“Do you mind me asking what you’re doing?”
Farah didn’t look away from her camera, which was focused on a bee as it landed on the bud of a lavender plant in the Bright family garden. They were alone outside. “I’m getting b-roll.”
Philip didn’t say anything from behind her.
“B-roll.” She turned to look at him. “Get it? Bee roll?”
He frowned.
“Never mind. I’m trying to get some extra footage of atmospherics—shifting clouds, babbling brooks, hummingbirds in flowers, that sort of thing. You have any ideas?”
Philip thought for a moment. “Actually, I have the perfect spot. You want to go for a little hike?”
Farah turned off her camera. “Not if it’s anything like the little hike your brothers forced me to go on a few days ago.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Just a flat trail around the west side of the lake. It’s beautiful in the morning.”
Farah knew she’d go with Philip no matter where he invited her, even if it was back up that mountain. Ever since the night they all stayed up drinking, she’d been falling fast down a rabbit hole of infatuation. It didn’t make any sense that she was suddenly obsessed with Philip. The idea of it almost embarrassed her. But there it was: she wanted Philip. Among the various handsome and charming men at that house, she wanted him. And he was planning on becoming a priest! That was the dumbest part. He was officially off-limits.
Ten minutes later, Farah was walking behind Philip along a narrow trail that looked out through the trees at the shimmering lake on their right. Beneath their feet, roots jutted and crossed in an arthritic web. It required vigilance not to trip. Farah could feel sweat beginning to soak through the back of her shirt and into her backpack. The sun was gaining strength above them. And, to her great surprise, she didn’t mind it. The muscles in her legs had healed since their last big hike, and she was becoming reacquainted with the feeling of her body in the wild outdoors. Bugs and sun and dirt and sweat. She was surrendering to all the things she normally avoided.
Philip talked from up ahead, his ears rising and falling slightly as he did.
“So this used to be a big mill town. Paper production, I think. Anyhow, the river and lakes got so polluted for a while that no one could go in them without getting sick. Eventually, the mills closed down, and they launched this big watershed cleanup initiative. It took years, but it worked. Today, it’s considered one of the cleanest lakes in the state, which is just amazing to me. I saw these pictures from, maybe, the turn of the century, and it looked as black as soot then.” He stopped and looked back at Farah. “Pretty great, right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Sorry if I’m boring you.” He started walking again.
“No, it really is interesting.”
A mosquito landed on the back of his neck, and Farah had to resist the urge to reach out and brush it away; she was afraid he might somehow sense her desire through the tips of her fingers.
“Here it is,” Philip said, turning off the trail and toward the water. “This is what I was thinking of.”
To their right, a winding creek spilled down its rocky riverbed and into the lake. Moss carpeted the edges of the creek, peppered with small purple flowers. If anything had ever been enchanted, Farah felt that this was it.
“Oh, this is perfect.” She pulled off her pack and took out a camera. She made a few adjustments, then put her finger to her lips, indicating to Philip to stay quiet.
They were still for two full minutes while Farah collected footage of a falling leaf as it moved along the surface of the creek. It went around wet, black stones and through swirling little pools, catching occasionally on the fuzzy hairs of the moss, until it eventually reached the lake. These were the visual metaphors Farah liked to stock up on early. She wondered which brother’s life this footage might eventually help explain, which metaphor it would need to carry.
As Farah filmed, she could feel Philip’s immobile presence just a few away.
“Just another minute,” she whispered. “Thanks for waiting.”
He nodded, content in his stillness.
Farah wondered, How does someone born of this Bright world manage to become something so different? How does uniformity spawn deviation? It was particularly baffling in Philip’s case because the Bright family identity was so reliant on their sameness. Farah thought she’d never met a family with such a strong notion of “us.” She wondered if Philip had been willfully defying the rest of his family all this time or if he was simply incapable of imitating them, a miraculous mutation.
The cold water gurgled on.
“We should have brought snacks,” Farah finally said. “For a picnic.”
“Great idea. Next time, I guess.”
“Yeah, next time.”
“C’mon, there’s a little waterfall farther up the creek. You should definitely get that.”
