by Holly Hall
“And Heronwood is doing that for you?”
“I don’t know. I thought I needed to be alone—do things on my own—to find myself. But I don’t think I’m any closer than I was when I left Nashville.”
“Maybe we find ourselves when we least expect it. When we’re not really looking.” Dane places his foot into the cleft of a rocky ledge to boost himself up on top of it, and after he pulls himself up, he extends his hand to me without a second thought. I toss my walking stick up onto the rock before mimicking his actions, placing my toe in the tiny indention, but I hardly need the leverage as he pulls me to him as effortlessly as if he were lifting his bucket of tools. We’re inches away from each other, so close that our labored breaths mix in the space between us. But he doesn’t take advantage of our proximity, nor the fact that my back is to an immediate drop-off and I couldn’t evade him if I tried. He just gives me the tiniest of smiles; enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. Then we continue onward like he didn’t just enlighten me with his philosophical statement or literally sweep me off my feet
“I guess that just hasn’t worked for me in the past. Or maybe I’m too impatient.” I stab at the ground with my stick, taking extra care not to trip or twist an ankle on the uneven terrain.
“Don’t give up just yet. I heard the path to self-discovery can be slow going.” There’s a tinge of humor in his voice, but I feel the weight of his words. They’re personal. A tiny window of insight into this open yet mysterious man. “Is there a someone back in Nashville waiting for you to come back to him?”
My spine stiffens in response. It’s become instinctual to avoid talk of Jenson and the inadequacy I felt in our final days. But Dane isn’t totally clueless. I vividly remember the moment on the street when he called me by my married name. It had the effect of a hook, sinking into my flesh and jerking me forward a pace. He knows things, but I don’t know how much.
“You know more than you let on, Dane, why don’t you tell me?”
My tone makes him pause in place, and I stop in my tracks so I won’t run into him. “True, I’ve heard some things about you. Not because I was asking around, but because nobody in this town knows how to shut the hell up. But I don’t want to talk about the Raven the women in this town have scraped together from their magazine articles. I think you know well enough how things can get lost in translation.” His eyes narrow, punctuating that last part. Droplets of sweat make trails down the sides of his bronze temples. He would look more intimidating if I wasn’t currently overcome with shame for doing the one thing he was the bigger person to avoid—making judgments about me before formulating an opinion for himself.
“Well, to their credit, the King part is true at least,” I finally admit. Out of the vault of painful things I’ve experienced, being married to a talented musician might have been the mildest. There are other, heavier things that rest on top of that fact, compressing it into no more than a tidbit of information that has been used to define the woman I am.
Dane still doesn’t seem satisfied. I would try to veer around him to lead our little journey myself, but firstly, I don’t know where I’m going, and secondly, he’s pegging me with a look that’s rendered my limbs useless. It’s not so much a glare as a plea, a question of whether I trust him with the details of my old life.
“I was married,” I state, planting my hands on my hips so I at least maintain the appearance of strength as I give in. “To Jenson King, as I’m sure you’ve heard. If you don’t know who he is, maybe you don’t like country music, which is fine, but he’s a relatively well-known singer and songwriter. Even though I avoided as much attention as I could while we were together, it was impossible to stay out of the spotlight entirely. When I came here, I didn’t want that to follow me. I want to grow into the woman I’m meant to be without anyone looking over my shoulder.”
“I got you,” Dane says, nodding down at me understandingly. “Well, I can’t actually say I’ve had that specific problem. I mean, I think I’ve been pretty free to grow into the woman I’m meant to be.” His face splits into a grin, and I place my hands on his chest to push him away, laughing despite myself. It’s a moment I expected to end just as quickly as it began, but his hands close over mine, holding my palms against his solidity. His thumbs run over my fingers for just a split second, then he releases me before I can react.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Jenson.”
We resume our trek, and I keep pace beside him. “It’s all right. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I don’t know, I kind of think that saying is bullshit. Things will end if you let them, or they’ll continue if you put in the work. The quality of your relationship reflects the effort you put into it, in my opinion.”
I bite my lip, his words resonating within me. It’s difficult to hear from someone else that it could’ve worked if I had tried harder. Dane bumps me with his shoulder, dragging my thoughts back to the present.
“Hey, I wasn’t meaning you. I don’t know anything about your situation, but I know there’s more involved than anyone else knows.” I sniff, focusing on the path ahead. “My parents didn’t always have an easy relationship, but their love for each other was . . . it was probably the strongest, surest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Our life has never been typical, but if you had just seen both of them, there would be no doubt in your mind that it was the best life.”
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. I can hardly reconcile the Dane the Town Moms made him out to be with the one I’m discovering now. I steal a sidelong glance, wondering about the effect the loss of his mother had on him, but his eyes are focused on the trail ahead, his conscience consumed by whatever memory he’s replaying in his mind.
“That’s admirable. And difficult; I won’t pretend it isn’t. All the love in the world couldn’t make Jenson and I bulletproof. We could not have been more different personality-wise, but that wasn’t what ultimately forced us apart.” I pause to gather my thoughts, maybe to summon a hint of the reservation I felt before when it came to talking so intimately about myself. I’m surprised that it’s nowhere to be found.
