by Roxie Noir
Hunter’s handsome. He’s charming. He’s a fucking fireman, and worse, all that shit comes naturally to him. There’s no reason at all that he should be with some quiet nerd, and I’ve always known it.
The only question is when he’ll finally figure it out and leave me.
“I can’t,” I say, my voice coming out a strangled whisper.
He looks at me, his face flat and unreadable.
“Can’t what?” he says.
“I can’t do this with you,” I say, a single sob escaping me. “People don’t change. I should have known better to think you did.”
“I haven’t changed?” he says, incredulously. “You ignore me for days and now we’re fighting in a bathroom and I’m the one who hasn’t changed?”
“I haven’t fucking changed either, then!” I say. I’m trying to keep my voice down, but I think I might be bordering on hysterical. “I’m the same and you’re the same and let’s just skip the part where we have fun together because I already know how this ends, so let’s just get it over with.”
Better now than thirty years from now, I think, even as I’m trying so hard not to cry that I’m shaking.
Hunter’s just staring at me, his mouth slightly open, like he’s not quite sure what just happened. I push past him, wipe my face furiously, and leave the bathroom. Everyone is looking at me as I put on my things and then rush out of the house.
Lightning flashes overhead as I run the fifty feet to my own front door, even though I think the rain is starting to slack off. Trout greets me inside, happy as ever, and I throw my stuff on the floor and head upstairs immediately, flopping miserably onto my bed.
Then I lie there and cry. I cry until I’ve got the hiccups and I can’t cry anymore, because I can’t believe this happened again, with the same person, and I can’t believe I didn’t handle it better this time, I can’t believe my parents are getting divorced. I can’t believe my mom cheated on my dad.
The worst part is how it hurts again, the same way it did when he went off to Afghanistan, so pumped and excited to be in the Marines, doing something for his country, while I was trying to get through my first couple weeks of college. Every time we talked he was all smiles, friends with everyone else there, while I was usually alone in my dorm room, pretty sure that everyone I knew was at a cool party I hadn’t been invited to.
Back then I thought he cheated on me. Not that I ever had any evidence, but the women in his unit all seemed to really like him. He was halfway around the world, how would I ever find out?
I’m not sure I think that any more, but it’s better to just nip this in the bud than have months of drama play out again.
I stay there, on my bed in the dark, for a long time and just feel sorry for myself. It feels like nothing is stable, like I can’t take anything for granted. Like I’m crossing a rickety bridge and don’t know what’s on the other side.
Someone knocks softly on my bedroom door, but I don’t answer it. They knock again, and then I hear Mandy’s voice quietly calling my name, but I still don’t get up, because I’m not sure I can explain what just happened. Finally, I hear her footsteps heading back down the hallway, and I heave a sigh of relief.
After a long time, I get up. The lights are back on, so I heat leftovers, watch dumb TV. I go to bed at eight, because I don’t want to be awake any more.
I feel like an empty, hollow shell, but a dumb one who can’t learn from her mistakes. At least I fall asleep fast.
12
Hunter
I watch Clementine leave, and I don’t follow her, even though part of me wants to. But what the fuck am I going to say? Am I going to stand there, get soaking wet, and beg her to forgive me?
And for what, the horrible crime of touching another girl? Clementine and I aren’t together. She made damn sure I knew that before she left for a couple of days, but now she’s acting like I’ve betrayed her somehow.
The guys in the living room glance at me quickly, then go back to pretending they can’t see me and didn’t overhear the giant fight we got into. I turn around and head back through the kitchen, to the screened-in back porch, where I stand and watch the storm.
She says I haven’t changed, but she’s the one who saw me with another girl and went fucking nuclear. She’s the one who kept me at arm’s distance for two full days. I know two days isn’t that much.
If we’d just met, I wouldn’t care, but there’s a long pattern here. Before we broke up, for days I’d call her and she wouldn’t answer, she wouldn’t email back, until finally she’d call at three in the morning her time, drunk, and want to talk.
You know what it feels like to be eighteen, in a war zone, half-thinking you’ll get blown up any second, and your girlfriend won’t even take your calls?
Shitty. That’s how.
We never even technically broke up. Neither of us ever said we should break up to the other. True, our last fight was pretty spectacular, and I said a lot of things I didn’t mean. But it was only our last because Clementine suddenly went totally silent on me.
She didn’t answer my calls, didn’t answer my emails, nothing. After a week I stopped, decided we’d broken up, and signed up for another tour just to get back at her.
I stand on the back porch for a long, long time. Flecks of rain fly in through the screen, so I’m covered in a fine sheet of water, but I don’t move. Mandy and Lucy both leave, I think, or at least I hear them saying goodbye to Silas.
The storm slows, moving away, and eventually the rain stops. I glance at the house next door, where Clementine lives. There’s a gnawing feeling in my gut, knowing that this time she’s right there.
I could go over there. We could talk this over, like the adults we’ve become. But it’s not what she fucking wants, so history’s gonna repeat itself.
