Hailey picks me up from Brody's apartment, and I've just slid into the passenger seat when she says, "Please tell me you did not have sex with that useless man."
"He got sloppy and fell asleep before anything happened." I should probably stick up for Brody. That's the right thing to do, but Hailey and I have never worked that way. Straight up honesty. She dislikes Brody, and I'm not sure how to feel anymore. With him, as much as I want to, I don't know if I can reach normal.
I crave the stability of a boyfriend like him. He comes from a good family, and he treats me well. How can I still want more? What more is there? Stable, functional family background, good to me. The trifecta I've always said would be exactly what I need. My indifference to him doesn't make any sense. I should be over the moon. Head over heels. Or at least not so... Blah.
"Not surprised he passed out. One way or another he was going to let you down. He is a man."
Instead of defending the male population, I stare out the window. I haven't felt like myself since I woke up. There's a vague sense of disappointment floating around inside me, and I don't know if it's just from last night with Brody or if it's more. On top of that, I've got another gap in my memory.
Brody said he found me in the woods before we came back home, and I don't remember going to the woods. Going outside? Yeah. But then it's just... Blank. Again.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Not a single dream last night, well, I guess they're more like nightmares. Normally, when I sleep somewhere new, I either wake up in a panic or I have a night terror. Whatever trauma I had as a baby before being dumped into foster care dogs my unconscious hours, and coupled with my abandonment issues over my plethora of foster home shuffles, I don't sleep well.
Last night was the best sleep I can remember having in ages that wasn't directly linked to a sleeping pill. Being beside Brody did that, and yet there's still this unnamed disappointment. Do I wish I had sex with Brody? Is that it?
Ever since the gas station blew up, my life hasn't made any sense. Not that it was particularly well ordered before, but it was at least predictable, routine oriented.
"I need a new job," I say as Hailey cruises through the center of the small east coast town where Cape Beatrice is located. Quaint shops line the main street, no big box stores in sight. Sometimes this place feels like a slice of life carved out of America, never quite progressing into the 21st century.
Just then, my phone pings. When I dig it out of my pocket, there's a text message from Brody with a timestamp from last night. Weird that it only delivered now, but that's also part of the charm and frustration of Cape Beatrice. Cell service is a mystery. Here one minute; gone the next.
"Brody says the State Park is hiring. Night shift." Someone he was talking to at the party last night mentioned it to him, and he was thoughtful enough to text me, even though he was drunk and couldn't find me.
"It's weird that your boyfriend thinks it would be cool for you to work in a State Park at night alone."
"It's not weird," I say. "He knows how much I liked my quiet job at the gas station. Can still get schoolwork done, and I'm making money." Hailey knows better than anyone that I can take care of myself if I have to.
"You don't need to be on this side of town," Hailey says.
"One side of town to the other is a ten-minute drive," I say. "I just said I needed a job, and a delayed message from Brody appears with a job. It's fate."
Hailey shoots me a glance I can't read, and she shakes her head.
"I don't want to work somewhere with lots of people."
"No worries about lots of people in the state park."
"Right? Especially heading into the low season." We stop at a set of lights, and I catch enough of a signal to look up the state park website. There's a big banner across the top saying they're hiring, and I hope I'm not too late. While Hailey drives, I fill in my details.
"Whatever," she says, and I can tell something has soured her mood, but I don't know what it is. Sometimes it's obvious and other times it's a mystery. Best friend or not, she can be hard to read.
At Hailey's apartment, she cooks me lunch and she tells me about her newest conquest from outside Cape Beatrice. Unlike me, Hailey always seems to find men, and a few women, who feed her sexual desires. She's told me more than once that I need to go after older and more experienced men—none of these "boys". Had a few men try it on in foster care, and I can confirm, that was even worse than sloppy, hesitant boys. Confidence in the wrong man is dangerous.
Later, since it's such a nice day, I opt to walk back to campus. Hailey tries to protest, but I know she's got as much schoolwork to do as me. I'm halfway back when my phone chimes with an email. When I open it, there's a message from the state park. They've checked my references, and they're wondering if I can start tonight.
