Brent walked over to the girls’ tent where Marta was crouched, putting on her tennis shoes. “I wish I’d thought to bring mine,” he said.

“You wish you had brought something with a little bit of pink?”

Brent grinned. “You’re pretty quick-witted. Have I ever told you that?”

“That I’m pretty or that I’m quick-witted?” she asked with a slight laugh, looking up at him.

“That you’re a brat,” countered Brent, not missing a beat.

Finished tying her shoes, Marta stood up.

“As a matter of fact, you have told me that.”

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled. Ready?”

“You bet! It’s going to be nice to have some alone time with you. Let me just grab my sweater.”

Marta ducked into her tent and grabbed her pink sweater, which caused Brent to playfully roll his eyes at her.

“What?” she said with a mock huff. “Pink makes the world feel better.”

Brent laughed out loud. The others around the fire looked back at them. Tara turned and gave them a quizzical stare. Brent felt compelled to give a quick explanation.

“We’ll be back soon. Just going for a little walk.”

As he began to walk away Marta took his arm. What the two of them didn’t see—nor did the others—was the fire that ignited in Tara’s eyes.

Brent and Marta walked along the gravel road that had led them down to the campsite off of the main trail. The back-packers would spend the night in what the trail map said was Massey Hollow. The combination of cricket song and lightning bugs made it amazing to behold. It was a beautiful, starlit night. The temperature had to be in the upper 60s; just cool enough for Marta’s sweater to be a smart choice for the walk.

Though it was unlike Marta to take Brent’s arm like she had, it felt comfortable, even reassuring, to him. His confidence had been waning as of late, and the fact that Marta would draw close, helped him realize that he was still viewed highly by her. And that, for some reason, was important to him.

Their pace was leisurely. They were near the main trail, about a quarter-mile from the camp, and still not a word had been spoken. They were so comfortable together. Why had they never been more than friends? It was a thought that played on Brent’s mind, once more. Maybe it was time to change that.

Brent’s mind flitted back to Tara, though. There was something about her that he desperately wanted. He was duly seduced, he recognized that. But it wasn’t something that he was unable to escape. Besides, there was something in him growing toward—maybe even drawing him to—Marta, as well.

As they reached the top of the road they turned around at the intersection and looked back down into the hollow. They could see the glow of the fire pit at the camp below.

“It’s almost magical,” whispered Marta.

“It is,” Brent replied.

Marta still had his right arm and he felt her shiver. He pulled his arm out and put it around her back drawing her to his side. She didn’t refuse his lead. He rubbed her back, hoping that the friction would generate some additional warmth. She leaned her head against his shoulder. In response, he laid his head against hers.

It just felt so right, and she didn’t seem to be doing anything but drawing closer to him. His heart rate picked up. He tried to keep his breathing steady so as to not hint at how nervous he was getting during this should-I-do-it? moment.

Brent decided to throw caution to the wind. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Brent?” Marta’s voice, soft and inviting, interrupted his own.

“Yes?” he said, echoing her softness.

“Will you tell me now?”

“Tell you …?” Then it struck Brent. He’d all but forgotten what Tara had told him about Marta’s desire for him, and how she was trying to make Tara out to be the bad girl.

“Tell me why you weren’t comfortable speaking to me or being around me this past week.” She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked up into his eyes.

The magic of the moment was over. He sighed.

Brent asked a question of his own first. “Is this why you were willing to forsake resting around the campfire in order to take a ‘lovely stroll in the cool of the evening’; to ask me that question?”

She smiled. “Maybe. Partly.”

Brent withdrew his arm from around Marta, paused for a moment, then took a couple steps forward, sticking his hands into his jean pockets. He wondered if Marta would step up to regain her place by his side, but she didn’t. She just waited for him to speak.

“Marta,” he began, “I didn’t mean to become so distant.”

She didn’t respond. He could visualize her standing behind him, eyes trained on the back of his head.

“It was something I learned. Or maybe I should say that it was something I was told.”

Marta broke her silence. “About?” There was a pause, then, “About me?”

“Yeah.”

Brent heard the sound of gravel as Marta took a step forward.

“Brent, turn around.” It wasn’t a request, but it also wasn’t harsh.

He turned to face her. A look of introspection and hurt filled her eyes. “What is it? What was said?”

Brent wouldn’t hold back what she so desperately wanted to know, but he didn’t want to cause undue embarrassment at what he was about to reveal. “Remember when you told me about the incident at the Army/Navy store with Tara?”

“Yes.”

“She confided in me her side of the story that took place that day.”

At that, Marta’s eyes went from hurt to curious. “She did? She told you … what? About her dad?”

“No, not about her dad. She told me about you.” Brent looked into her eyes, trying to gauge her response. Marta looked genuinely confused.

“Me? I don’t get it. What about me?”

“She said that the two of you…” Brent stopped, then took a different tack. “Don’t get angry.”