“He was an alcoholic, and he chose drinking over fixing our marriage, ten times out of ten. It’s hard to place value in something when your partner doesn’t. And beyond that,” I clear my throat, drawing composure from the serenity of our surroundings, “I returned home one day to find that our home—the one that we’d created together—had gone up in flames. I didn’t know if my husband, or any of our belongings, had survived. It turns out he had been drinking all day, and the accident was a result of his negligence. That was the last straw for me.” Dane doesn’t respond, and I respect his silence more than he knows.
“I tried everything I could think of before it got to that point—counseling, rehab. Nothing was enough to inspire him to change. He would always revert to the drinking. I think he felt trapped by routine and predictability. His spontaneity was exciting at first—it reminded me of my younger days, when life was more carefree. I didn’t realize how chaotic it was to my own being. I guess I finally began to crave stability. Someone I could rely on to be there for me when I needed them. Now, I can do life how I want. I can stray from the parameters of my comfort zone on my own time and not feel obligated to listen to what anyone else has to say about it.” My lips snap closed, and I wait to feel regret seep into the recesses those self-centered words leave in my mind.
“That sounds a little selfish,” I admit, shaking my head and stabbing my walking stick into the ground extra hard. This is why I don’t bother explaining myself to anyone.
“Hey—I wouldn’t have asked about you and how you felt if I didn’t really want to know. It doesn’t make you selfish that you couldn’t support him and his issues any longer. People like him have to find the strength in themselves to change. You gave him your support, but you can’t expect a relationship to progress if only one of the participants is giving it their all.”
I chance another glance at h
im and see that his expression is sincere. It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s more openminded than I gave him credit for, but it does.
“On a more positive note, we’ve reached our destination.” His declaration makes me look up, and I halt in place, mid-step, taking in the scene before us. We’ve reached the end of a rocky outcropping where the land descends sharply below us, lending us unobstructed views of forestry in all directions and a sparkling lake in the distance. It’s so breathtaking I can’t even remember how long we’ve been walking.
I am awestruck. The landscape is a canvas of greens and ochres, and I’m certain I’ve never seen anything look so alive. Dane scans the topography with wonderment like it’s his first time seeing it, when I’m fairly certain it’s not. He navigated those trails like a seasoned pro, and I suspect he did it all to get me here, to this view. It makes me and all my problems feel so, so small.
“If you’d told me this was the goal, I wouldn’t have been so grumpy at the beginning,” I finally say when I catch my words.
“Ah, it wasn’t so bad.” He turns to me, revealing a grin that rivals the beauty of the setting. Meanwhile, his eyes trace a languid path down to my mouth. “Besides, I kind of enjoyed seeing you speechless.”
I shake my head wryly to cover up my blush.
Dane just steps around me, lifting my backpack so I can slip my arms out of the harness. At this point, I’m too tired and amazed to be self-conscious about the backpack-sweat trails that have formed on my chest and shoulders.
“The mysterious backpack. Whatever could it hold?”
“Our reward,” he says ambiguously.
From his own backpack, Dane pulls out a couple of rolled towels, handing them to me. I wonder what we could possibly need them for until he produces a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, and I almost deflate with relief. When it comes to hiking equipment, I don’t think it can get any better than that. I spread the towels out over the softest patch of ground I can find, lounging on one while he pours the wine into two plastic cups.
“Here you are,” he says, handing me one. He extends his own in a toast, and I clink mine against it. “To finding ourselves in Heronwood.”
“And to getting ourselves out of Heronwood.” I give him a pointed look, bringing the wine to my lips.
“And to finding our way out of this forest, because I don’t really know how we got here in the first place.”
I pause mid-sip, mumbling, “Shut up,” from the mouth of my cup.
“Really, you were distracting me with all that truth.”
I roll my eyes as Dane sinks down beside me, encircling his bent knees with his arms. Here, amongst nothing but trees and rocks and nature, I somehow sense that I’m witnessing him in his element.
“I’m joking,” he says. “Mostly.”
“Well, in case we have to get all Survivor out here, what else did you bring?”
Dane snaps and points at me. “Oh yeah, kind of the whole point of the backpack.” He begins to root through my bag, selecting items and placing them on the towel between us. A bag of grapes. A block of cheese. A loaf of French bread and a wrapped roll of prosciutto and mozzarella. All items I would never expect, coming from him.
“This might be the fanciest hike I’ve ever been on,” I comment.
“Been on a lot of hikes?”
“Nope. Did you happen to bring a knife with you as well?” I unwrap the block of cheese and look up at him questioningly.
“Shit. I knew there was something I forgot. I mean, yes, of course I have a knife. Not one clean enough to cut something we plan on eating, though.” Brushing his hands off on his pants, he rifles through his bag again, all but turning it upside down to find something that will suffice.
“It’s fine, we can just—” I nibble a corner of the cheese and take a swallow of wine, moaning my approval. Cheese is cheese, when you get down to it.