They climbed through the dense woods, away from the lake, grabbing hold of hanging branches to avoid slipping on the wet rocks. At the waterfall, Philip put his hand out and pulled Farah up the last step to a flat boulder. They had to stand close to balance their bodies on the small space. He held on to a fat tree limb above while her shoulder pressed into his armpit.
Farah laughed awkwardly. She wanted to look up at his face, but she couldn’t trust herself.
Philip stood and smiled.
Kiss me, she thought.
He didn’t move. The smell of his summer body, so thoroughly male, was all around her.
There was a rustling at that moment from the trail below, and they both strained to see what it was. An animal, maybe. Farah wondered if she could pull her camera out from that position if she needed to.
Philip squinted and then let out a puff of air. “It’s only Charlie.”
“How do you know?”
And then she smelled it: pot, the faint skunky, sweet smell of quality weed.
“Charlie!” Philip yelled.
He appeared twenty feet farther down and looked up at them. “Oh, hey guys. What are you doing up there?”
Philip dismounted the boulder, helping Farah down with one hand. “We’re hiking. What are you doing?”
Charlie squinted at them and sucked cannabis oil from a small contraption. “Taking a little personal time. You want some?”
Philip shook his head, and they walked down to the trail.
“Farah?”
“No thanks, I’m working.”
Charlie shrugged. “Your loss.”
“Everything okay?” Philip asked.
He took another hit. “Yeah, I guess. Chelsea seems pissed at me, though. C’mon, walk me back. I’m supposed to meet Dad in ten minutes.”
Philip looked at Farah. She nodded.
“Sure.”
They walked back along the trail, this time with the water to their opposite side and the sun much hotter and higher in the sky. Charlie explained that he and Chelsea had been fighting for the past two days, that she wanted to go home, and she felt confused about their relationship. Farah knew all this already.
When they got back to their private beach, Philip said, “So why not just let her go, Charlie? I can understand how she’d want to get on with her life right now.”
Charlie was incredulous. “Because what am I supposed to do with her gone? We’ve got, like, two more weeks here? Who am I going to play with?”
He laughed at himself and stuffed the vape pen into his pocket.
A phone rang inside the house, followed by the sound of Patty’s voice from a window. “Philip, it’s for you!”
Philip thanked Farah for the hike and bounded off toward the house.
Farah wondered what sort of calls he received and from whom.
Charlie lowered his eyebrows and looked at her suddenly. “Hey, what were you guys doing out there, in the woods?”
“Oh, I was just getting some nature footage.” Farah reached into her backpack to pull out her camera again, remembering that she needed to change a scratched lens. She wanted to end this line of inquiry. Ever since Charlie had spotted her watching him, she wanted to avoid Charlie completely.
“Just getting footage, huh? You looked pretty close up there on that rock.”
She laughed nervously and fidgeted with the camera. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I thought so, too.”
Farah focused on her hands, and as she did, the new lens dropped from her fingers onto the toe of her right sneaker, rolling ten inches along the sand and landing in shallow lake water.
“Oh no!” Farah grabbed the submerged lens and held it up to the light. “This is a two-hundred-dollar part.”
“Just dry it off. Here...” Charlie went to reach for the camera lens in her hand, but she pulled it back from him, stepping on his toe as she did.
“Ouch!”
“Oh God, I’m sorry.”
He laughed and stepped toward her.
She dried the wet lens with the edge of her shirt and smiled nervously.
And then Charlie’s face was right above hers, moving closer. His eyes were inches away. Don’t do it, she thought. Farah froze. It was too late. Charlie’s lips were pressing down onto hers.
“No,” she said, pushing him back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Farah grabbed her backpack and ran.
Charlie said something—sorry, maybe—but she kept going. She went around the house, to the garage and up the stairs without looking back.
In her room, Farah locked the door and sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of her strained breath. What had just happened? Her first instinct was to blame herself, but the more she thought about it, the less it felt like her fault.
She walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face.
What if Chelsea had seen them? What if Philip had? Really, anyone could have seen them right out on the waterfront in the middle of the day. It hadn’t been her fault, but none of that mattered now. To anyone who might have looked out the window at that precise moment, she was just an unprofessional, unoriginal girl, kissing Charlie Bright.
And then Farah’s panic changed to anger, and that’s where it stayed.