Chapter Twelve

Two Truths and a Lie

“Y’all keep in touch, okay?” Geena said, sweeping me into a hug as late afternoon shadows lengthened across the campground. For her petite stature, she had a firm embrace.

The whiff of campfire smoke that resided in her short hair tickled my nose. I wasn’t surprised by the heaviness that filled my stomach at her departure. We’d spent the better part of the day hanging out and waiting. I learned about her family in Georgia and Kansas, and I’d told her more about ours, even Harrison. Her nonjudging, nonpitying vibe was truly freeing. Something I’d not felt in ages from another mom.

“Thanks for keeping me distracted today,” I managed.

“He’ll return. They do have more important matters to deal with,” Geena assured.

I wrote my phone number and e-mail address and slipped the page into her hand. “I will. Thanks, Geena.”

Sam ran to Will. “Wanna hang on to my cat?”

“Nah, I’ve got Douglas.”

She said sweetly, “Yeah, Snow might get jealous.” Sam kicked at the dirt. “Okay. Have a good trip, Will.” She climbed into her family’s minivan.

“Well, I suck at goodbyes. You sure y’all will be okay?” Geena asked again.

“We will.”

“Good luck, AJ. You’re a momma bear. You’ll find your cub.” She waved a finger at Will. “And don’t you give your momma too many more gray hairs, okay?”

Will nodded.

Geena stepped into her minivan toting their pop-up camper, gave me a final wave, and her family drove out of the campground. For somebody I’d just met, she had left a special place in my heart.

I spent the evening thinking and writing.

News trickled into the campground. There was a huge car pile-up on the westbound highway complete with a fire and oil spill. The campground was abuzz. First, it was talk about Clara and Dennis’s assault on me. Then, it was about the accident. People grumbled about needing to leave, but roads would not be open until nighttime at least. I was stuck. Only the folks traveling eastbound had been able to depart.

Factors compounded, I decided to rest one more night at the campground, as much as the idea made me queasy. Will was tired, although not nearly as rattled as I thought he would be. Tomorrow, I would make up for lost time, I promised myself.

Hell, I needed to rest, too.

And I needed to wait for Reid.

After tucking Will into his sleeping bag, I returned to the fire. I stared at Reid’s bike and pack, which I had brought over after locating them.

“Now don’t you think of taking them,” a voice said.

I startled from my stupor, ran to Reid, and hugged him without hesitation. “They let you go?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Really?” I didn’t want to say it aloud, but Dennis had been mangled.

“They had bigger fish to fry and a massive accident to deal with. The station was swamped. They barely had room for Dennis and Clara, and the Feds are coming to take them away.”

“I don’t understand. They’re not charging you?”

“Nope,” Reid assured.

“Luck seems to follow you,” I said with a smile. The first one I think I cracked all day. Ouch, it hurt. I yawned. That hurt more. God, and unluck followed me.

“Want to learn a trick?”

“Sure.” I sat by the fire, drawing my hooded sweatshirt closed and zipping it, despite the warmth in the air.

He clicked open his pocket knife and cut a coffee filter into two pieces. “I got a filter from a fella yonder,” he said, angling his chin toward the site beside us. “Got your coffee canister?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You stopped to get a filter before coming to make sure your bike and gear were here?”

“It was on the way. And I knew you’d find them. You’re resourceful, aren’t you?”

I muffled a chuckle. “Okay…yup. So are you.” I pulled my coffee canister from a bin and handed it to him.

He settled beside me on the log. He leaned close, spreading the filter.

“First you take a filter, cut it in half, and then put grounds in it. Just a tablespoon. Then you tie it, like a pouch.” He continued to demonstrate as he spoke. “Here,” he said, handing a twine-wrapped pouch like a teabag to me. I plopped it in my empty cup.

I still had hot water cradled in a metal pitcher in the fire from making Will’s instant mac and cheese. Reid wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and poured water over our pouches. “Steep it for two to three minutes. Presto!”

