Tell Me

by Strom, Abigail

  She didn’t know what to say. But Caleb was still talking, and maybe all she had to do was listen.

  “You might think, if he was so concerned, that he would have waited a month or two. Or three, even. March would have been perfect. No holidays in March, right? Except for Saint Patrick’s Day, and who gives a shit about Saint Patrick’s Day?”

  Her insides were all twisted up. She tried to imagine one of her parents doing something like that and what it would have done to her.

  Caleb shifted to face her. “And then, if he made it to March, he might have decided he could wait until summer. And then fall. And then winter again. And then it might have occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t fucking kill himself at all, because no matter when he did it, he’d be blowing a hole in our lives that could never be fixed.”

  There was a long silence, and the cold and the dark seemed to deepen. She wanted to warm Caleb up somehow, the way he’d warmed her up last December, but that would involve leaving the car for the motel, and she couldn’t seem to move.

  “So where do you go at Christmas?” she asked softly.

  “Hiking. Different places, but always by myself . . . and always somewhere with ice and snow.”

  “Why?” Another terrible thought occurred to her. “You don’t . . . you’re not hoping to die, are you?”

  He shook his head. “Just the opposite. Solo hiking in winter is dangerous. One mistake can cost your life.” He paused. “It’s a reminder that being alive isn’t easy. It’s a struggle. You have to work for it. And every time I do, I’m reminding myself that I don’t want to die.”

  She remembered him last December, coming into her apartment and working, cleaning, cooking, taking on all the basic tasks of life she’d let go. Making sure she had food to eat and a hot drink and clean sheets to sleep on.

  She thought about what he did for a living. And she remembered the story Sam had told, about the boy with the broken leg Caleb had carried for three miles.

  He knew how to keep himself warm in the wilderness, but he could keep other people warm, too. If someone was in his care, he’d do whatever it took to keep them safe.

  “Why did your father do it? Did he say in the note?”

  “No. He just said he was sorry and that he hoped we could forgive him.”

  “Why do you think he did it?”

  “A lot of reasons. My mother had left a year before, and he never got over it. And the ranch was struggling. It had been in our family for five generations, and he was afraid he’d be the one to lose it.”

  All the years she’d known him, and he’d never told her any of this.

  “Your mother left? Where is she now?”

  “Who knows. Tijuana, maybe? She calls once in a while. She’s a singer, likes to travel. My father met her at some honky-tonk in Colorado Springs back in the day and swept her off her feet.” It was hard to tell in the darkness, but she thought he smiled. “Women love a cowboy. At first, anyway.”

  His father dead by suicide, and his mother off on the road somewhere. Her heart ached at the thought of the eleven-year-old boy whose mother had abandoned him and the twelve-year-old boy whose father had killed himself.

  “Your mother didn’t come back after your father died?”

  “No. Not even for the funeral.”

  God, that was brutal. “Was that when your aunt moved to the ranch?”

  “Yeah. She was a CPA in Denver, but after Dad died, she moved out to the ranch and never looked back. She was like a mom to Hunter and me, and a business genius to boot. She got that place humming like a buzz saw. It’s still a working ranch, but she turned part of it into a dude ranch. People come from all over to stay there.”

  Caleb often spoke about his aunt Rosemary and his brother Hunter. But he usually talked about what they were doing now, seldom delving into the past. The few stories she’d heard about Caleb’s childhood had been about animals, not people. The horses he’d trained and the dog he’d grown up with who was part wolf, part husky, and tried to go with him to school every September. She and Sam had learned that you couldn’t make Caleb answer any question he didn’t want to.

  He’d never said a word about any of this.

  Caleb reached out and tugged on her braid. “I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t asked me why I spend Christmas alone.”

  She tried to ignore the little tingles at the back of her neck. “I’m not wishing that at all. Why would you think so?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a depressing story.”

  “But it’s your story. I’m glad you told me.” A wave of guilt went through her. “After Sam died, I didn’t think about you. I only thought about my own grief. But you loved Sam as much as I did. And you’ve lost more people you love than I have.”

  “It’s not a contest,” he said gently.

  “I know. But when you came to see me in December, you took care of me. I wish I’d tried to take care of you, too.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t you know I’d rather take care of you than the other way around?”

  There was another silence, but this one felt different somehow. She was trying to figure out how when Caleb spoke again.

  “Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you ever think about that night?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The cold disappeared, driven away by adrenaline and her pounding heart. Blood rushed to every corner of her body.

  “No,” she said.

  He moved in the darkness, and she was aware of his size, his power. In an instant, everything had changed. They’d been talking about the past, thinking about the past, but now it was as if the past had never been and the future didn’t matter.

  There was only the present.

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re thinking about it right now.”

