks familiar. Oh. “You play lead guitar for Fool’s Angel, right?”
“Yeah.” Chase keeps playing.
“I’m going to mingle, but I’ll be back. Have fun.” Zara skips down the stairs.
“That song’s from your band’s new album, right?” I sound like a fan girl. It’s smooth conversation like this that keeps me out of parties.
He nods with a lopsided grin.
“Cool.” I sit on an open seat. “What brings you to Peak City?”
Chase finishes the song and sets the guitar aside. “I moved into town last spring, and I’m dating Elena. So this party is pretty much a required gig.” Chase asks, nodding toward a big screen beside me, “Do you game?”