It was bitter, slightly weak, and could use cream. I dumped in a sugar packet and powdered creamer packet Reid handed me, stirred, and sipped it. “Not the same as an aromatic slow-drip, but it will do.” It was about the same as the coffee in the manager’s office. I pretended it was a delicious pumpkin spice latte. As the sun set, a cool shiver ran down my spine. The fire crackled before us, and I heaved a sigh, feeling somewhat lightened. I tossed a quick glance at my companion. The man with the dark-roast eyes had become my new coffee bearer. An acrid taste filled my throat with that sudden comparison to Harrison.

“Wanna talk about it?” Reid said out of the blue.

“The psychoanalysis continues?” I replied, sipping.

“Don’t mean to prod. Just trying to—”

“Help. Yeah, I know.” I had no desire to talk about what had transpired with the assault if that was the “it” he referenced. Or perhaps it was my meltdown in the woods? Either way, I said instead, “I’m worried. About Finn.” And Will. And my life. I didn’t add those obvious sentiments.

“That’s understandable.”

“Do you have kids?”

“No.”

I nibbled on my lip. “Despite Will’s challenges, Finn has always been my difficult child. Lord, he ages me. He’s had a hard time finding his place in our family.” He needs me, I wanted to say. “He inherited the brooding, melodramatic, fireball attitude from me, and the inquisitive, engineering brain from my husband.”

“Interesting combo. Sounds like a great kid,” Reid said, sipping his coffee.

“Aside from his emotional side, he loves to tinker with things. He’s always considering what he can do or make with anything. Wicked smart. He exhausts me. Yet…I miss his chattiness.” My fingers prickled, wanting to scratch his back the way he liked it. It was one of his coping mechanisms when his emotions gripped him.

“A tinkering chatterbox! He’s my kind of dude.” Reid moved a few logs around in the fire, encouraging the flames to take the bait. He leaned back. “Finn’s the misunderstood misfit.”

“You could say that. I’m still figuring him out. He copycats Will in many ways, but he has his own unique set of challenges and gifts.” I paused and lowered my voice. “I miss him. I worry about him. I feel like…” I couldn’t say it.

“Will gets more attention because of his needs?”

“Yeah. You’re quite perceptive, Reid.” That admission never sat well with me. Even on this expedition, the purpose exclusively to get my youngest child, my thoughts had been consumed with Will, Harrison, and myself. I could hardly think about my misfit without crying. I recalled my torrential breakdown at Easter this year when Finn accidentally hurt a neighbor’s grandson, who had been teasing him. “Am I going to jail?” Finn asked between whimpers while he sat on his bed and I explained the ramifications for his impulsive reaction. Misunderstood misfit. Yup. God, I wanted to hug him right now. It’d been our first Easter without Harrison. My worst Easter by far. I’d spiraled quickly with Finn’s behavior that day.

“Finn knows you love him.”

I rubbed my nose. “I suppose.”

“Everyone needs you, don’t they?”

“Yeah. I’m tired of being so needed.” My hands shook, and I set my coffee down. “I’m broken. And I just want my family to be whole again.”

“We’re all broken or bent a bit. But we’re not irreparable. Even me.”

I eyed him dubiously.

“I’ve my own complicated past,” he said with a dashing look, but there was truth behind the joker’s mask.

“Don’t we all. Wanna tell me?”

He rubbed a thumb over his tattoo, his gaze downtrodden. “Maybe later, okay?”

I cleared my throat, suppressing the pugnacious pain that wrestled to claim me. “What does it mean? Your tattoo. It’s Latin.” I moved closer to him on the log, our thighs touching. Feeling foolish, but not giving a damn, I lifted his hand into mine, the irrational need to touch somebody driving my actions. I wanted to trace my finger over the cursive words “Ne obliviscaris” but resisted the urge.

“Forget not,” he said quietly.