Marta’s eyes grew wider, expecting words that were, in fact, going to make her angry. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together. She waited for a moment for him to continue then raised her eyebrows, as if to say, ‘Yes?’

“She said that the two of you didn’t talk about her dad. She said…”

“What?” Her arms shot down to her sides. “We most certainly did!”

Brent continued. “She said that you had basically warned her to stay away from me.” He blanched at the words and looked down at her feet for a moment before looking back up to her face. He saw a change in her countenance. Her eyes grew dark and she pursed her lips for a couple of seconds before speaking.

“What else did she say?”

“Marta, come on, I’m sure…”

“Brent! Tell me now!”

Brent knew there was no reasoning with her at this point. He’d seen her angry a few times in the years that he’d known her and in those times she became unbending in her demand for answers.

“She told me that you had told her that because she’s not a Christian that she can’t have me. That because …” He sighed.

“Finish.”

“That because you are a Christian that you had more right to me, and that you made a veiled threat that she needs to back off of any romantic ideas that she might have toward me.”

“¡No puedo creer esto! ¡Esa perra!” she exclaimed, barely below a scream.

Brent didn’t know what the majority of that meant, but he recognized perra. Oh boy, he thought. This is going to get bad.

Marta was livid, but she hadn’t heard enough. “And the rest?”

Brent spilled the rest. “She said that the two of you never talked about her dad. She said that you probably told me that story so that I’d be less likely to raise the issue with her and get the truth. Or something close to that.”

Marta stared into Brent’s eyes for a few seconds, looking from one to the other, contemplating something behind her own. Then, without warning she walked by him and started back down the gravel road toward the campsite at a fast clip.

Brent scrambled to get beside her. “Marta. Come on! Stop! We’re not done.”

“Oh, yes, we are.”

“Stop!”

She didn’t.

Brent raised his voice and grabbed her left arm. “Marta! Stop!”

Marta spun to face him. “What!”

“Is any of it true?” Brent searched her eyes again.

“Not … a … word of it!” She turned, shrugged off his hand and resumed her descent.

Brent jogged up beside her, and, again, went to grab her arm. Whether by sensing it, or seeing it from her peripheral vision, she moved her left arm across her body, and said, “Don’t.”

“What are you going to do when you get down there?”

“I’m going to rip the strawberry-blonde hair out of her two-faced little head!”

10:26 P.M.

“WILL YOU JUST wait?!”

The question was loud and caught the other four campers by surprise.

Karen’s first thought was that Brent had done something to make Marta mad again. But when Marta rounded the stand of trees and made a bee-line for the fire pit where they were all still sitting, she knew it wasn’t Brent that was on her mind.

Hatred played on Marta’s face, and Karen could tell that she was aiming straight for Tara.

Tara noticed, too, and began to stand up.

Marta attempted to forcefully exert control. “Stay down, Tara!”

But Tara didn’t, and instead assumed a defensive posture, obviously expecting physical contact of some sort.

Now the others were standing up.

Brent darted into Marta’s path and grabbed both of her shoulders. He effectively stopped her approach, but not her tongue.

Marta looked around Brent to look straight into Tara’s eyes. “What’s wrong with you?! What is wrong with you?!” she screamed, tears of anger dropping from her eyelids.

To Karen, it appeared that Tara didn’t know what was going on, but that didn’t mean she didn’t do something to instigate the confrontation.

“Marta?” began Karen, as she rounded the campfire. “What’s going on?” She briefly looked back at Tara to make sure that she was keeping her distance. As she reached Brent she stood between Marta and Tara, causing Marta to look into her eyes. “Marta. Honey, what’s going on?” She tried to use words and a voice that would calm the situation.

Marta wriggled her right arm free from Brent and extended it past Karen, obviously pointing at Tara. “That wench!... That witch!...” She had trouble formulating a sentence that would explain. “She … she… You’re a liar, Tara! You are a filthy liar! I knew it! I knew it!” She looked back at Brent. “I told you! I told you there was something wrong with her!”

Karen tried, again, to settle things down. “Marta, tell me. Calm down and tell me.” It seemed to work as Marta’s eyes focused on her own.

At the same time, Terry and Eric also circled the pit to stand a little off from Brent, Karen, and Marta. It also worked to put another layer of protection between Marta and Tara, who, though still tense, was relaxing her posture a little bit. In fact, she crossed her arms to watch what was taking place before her.

“Come on, Marta. Talk to me,” prompted Karen again.

Marta seemed to find some small amount of concentration to formulate controlled sentences again. “She said that I was trying to keep Brent for myself. She said that I was trying to keep them apart.”

Karen processed that for a moment. “She told you that?”

“No!” snapped Marta. “Brent did!”

Then it clicked. Tara told Brent those things. She turned to face Tara.

They all turned to face Tara.