I head inside at last. The guys are all looking at me, but I don’t say anything. I can’t even explain this shit to myself, I’m not gonna try it out loud. I just take a long, hot shower, eat dinner, and go to bed.
I feel a little better the next morning. I remember that from before, too: sleeping always helped.
At breakfast, everything is tense. Not because of me. It’s not like I’m the first guy who’s had a huge fight in front of everyone. We’re together all day, every day. Shit happens.
It’s because we could be leaving for Utah any minute. The Wasatch fire is still borderline, so we’re all checking updates, trying to get ourselves mentally prepared. It’s toward the end of fire season, and we’re all tired. The men with spouses and kids want to go home, and the rest of us aren’t looking forward to sleeping on the ground.
I’m just afraid I’ll leave and not get to say goodbye to Clementine. Even if it didn’t work between us again, I at least want that.
I’m still brooding over that when Porter walks into the kitchen and stands in the doorway between it and the living room.
“Is everyone here?” he asks.
We all look around, tense, and shrug.
I guess we’re heading to Utah, I think.
“I need a couple of volunteers to hike to some fire lookouts,” he says. “There were a number of lightning strikes in the national forest last night, and there have been a number of smoke reports.”
“Fire lookouts?” someone asks.
“That’s correct,” Porter says, speaking like there’s a stick up his ass, per usual.
“There’s no satellite or helicopter?” the guy asks again.
Porter runs one hand through his hair, then crosses his arms.
“This has been a very long, trying fire season,” he says, and for once, his voice softens. “It’s the biggest on record, and it’s not even September yet. Every crew has been running ragged for months. We lost twelve men at Kaibab.”
We’re all silent, waiting for him to explain why there’s no helicopters.
“Frankly, this season has been longer, hotter, and bigger than anyone anticipated,” he goes on. “We’re running on empty, resourc
e-wise, and there’s not much to spare to look for more fires. All that equipment is monitoring current, active fires, so we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Heads nod, somberly. Everyone looks at their hands, because Porter is right: it’s been a long, tough season, and it’s not even over yet.
Porter takes a deep breath, straightens, and apparently jams the stick back up his butt.
“Each volunteer will be accompanying a forest ranger to an existing lookout tower in the Big Sky National Forest,” he says. “The rangers know the forest, and from there, you can help them assess any possible ignition points. They’re long hikes, but there’s a bed and shelter at the end, so at least there’s that.”
I stopped listening at accompanying a forest ranger. My stupid heart leaps, even though it shouldn’t.
“Volunteers?” he asks.
My hand shoots up, along with a few other guys. Porter pulls out a notepad and looks carefully around the room, giving each volunteer a good long look, then nodding.
“Miller,” he says, writing the name down. “Dewar. Lawson. Snyder.”
He pauses, glancing past me, like he’s trying to see if there’s anyone else.
“I’ll volunteer,” I say. I have the urge to wave my hand in the air like a school kid, but I resist.
He gives me a long, hard look. He glances around again. No other takers.
Come the fuck on, I think. You’ll get rid of me for a couple days. What more could you want?
Finally, he gives a short sigh.
“Casden,” he says, and writes my name down.
Within thirty minutes I’m standing next to a truck behind the visitor center, next to the other four guys. It’s not even eight in the morning yet, but we’ve been given maps, been briefed, and now we’re just waiting for the forest rangers to come out and meet us.
It feels strangely like I’m in middle school, waiting to be chosen for dodgeball. On the way over, it occurred to me that she might not even be one of the rangers hiking up to a lookout point. I might be making sure I don’t see her again before my unit leaves town, which I didn’t even think about in my eagerness.
All I can do is cross my fingers and pray.
At last, I see five figures walking toward us, and my heart squeezes as I scan over them.
She’s not — wait, yes she is. She’s slightly behind someone else, her frame pack is changing the way she walks, and she’s wearing a huge hat, but it’s her.
I feel like I might melt with relief.
Clementine’s not more than halfway to where we’re standing when she sees me, her mouth flattening just a little. She doesn’t look surprised, though.
Mike, the guy in charge of this whole Forest division, claps his hands together and rubs them.
“Thanks to everyone for being available on such short notice,” he says. “I’m sorry for the haste and lack of preparation, but we’re stretched pretty thin right now, and as you know, lightning strikes represent a serious danger to several mountain communities, particularly with the dryness of the season.”
He talks like a brochure or something, I think.
“You’ve all been briefed, so, any questions?” he asks.
We all look around, then shrug. It seems pretty simple: hike a long-ass way, sleep in a glass cabin on top of a mountain, see if there’s a fire, come back.
Mike shrugs.
“Well, then, everyone pick your hiking buddy and let’s get this show on the road.”
Everyone else starts mingling. Some introductions are made, and Silas and Daniel both glance at me, then at Clementine, but they heard pretty much everything last night and have obviously decided to steer clear.
I look at her.
She looks at me. Then she looks away. Then she looks back. Finally, she steps forward.
“Hiking buddies?” she asks quietly.
We toss our packs into the back of a Forest Service pickup and drive to the access point of a fire road, forty-five minutes away. It’s blazingly sunny today, and everything has that shiny, painful brightness that happens after a hard rain sometimes, like the world’s been scrubbed a little too vigorously.