His hand was cold within mine. His reservation caught me off guard. Maybe the tattoo was from his army days…a haunting reminder from his deployment. An intricate tribal tattoo meandered over the rest of his lower forearm. I was surprised he didn’t have an army tattoo. Even Brandon had branded himself in the ritual of a tattoo from his air force days. Yet, I saw only the two. Of course, there could be more…and for the first time in a year, I wondered what lay beneath the shirt of the man beside me. Lord, AJ. Knock it off. Had Dennis knocked my wits, too?

He continued, speaking as if from a sad, far off place, “Perhaps it was part of my own grieving process.”

“You’re enlightened on the process? Like the five stages of grief or whatever it’s called? After your deployment?” I asked as I released his hand with a tender squeeze and wiggled a few inches away.

“Not enlightened. Educated, maybe.”

I stared into the dancing flames. I’d had enough camping to last me my entire life. The smell of fire, although usually an alluring scent, now reminded me of what I was doing. Camping. On my way to save my son. After nearly losing my other son.

We sat quietly, lost in thoughts. I could tell that Reid was avoiding going deeper with our talk, and I was okay with that.

“Ever play campfire games?” he asked.

“A hundred years ago…” I glanced at the tent to make sure that Will was indeed asleep. I cast Reid an uncertain sideways look but welcomed the change in subject. It appeared Reid felt the same, for the intimate vulnerability hovered as thick as the fire’s smoke, consuming us both.

He rubbed his chin. “I’ll keep it clean.”

“Sure, why not?” I shifted on the log.

He sipped his coffee. “Truth or dare?”

I shook my head. “What, are we twelve?”

“I spy?”

I gave him another look. “Finn loves that one.”

“Okay…spin the bottle?”

I laughed now, nearly snorting my coffee. “You don’t know any campfire games, do you?”

He smirked. “No clean ones.”

A strange sense of déjà vu lingered around the edge of my mind, and it caressed my spirit as I smiled involuntarily. The movement of those underused muscles around my mouth was foreign, and I winced, but that was from the soreness in my cheek. Reid had made me smile more in this past week than I had smiled in a year. Our indecisiveness reminded me of a Saturday night when Harrison and I were flipping through the lame offerings on TV to find a movie we both agreed upon. Sometimes we’d spend more time looking for something to watch than actually watching it.

I saw where Reid was going with this. I had my own assessing to do. “What do you miss while you’re on walkabout?”

He ran a hand through his thicker hair. “Walkabout?”

I grinned, subtly weaving a few fingers through my own tousled locks. I missed my hairdryer. “Aging myself from outdated movies.” I lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m old then, too. Dated but entertaining movies about Australian walkabouts and large knives. Remember that?” He flashed a smile.

I nodded. “You’re not getting out of this question, Mr. Gregory.”

“Diversions don’t work on you, do they?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Okay, I miss reading the newspaper comics.”

“The comics, huh? No crossword puzzles or, or…”

“Deep thought-provoking articles at breakfast? Nah. I do love to read those types of books, but a guy’s gotta have fun or he goes mad with all that philosophizing and prophesizing.”

I rubbed my chin in feigned examination, pulling my best detective voice as the caffeine from the coffee kicked in. “The classics or new comics with twisted political bents?”

“Classics of course. The goofier the better.”

We shared an understanding smile. Lord, a smile felt damn fine. I sighed. “Newspapers age us, too.”

“Yeah, but who cares? Okay, your turn.”

“Me? Oh.” I licked my lips. “What I miss?”

“Yeah.”

“I miss coffee in the morning. Well, rich, creamy, dark-roast coffee.” Brought to me by Harrison, I wanted to add. “I miss tucking the boys in bed each night with a story. Writing. Going on daily walks along the shore near Portland Head Light and in Fort Williams Park and, oddly, the sound of the foghorn. Will keeps a daily tally of its blares. The few days it was under repair and didn’t sound—oh, that was quite eventful in our house!” What else did I miss? Most were disenchanting. I missed Harrison. I missed my Finnie. I missed the daily calls with Patsy before the accident when we’d talk about gardening or Will’s latest achievement. I missed my former life.

