Page 44 of The Darkest Chase
I don’t have the heart to remind her.
She nearly dances through the trees, whirling around the poison oak and disappearing from sight.
I speed after her, slipping through the hanging branches with Rolf. We step out into the sunlight on a narrow open valley cut through the forest, right where a creek—barely five feet wide—runs through it with a narrow dirt shore on both sides.
Talia’s already halfway down on the shore, following the slow-moving water. She stretches her arms over her head before she turns to me with a sunny smile.
“Here?” she calls up—then stops, clapping her hands over her mouth, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Wait… do I need to be quiet?”
Damn her.
My mouth twitches.
How is it she takes everything so seriously, yet at the same time never quite seriously enough?
“Not yet. As long as there’s daylight, we’re ordinary hikers.” I make my way down the slope toward her, unclipping Rolf’s leash from his harness before lightly slapping his flank. “Go on, big boy. Have some fun.”
With a joyful bark, he leaps toward the creek with the energy of a pup half his age and goes splashing into the shallows—to the dismay of several frogs sunning themselves on the stones. They plunge underwater in a croaking panic.
Talia laughs with delight.
“He likes playing in the water, huh?”
“More than a steak.” I unsling my pack and set it down on a large log. “Go ahead and set your stuff down. I’ll show you how to make a fire.”
With an eager sound, she complies.
She’s an attentive pupil, I’ll give her that, watching me closely as I show her how to pull up grass to make a safe fire circle and how to find good tinder to keep the fire going.
Before long, we’ve got ourselves a real fire with a teakettle simmering. A pot with some chili and vegetables boils while flatbread toasts on my small foldout grill.
Talia sits across from me on a log, watching the food cook with hungry anticipation.
I try like hell not to stare.
Her hair is autumn fire in the middle of summer, the color of bright leaves.
“You’ve really never gone camping in your life?” I ask.
Talia jerks her head up at me before looking down.
“Never,” she answers. “I don’t think I made it clear how sick I was when I was little. I had an oxygen tank on wheels for a little while that I had to take with me everywhere. I insisted on a pink one and covered it with pony stickers.” She smiles weakly, fretting her fingers together. “Some kids grow out of asthma. Some just get better. I got better, but by the time I did… I was already so wrapped up in Grandpa and the shop. I never really caught up on the things I missed out on.”
“That’s rough,” I say sincerely.
“I don’t regret it. I love him. I love making things with him—and truth be told, he kinda depends on me.” She tilts her head back, looking up at the canopy overhead and the sky with sweet wonder. “But it’s nice, y’know? To be out here breathing this clean air and smelling how different it is from town. To just run and play and see things that were always too far away before.”
And if something happens to her because of you, what happens to that old man? I wonder darkly.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If that was an insensitive question.”
I mean it, even if that’s not really why I’m apologizing.
She looks at me and her smile strengthens as she shakes her head. “It wasn’t. I’m really okay with talking about it. I mean, you get it, right?”
I blink, recoiling a little.
“Yeah, I do.” I look away then, staring into the small crackling fire. I prod at it with a stick, sending up a shower of sparks. It’s almost uncomfortable to share a confession when it feels like admitting weakness, but some part of me feels like I owe it to her after dragging her into my fuckery. “I didn’t exactly grow up like other kids, either. Most kids’ idea of ‘playing’ with the albino freak was finding out how easy I bruise. If they wanted to know that bad, they could’ve just asked my old man. I was his favorite canvas.”