  She pressed herself back against the car door. She’d given in to this feeling last December because she’d felt so lost, and because she wanted him so much, and because she’d convinced herself that since the world was such a shithole she might as well have one good thing, one moment of bliss in all the emptiness and grief. She’d known it wouldn’t last, but in December it hadn’t mattered.

  Now it did.

  “Well, of course I’m thinking about it now,” she said. “You just brought it up.”

  “I bet you think about it all the time. I bet you think about me every night.”

  God, did she? There had to be some nights she didn’t think about Caleb in those vulnerable moments right before sleep came.

  “I do not.”

  “Yeah, you do. You know how I know?”

  “I—”

  “Because I think about you every night, too.”

  Her heart stopped.

  “I think about the snow falling outside and your Harry Potter pajamas and how goddamn beautiful you looked. I think about your nails on my back and your legs around my waist. I think about sinking inside you and wanting to stay there forever. I think about the look on your face when you came.”

  She closed her eyes. “Caleb—”

  “It’s okay.”

  She opened her eyes again, wondering how she could have ever thought it was cold in here. Her body was like a furnace.

  Caleb looked at her for a moment, and she wished she could see his face.

  Then he reached behind him to open the door, and a draft of cold air came in to cool the fever in her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know it’s not going to happen again. I just wanted you to know that I think about it.” He paused. “Good night, Jane.”

  He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, and she watched him cross the parking lot and go into his room.

  “Good night, Caleb,” she whispered.

  When morning came, a steady rain was falling.

  Jane sat up in bed and looked out at the grayness. It was just after dawn, and the slate-colored sky looked full of more rai
n to come. Her heart sank into her toes at the thought of hiking up a mountain in that. Would it even be safe? Maybe Caleb would say they had to wait.

  As though thinking of him had been a signal, there was a knock at her door.

  A sudden flush spread from her neck to her face. Last night when she’d gone back to her room, she’d been unable to sleep. Her restlessness had eased only when she thought about Caleb, and thinking had led to . . .

  Would he be able to tell somehow?

  The knock came again, and she jumped out of bed. Of course Caleb wouldn’t be able to tell. She was being ridiculous.

  And anyway, he’d said he thought about her, too. Wasn’t it likely that his thoughts led the same place hers had, at least once in a while?

  Okay, wrong thing to focus on if she wanted the heat in her cheeks to subside.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Caleb was wearing some very professional-looking rain gear—jacket and pants—and equally professional-looking hiking boots.

  He’d told her to buy a pair of boots or trail running shoes and break them in before their trip, but she’d decided that was too much trouble. She’d brought her sneakers instead.

  She wondered what Caleb would say when he found out.

  “You’re not dressed yet,” Caleb said, frowning at her.

  He sounded critical, but that was better than Hey, Jane, I can totally tell you were fantasizing about me last night.

  “I must have slept through my alarm.” She hesitated. “So, I guess we’re going ahead with the trip?”

  “You mean because of the rain? We can wait a day if you want, but you might miss Horn-Rims at the bridge on May 1.”

  “No! We don’t have to wait. It’s just, uh, really wet.” She hesitated again. “We could . . . well, skip the hike completely. I don’t have to go now. It’s not like there’s a deadline or anything. I meant to go this summer, or even next year. We don’t have to—”

  But Caleb was already shaking his head. “You need to do this, Jane.”

  Man, he could be bossy sometimes.

  This time, though, she had a feeling he might be right.

  “Fine. Give me five minutes?”

  “Sure.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out an impossibly tiny packet of material, shaking it out into a rain jacket and rain pants like the ones he wore. “I got these for you in the city in case of bad weather.”

  They looked to be her size. “Wow. Thank you.”

  “Wear warm layers. I’ll be in the car,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Long underwear, flannel shirt, wool sweater, down jacket. Too much for the beginning of the hike, maybe—the temperature was in the sixties, mild in spite of the rain—but she was betting she’d be glad for the warmth when they got to the top of the mountain. And she could always carry what she didn’t want to wear.

  She put on the rain jacket and used the down jacket to cover Sam’s urn, keeping it dry for the dash across the parking lot. She put it in the back seat like she had yesterday, buckling it in and then taking her seat next to Caleb.

  “All set?” he asked.

  She nodded. “All set.”

  It was quiet in the car without the audiobook in the background. The rain drummed against the roof, and when they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, the wipers couldn’t go fast enough to keep up.

  “So, it’s definitely safe to hike in the rain, then?” she ventured after a few minutes.

  “You need to be careful with your footing, especially if you’re walking on mud or slick rocks, and you need to watch out for swollen creeks. But we should be fine, especially if you’ve got good”—he glanced at her feet—“shoes.”

  Oops.

  “Well, they are good sneakers,” she said defensively.

  “They’re not waterproof.”

  “No.”

  “They won’t give you any ankle support.”

  “Well . . . no.”

  He sighed. “But it’s just a day hike, so you should be all right. You might get blisters, though.”