I changed the subject quickly before I traveled down that path. “Tell me about your sister. She works with special-needs kids?”

“Yeah. She’s the younger of us two. She was always set on a path to teach. We have a cousin with Down Syndrome, and she was fondly attached to him when they were kids. I think that led her on that career path. I took a few education courses myself and helped in her class a bit before and after my tours. She’s the one who got me reading the philosophical texts of Lewis and his gang.”

“She sounds like an amazing woman. I’d love to meet her. I hope you can find her when we get to Colorado.”

“Me, too,” he said.

“You’re the older one, huh?”

“Yup, and I’m also a Junior. Named after my dad.”

“Interesting. How about we play two truths and a lie?” I suggested. “You need to pick the lie.”

He smirked. “Okay.”

“I used to play it during my girls’ nights. Those were the good days. When four of us moms needed a break from the kids and husbands, we got together at one of our houses to eat, laugh, and unwind.” I sighed, twirled my hair, and said to my surprise, “Those nights seem so distant now.”

Silence had crept back into our conversation, and I worried I had overshared when he said, “That sounds clean enough to me. I’ll go first.” He pondered for a moment, clearly taking the game suggestion seriously. “Okay…”

He looked me straight on, his proximity unnerving. He was so close I could smell him. And he smelled enticing. I liked his mixed scent of spice and sweat.

“My uncle was a Mexican senator. I have four tattoos. I can knit a darn nice scarf.”

I belly laughed, and my ribs ached from Dennis’s kicks. “Jesus,” I said with a grip of my side.

“What?” His mouth twisted wryly with jesting astonishment.

I waved a hand. “I never took you as a knitter.”

“My mom taught me.”

“I’ll say the tattoos.”

He leaned forward and splayed his arm as he rolled up his sleeve. “Just the two tats. I guess the uncle was a given?”

“That was too easy. Ah, well. The Senate?”

The final shafts of sunlight got lost in the trees around us and shadows danced upon Reid’s face. “Yeah. He saw the corruption in the Mexican government, and he urged my mom to move to the United States. Your turn.”

I tapped a finger on my thigh. I had forgotten how hard this game was. How personal it could get. I sipped the last drops of my coffee, which was now cold but was still better than electrolyte drinks. “Okay, me…I’ve gone bungee jumping. I’ve toilet-papered a car. I’ve taken belly dancing classes.”

He pretended to deliberate. “Toilet paper?”

“Nope.”

“Really? A woman named Allison Jessica couldn’t possibly have—”

I laughed. “College. Peer-pressure. And it’s Audrey Jane,” I relented, finally giving him my full name.

“Shoot, never would’ve guessed that.”

We shared a smile.

“Audrey Jane,” he repeated, my name falling off his tongue, smooth and melodious. “Belly dancing?” he asked.

“Yup.”

Sleep enticed me, but the desire to continue our conversation kept me firmly planted on the log. Besides, I was having fun. God, how I’d missed conversations that didn’t revolve around IEPs, behaviors, demanding jobs, or…other things.

“You like to jump off bridges?”

“Hell, no. It was terrifying. Honeymoon in New Zealand. Queenstown is the adventure capital of the world, after all. Harrison wanted to do it.”

Reid poked at the fire. “Okay, me again…let’s see…I’ve read all of Shakespeare’s plays.” He paused and licked his lips, then drew them in thoughtfully. “I was married once. I think you have the prettiest eyes.”

I swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Oh, gosh, now I missed my hairdryer and flat iron. “That’s a lot of plays.”

He gave me a charming look. “I read all the greats, don’t I? Thirty-seven plays to be exact. Lily sent me a bunch while I was overseas. Had to start with the classics, right?”

Heat flushed my cheeks, and it wasn’t from the fire. “Such serious reading.”

“Hey, I’ve got my comics to prevent me from becoming too dour.”