TARA TENSED UP again. She stood and watched the group turn to face her. She glanced at Marta for a hard second, then averted her eyes. Her brain engaged and began weighing options. The cat was out of the bag, and she wasn’t going to be able to simply bat her eyes and make it all go away this time. Denying it would be fruitless; Marta’s emotional state saw to that. Her only alternative was to confess to the group that she had tried to manipulate Brent.

Well, sort of confess.

Time to take her acting skills up to the next level.

Karen spoke up. “Tara, is that true?”

Here goes nothing, thought Tara. “Yes.” She thought about continuing, but recognized that letting Marta have her moment of vindication was the best way to play the situation.

Brent was next. “You played me?”

Tara dropped her head and gazed downward. “Yes,” she admitted just above a whisper. She heard some footsteps moving her way, figuring them to be Brent’s. She looked back up. It was Terry.

He came within ten feet of her and just stood looking at her. His gaze was penetrating, but without any sign of anger. His eyes were asking Why?

The direction she would take was only just coming to her mind when Terry prompted, “Tara, how about something more than one-word answers?”

Tara, again, looked toward Marta. She now stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows up, waiting for a reply. She thought she heard her whisper to Karen, “Told you.”

“It’s true,” Tara allowed. “I did say that to Brent.”

Brent again. “Okay. But why?”

Tara looked into Brent’s eyes. He was dumbfounded. What a simpleton. The lights are on, but no one’s home. It was time to dive in. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then quickly exhaled. She let her shoulders droop a little for effect. “Really, Brent? You don’t know?” She shook her head slightly. “I thought it was obvious.”

Brent tilted his head slightly, his expression saying he was getting tired of her games.

“I like you, Brent.”

From beyond Brent Tara heard, “Oh, here we go.” It was Marta.

Tara’s attention turned toward her and she took a step forward, raising an accusing finger. She raised her voice as well. “That’s right, Marta. Here we go!” She took another step. “I like Brent. Every bit as much as you do!” She turned her attention back to Brent. “I knew I was competing against Marta. I also knew I had little chance to…”

“What?” Brent asked in disbelief.

“…very little chance to measure up against her. She’s got everything that I don’t.”

Tara caught movement beyond Brent. Marta’s arms dropped to her side. She had a stunned look on her face, her mouth agape. She caught herself being stared at, then lent her own “What?” to the conversation.

“That’s right,” Tara continued. “You’ve got a family that loves you, you’ve got the same religion and lifestyle as Brent. You’re beautiful and have that accent…” Accent? Good grief, that may have been a bit much. She pressed on.

Tara turned back to look into Brent’s eyes. “I see how she looks at you. How you look at her.” She stopped. That’s all she would say until someone else spoke.

Brent broke eye contact and looked back at Marta. Both looked a little uncomfortable and neither denied a word of what Tara said.

Unexpectedly, it was Karen who spoke next. She stepped away from Marta and began to walk toward Tara. “Okay, let me get this straight. You had a conversation with Brent and told him that Marta basically told you to back off because she wants him. Is that right?”

Tara dropped her eyes and nodded.

“But there had to be more in order to keep Brent from bringing it up to Marta.”

Again, Tara nodded.

Tara could see Karen walk up to Brent’s left side and stop.

“Then, how did the secret get revealed?”

Tara looked up to see Karen looking at Brent, but it was Marta who answered. The anger in her voice softened a little bit, though there was still a tone of accusation. “Because he was acting weird all last week. Every time we were together he wouldn’t look me in the eyes or talk with me for any length of time. He wouldn’t tell me what was going on. So I finally dropped it… until tonight.”

That figures, thought Tara.

Karen turned back to Tara. “So it was all just a bunch of manipulation to try to get the upper hand with Brent?”

Tara could see Brent squirm. She wanted to smile, but diverted her look to see the seriousness in Karen’s eyes and answer her inquiry. She sighed. “Yes.”

“And you really thought it would work?”

“I thought it was the only chance I had against her.”

Marta walked up to Karen’s left side. Terry and Eric drew up behind them. Tara saw Eric put a hand on Brent’s shoulder as if to say, I’m impressed or maybe It’s going to be okay. It didn’t really matter to her. Despite the unexpected revealing of her ploy, this whole thing was taking a good direction. She wasn’t out of the dog house, but at least she was able to keep her cover.

Marta took another step forward. “You are an inconsiderate, lying, bitch.” It was stated matter-of-factly, without the volume and ranker of a few minutes ago.

Tara thought for a moment on how to handle this. She wanted to extend claws and go at it with this female, but choked it down and nodded. “You’re right,” she said in a whisper. Turning away, she nodded again, and then turned on the tears. “You’re right,” she agreed again, then convulsed into sobs.

She stood there gasping for air as pain wracked her chest. It actually scared her for a moment. It nearly felt like true sorrow. But what did she have to feel sorry about? Sorry about hurting Marta? Whatever. Brent? Lame. Karen? She fell to her knees.

Genuine sorrow pierced her soul.

No! Stop it!