Neither of us says much. She drives, country western on the radio, and I follow along on the detailed topo maps we have, though it’s more so I know where we are than to give her directions. Clementine seems to know where she’s going, and she doesn’t ask for my input.
I don’t mind the quiet. I don’t think she’s mad at me, or at least, she doesn’t seem like it. Clementine is just quiet sometimes, usually when she’s trying to work something out with herself.
When we were together, I couldn’t stand that about her. She’d go quiet like this, and I’d needle her, trying to get her to talk to me, and then we’d fight.
But now, in the car, I don’t say anything. I just enjoy the scenery. We’ve got at least a day and a half together. She can have some time to figure out what she wants to say.
Clementine parks at the rutted dirt entrance point to a fire road, just outside a gate, and turns off the truck. For a moment she looks out the windshield at the woods, then over at me, her eyes somber.
“Ready for a hike?” she says.
“Wait, we have to hike up there?” I tease.
She looks pissed.
“Kidding,” I say, feeling lame that my joke didn’t land. “I volunteered for a hike.”
“Oh,” she says, relief in her voice. “Okay, good.”
We get our stuff from the back, spend a few minutes adjusting hats and putting on sunscreen, and then we set out. Even though it’s technically called a fire road, the path is both too narrow and way, way too rocky for any vehicles to get up here. Maybe once upon a time, but not now.
Thirty minutes pass. Then forty-five. I start wondering whether I’m right about her silence, or whether I really should say something.
We stop to drink some water, and I turn around to look at the road below us. I’m always amazed at how quickly I climb when I’m hiking, because it feels slow, but when I look, it’s been so far.
Down below, there’s almost nothing but forest. In the far distance I can barely make out a town — not Lodgepole, we’re not facing that direction — and beyond that, a long grassy stretch, but even that’s hard to see.
Nope. From here, it’s just trees, birds chirping, the sound of the breeze. Clementine screws the lid back on her water bottle and hooks it back to her frame pack. Then she looks back at the vista.
There’s a long moment where neither of us says anything, and we just look out at the scenery. Then, at last, Clementine speaks.
“Did you hear Judson Hollins from high school is running for state senate?” she asks.
I glance at her, but she’s looking out at the view, not at me. I’m relieved all the same.
“That’s old news,” I say. “You didn’t hear the rest of the story?”
Clementine looks up at me. For a moment, her eyes are serious, but then she raises one eyebrow.
“I guess not,” she says.
“He got a stripper pregnant,” I tell her. “He’s not running any more.”
Clementine’s eyes go wide.
“Judson did?” she says, and then presses her lips together like she’s trying to suppress a smile. “That pompous, preachy, holier-than-thou asshole got a stripper pregnant?”
“Clem, you have to get on the internet more,” I say.
“That poor girl,” she says. “Did Charity stay with him?”
“She did,” I say. “So far, anyway. We’ll see what happens if he gets caught again.”
“Shit,” she whispers.
We start hiking again, and for a few moments, Clementine is quiet again, thinking over this new information.
Clementine couldn’t stand Charity in high school, because not only was Charity the picture of the prim, proper nice girl, she looked down on anyone who wasn’t as prissy as her.
“What’s that word for kind of enjoying someone else’s mis
fortune?” I ask. “I think that’s what you’re doing right now.”
“Schadenfreude,” Clementine says. “And yes. Yes, I am currently having some schadenfreude, Hunter.”
I duck under a branch, then hold it out of the way for her.
“Though I prefer karma, because she was such a bitch,” Clementine goes on. “Remember when she caught us making out in the equipment room after school one day and then, every time I saw her for the next month, she told me she’d pray for my impure, sinning soul?”
I don’t remember that time exactly, but only because we made out in there a lot. I was twenty-three before the smell of used sporting equipment stopped giving me a hard-on.
“I didn’t know she did that,” I say. “That’s...”
I trail off, not sure I have the right word for it, exactly.
“Fucked up? Not very Christian? Yeah,” Clementine says. “And now her husband knocked up a stripper.”
She takes a deep breath.
“Sorry,” she says. “That wasn’t very nice of me. But she was just the worst.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say.
Clementine looks over at me, and finally, there’s a smile on her face.
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m sure she could still fuck up my reputation if she wanted.”
I grin back. This feels good, talking like old friends while we hike.
“Maybe she’ll spread rumors that you tried pot once while you were in college,” I tease.
“Once?” Clementine says.
It’s not perfect. It’s not what I wanted. What I wanted — hell, what I still want — is Clementine’s nails raking down my back while she moans my name. Right now, even though she’s wearing ugly hiking pants, a shapeless shirt, and an enormous hat, just the way she looks at me makes me think about what she looks like naked.
She looks good naked, by the way.
“Careful who you tell that to,” I say. “Next thing you know, you’ll be fresh out of rehab, according to Charity.”
“If I hear that rumor, I’ll know it was you,” she says. “And you’re not gonna turn me in to the moral police, right?”