An awkward giggle escaped my lips. “No wife, huh?”

“Nope.”

I chewed my bottom lip. “A shame. You seem a good catch.”

“You do have soulful eyes,” he said, sharing a look with me longer than was casually comfortable.

I shifted my weight but didn’t move away. I muffled a tight laugh and swatted his thought away. “You’ve got a knack for changing the subject.”

“Eyes tell a lot about a person’s journey.” He moved closer to me. Only an intimate inch remained between our hips.

“I knew this man, Aubert. He was French-Algerian, a coworker of mine when I worked full time before the kids. He flirted with me like mad. He was older than my father,” I said, not looking at Reid. I traced a finger over the subtle woven pattern in my faded jeans. “He loved my eyes.”

Lord. I edged away from him. I distracted myself with stoking the fire. “He was still with the company although he didn’t do much research anymore. He was long past retirement. Anyway, he would roam the halls all day long. He’d visit me daily, poking his head into the lab. He told me I had that classic look about me. Mostly my eyes. Silly, I know.” I drew my gaze to Reid and stuck my chin out, swallowed the dryness in my mouth, and said, “What do my eyes say?”

I expected more flirtation. I was giddy with fatigue and the bottoming out that came after the adrenaline rush. I was spent. The coffee had done little to revive me. My cheek ached.

He slid closer and placed a hand on mine and squeezed. “I see a strong woman who has been hurt deeply. I see a resilient mother who would journey through hell for her children. I see somebody who has become jaded and has trouble trusting, unable to sort through friend and enemy. I see a woman with hope.” He held my gaze. “And I’d like to be your friend, Audrey Jane.”

My jaw may have dropped. I wasn’t sure. I recovered quickly. Or at least I tried. “You’ve been talking with my therapist, haven’t you?” God, I was teasing him. I was joking. I was like Will. Will always got goofy with his peers in social situations when he didn’t know the expectations, or how to behave.

Either way, Reid didn’t laugh. Thin lips pressed into a frown that I couldn’t decipher.

I didn’t prod any further. I broke the gaze and released my hand from his, then stoked the fire for the tenth time, sleep luring me with sweet abandon. I tossed the stick into the fire. “I should turn in.”

“I’ll stay awake,” he offered. “Until the fire goes.”

“Okay.” I nodded, though the fire could have been quickly snuffed.

I paused in my opening of the tent flap, turned around, and peered at him. My arms dropped to my side, my hands still. “I’m sorry about the hotel. I was sick and wasn’t thinking straight. Thank you for your help today.” A part of me couldn’t disclose the unvarnished truth. Part of it had been crazy withdrawal-symptoms AJ. The other part—I’d been paranoid he’d been drinking. Harrison’s death remained a ghostly echo in my mind, perhaps clouding my judgment. The scent had been on his clothes though. I was sure of it. The more I pondered, I believed his story. Perhaps I had been triggered. Perhaps I really did have trauma or PTSD. I shook my head. I didn’t know.

Firelight glistened off the growing beard hairs on Reid’s chin and spots of amber danced in his dark, round eyes. Speaking of soulful eyes…

“You were looking out for Will. I understand. I had been gone far too long.”

“You had a legitimate reason. Shit happens,” I countered.

His lips curved into a resigned smile. “Yeah. Rest, Audrey Jane.”

“You, too, Reid,” I whispered. I added in a deep exhalation, “And yes, yes, I’d like to be your friend.”

As I stepped into my tent, I observed Reid’s normally straight shoulders slouch a hair. Perhaps he, like all of us, was on his own road of atonement. Searching for meaning, searching for answers…searching for absolution.

I had treated him poorly.

I didn’t know what the hell had just happened between us, but I tucked it away into a corner of my brain to contemplate upon another time when I was lucid. My remorse had lifted somewhat.

Ignoring my exhaustion for at least a few minutes, I clicked on my headlamp and pulled out my journal. It was time to unburden my heart.