  “Blisters? I don’t want blisters.”

  “You should have brought decent shoes, then. But I’ll do my best to take care of your feet.”

  They drove another few minutes in silence. “You know, I just thought of something.”

  He glanced at her. “Yeah?”

  “I could sort of deputize you to go up the mountain for me. I’ll stay down here in the car, and you can bring Sam’s ashes up to the summit.”

  “Nice try.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes that’s a no, or—”

  “We’re here.”

  He stopped the car in a deserted lot. A few yards away, she could see the beginning of a trail into the woods.

  She couldn’t see very far along it, but she assumed the trail led up the mountain looming in front of them, obscured by the rain, its top shrouded in mist like something out of The Lord of the Rings.

  That thought made her feel a little more cheerful. If she could imagine this was a scene in a book, maybe she’d get through it better.

  But any vision of this hike as a storybook adventure was dimmed when she opened the back door and picked up Sam’s ashes. Whatever else this journey might be, it was the last one she’d ever take with her sister.

  Caleb had brought a small pack for the urn, which was a relief. She hadn’t even thought about the mechanics of carrying it, and in the moments between getting it out of the car and Caleb pulling the pack out of the trunk, she’d had a vision of herself holding it in her arms like a baby, all the way up the mountain.

  The pack was the perfect size for the urn and her down jacket. She slung it over her shoulders, feeling the weight settle against her shoulder blades.

  The rain was coming down as steadily as ever. In spite of the hood she’d pulled tight under her chin, droplets leaked under the edges and tickled her neck. She leaned against the car, head down, feeling wet and forlorn.

  Suddenly Caleb was there, tilting her chin up with one hand.

  “How you doing?” he asked, and the hint of amusement in his voice was more annoying than usual.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  His looming presence protected her from the rain, and she was able to glare up at him. He looked warm and dry and competent in his gear, unlike her, and even though the pack he carried was five times heavier than hers, he made it seem like nothing at all.

  “Aren’t you carrying a lot of stuff for a day hike?”

  “We’re going to the summit, the weather is shitty, and you’re not an experienced hiker. Put all that together, and it’s a plan-for-all-contingencies kind of trip. I’m hoping we won’t need a third of what I’m bringing.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiled down at her. “Ready to go?”

  “You bet.”

  He handed her two aluminum poles with wrist straps and soft grips for her hands.

  “What are these?”

  “Trekking poles,” he said. “They’ll help with your balance and your footing, and they’ll absorb some of the shock as you’re walking, which is good for your knees and ankles.”

  She slipped her hands through the straps. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll lead the way,” he said. “That way I’ll be able to test out the terrain first, make sure it’s stable. I won’t be able to hear you very well, so give a shout if you need anything, okay? Or you could poke me in the back with one of your poles,” he added with a grin.

  He seemed remarkably cheerful in spite of the rain, and it occurred to her for the first time that out here, he was in his element. All the time they’d spent together in New York, he’d been in hers.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Okay, then. Here we go.”

  Her feet were soaked after only twenty minutes.

  It was her own fault. They were crossing a shallow stream, the rushing water less than an inch deep where they forded i
t, but when she was distracted by a little frog she saw hopping from stone to stone, she’d stepped off the fording area and into water deep enough to cover her ankles.

  Caleb hadn’t seen, thank God. Feeling like a moron—a wet, uncomfortable moron—she clambered out of the stream and back onto the trail in time for Caleb to turn his head and check on her.

  “Doing okay?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  He set an easy pace—probably agonizingly slow to him—but it was still hard to keep up, and her wet feet didn’t help. There was only one positive development as the trek went on. As they hiked deeper into the woods, the trees above them provided some protection from the rain, which went from a steady downpour beating on her head and shoulders to a slow, depressing drizzle.

  But that small advantage was outweighed by the fact that the trail became steeper the farther they went. Her feet were already wet and aching, and now she felt the climb in her thighs and calves, too. Her muscles weren’t used to this type of exercise, and they protested it loudly.

  She became increasingly aware of the pack on her back, the weight of her sister’s ashes growing heavier and heavier and the straps chafing her shoulders.

  When they’d first started out, the pouring rain had encouraged her to keep her head down and her eyes on the ground. But as the trees overhead grew thicker, she could lift her head occasionally to watch Caleb walking ahead of her.

  His stride never faltered, and he carried himself like the pack on his back weighed nothing at all. He was strong and tireless and competent, and as she watched him, she felt weak and tired and inept.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she poked him in the shoulder with the tip of a trekking pole.

  “Hey!” she called out.

  He turned instantly. “Hey yourself,” he said with a grin. “How’s it going back there?”

  “I need a break. It feels like we’ve been going for hours.”

  “Well, forty-five minutes, anyway.”

  Her heart sank. Caleb had told her it would take three hours to reach the top of the mountain.