“That works, too.” His approval is evident from his smile, and he accepts the cheese from me and bites off another corner.
We eat and drink for a while, sharing the food and the silence and the magnificent view. As the time passes, the air grows cooler, and I pull my jacket back on and wrap my arms around my knees. Dane notices, offering me his jacket as well, but I insist that I’m fine. I’m already back to questioning my every move, and the quiet moment just makes it easier for me to hear an echo of all the confessions I made earlier. I don’t need to envelope myself in his jacket, his smell, to complicate things further.
Dusting bread crumbs off my leggings, I sit back, pine needles crunching beneath my palms. I shoot a glance at Dane, but he’s watching something in the distance, in silent reflection. The hike was a nice reprieve from the norm, but we didn’t have to come all the way out here to spend time together. We could’ve gone anywhere in town.
“Why are we out here, Dane?” I ask quietly.
“We’ve been through this. You insulted me, for one,” he says, but the slight curve of his lips shows me he’s no longer offended, if he was ever. “Then you interrupted what would have been a relaxing, uneventful Saturday evening.”
“Yes, but why are we here? In the woods? Dinner would’ve been less work.”
“Dinner would’ve been well within your territory,” he says simply, and I quirk my head at him. What is he getting at? His right eyebrow lifts skeptically. “You haven’t figured it out?”
“Obviously not.” I shrug, dragging the heel of my shoe through the detritus.
“You keep things from people. For their benefit or for yours, I can’t tell. You won’t open your mouth for anything but a smart comment unless you’re preoccupied doing something else. I wanted to learn more about you, so I had to figure out a way to keep you busy. Something that’s appropriate for the current state of our relationship, of course, don’t think that didn’t cross my mind, too,” he says in response to my dirty look. “And something that would be fun for both of us.”
“You distracted me so you could find out more about my past?” I ask. I had all but dropped my guard, and now my tone is edged in ice. I don’t enjoy being outsmarted, but I especially hate being tricked.
“Better than going behind your back and getting the version from someone else, right?”
Damn. “Ouch.”
“I don’t blame you for being cautious. I just wish it were easier for you to trust my side of the story,” he says, and though his tone is soft, it’s also curt.
I nod absentmindedly until I remember one important point. “You actually haven’t told me anything about your side of the story.”
“I know.” He grimaces, focuses on something in the distance again. “I haven’t been avoiding it, I just wanted to wait until the right time. Then I realized there is no right time. Not for this. That’s also why I chose this place. It’s like nature knows no lies. Everything seems easier to say out here.”
I brace myself without even realizing it. I haven’t known him to tiptoe around a subject the way he is now.
Dane’s eyes land on mine. I can feel his intensity. “There’s a lot of truth in the things you heard, I won’t deny that. Some of the stories have been twisted over time, but the gist is true.”
I feel my heart drop an inch in my chest. Criminal. Drug-affiliated. Assaulter. The comments from the other women repeat in my mind, but Dane’s calm gaze muffles them. I don’t know what should worry me more: placidity or anger.
“Tell me,” I say. I see his chest rise when he takes a breath.
“The incident with Grant Michaels—that’s true. I was charged with assault. I didn’t bother to explain myself because it always comes out as an excuse.”
I find myself agreeing to that last part. I know more about that than he is aware of. “Like you said, this place knows no lies. I’ll just have to trust that what you say is true.”
Dane’s expression darkens, as if he’s mentally checked out of the present. “It was during one of my games—baseball. Grant’s son Zaine was my teammate, and Coach decided not
to start him that game. When Grant showed up and saw his boy on the bench, he got right up next to the fence, leaning over it and reaming Coach out. We all know to stay out of stuff like that, so we just hung back and watched. But then I saw Grant gesturing toward me, saying that if it wasn’t for my sick mother, I wouldn’t be starting in Zaine’s place. Him mentioning my mother—that got me up off that bench faster than a gunshot. I had tried to keep quiet, but seeing that level of disrespect—him talking down to coach like he was a lower than a dog—with nobody there to take up for him, I just couldn’t stand by any longer. When I tried to defend Coach, Grant called my mother a worthless druggie whore who’d been passed around town more times than he could count.” I wince at the words, even though a decade of time separates us from them.
“I lost it. When people say they see red when they’re angry, I believe them. Everything looked red at that moment. The diamond, the people in the stands. I even felt red—it was like my heartbeat was everywhere. I punched Grant right in the nose without a second thought. But that wasn’t enough. I hopped the fence and continued to beat his ass, only stopping because three of my teammates pulled me off and two of them ended up on the ground. Coach heard the words, and so did half the team, but this town is as corrupt as anywhere. He was always gunning for a favorable position in the community, and everyone in the stands was willing to back up Grant’s claim that I assaulted him over his criticism of my baseball skills. Nobody was going to jump in and defend the kid they all thought came from trash. Even with Coach’s statement, I was charged with assault. I wish I could say I regret it, but I don’t. I know who I am. Who I was. If I have to deal with the consequences for defending Coach, and the most precious thing there was to me at the time, so be it.”