Not even an interview? I laugh a little to myself. They must be really desperate.
I could ask Brody to drive me, maybe. Ahead is a house with used bikes lined up outside. Every time I drive past here with Hailey, I think about buying one. Biking to the gas station was never a good idea, though. No clear path that didn't involve the dark, sometimes busy, highway.
Given the number of houses I've lived in, I never became a confident rider, but I'm passable. There's a long path on the edge of the ditch stretching from town to the state park, and it's lit by occasional streetlight. Wouldn't be terrible. Ultimately, I'd save money on cabs, and I learned a thing or two in foster care about defending myself if anyone tried something.
In front of the bikes, I hesitate.
"Can I help you?" The old man who buys and sells the bikes ambles down the path.
"Would any of these bikes be good for the path from town to the state park?"
He looks me up and down and then plucks a beat-up looking thing from the midst of the group. "With your height and the rougher terrain, this is about all I've got."
There's no price tag, and I turn it from side to side, pretending to notice all its faults. If I have to haggle, I need something to criticize.
"Twenty bucks," the old man says. "It's the oldest bike I've got. But I gave her a tune up. She's safe to ride, just old."
At that price, I don't even need to haggle. From my back, I swing my backpack around and dig out my wallet, extracting twenty dollars.
He folds it, tucks it into his pocket, and gestures for me to take the bike.
I swing my leg over and adjust the pedals into a position I think I can master. When I step up, the bike wobbles, and the old guy chuckles, but I manage to get stabilized and then I'm off, riding down the sidewalk.
In my dorm room, I have to flip the wheel around to squeeze it in behind the door, but it fits—barely. Not that anyone was likely to steal it, but if I plan to bike back and forth to work, I can't have it go missing.
I email the state park back and ask for my starting time before settling down to some schoolwork. Tonight, I get back into a routine.
No more time gaps. No more uncertainty. Just calm stability.
~ * ~
"We're really short staffed," Larissa says as she guides me around the outside of the booth. "As many nights as you'll take, we can give you. At least right now."
Wood for purchase. Park day passes. Maps of the state park campsites. The till is the same type I used at the gas station, so that's not anything new. Nothing seems like a stretch. I can totally do this job. It also pays better than the gas station. Win-win.
She grabs a map from under the counter and runs a highlighter over roads and campsites. "At eleven, you take the gator there," she points to the small utility type vehicle parked beside the hut, "and you make sure the park is quiet. Anyone who's making excessive noise is given a warning. You use these." She tugs out a pad of paper. "Signal is so sketchy we haven't been able to go digital with much. They get the top copy. You keep the bottom. Honestly, it's more of a high season problem. Anyone coming through this time of year tends to be retired or quiet."
"What if someone has already had a warning?"
"Use your walkie to let the guys at the front hut know. We don't expect you to kick anyone out without backup."
She uses a pen and circles a section of forest near the cliff. "Not that you'll be prone to midnight walks, but don't wander in this area. There are signs, but the erosion is bad. There have been a few accidents there over the years, so we restrict people from entering. Let the animals have at least some of the park, right? If you see anyone near there, they're in the wrong place, and you should guide them back. Or call the front hut and have them do it if you're too freaked out."
"Is there a reason I should be freaked out?" I ask with a little laugh.
"Isn't everyone a little afraid of the dark?" Larissa passes me the map. "And we're women. Extra layer of scary." She gives me a little wave and heads for her SUV in the gravel parking lot.
My bike is propped against the side of the small wooden hut, and I wonder whether I should move it somewhere else. Gravel crunches under the tires of Larissa's vehicle as she exits the park. I stretch my arms out, and I take in a deep breath in the semi-darkness.
The drive around the campground at eleven passes without incident. The few campers who are in the park already have their lights out, and I'm the only one making noise as I travel from one location to another.
At the head of the trail Larissa circled as no longer in use, I slow. The warnings are written in red on giant white signs. Erosion. Risk of death or injury. Closed to the public.
The rebellious spark in me threatens to ignite. Something inside me really wants to go down that path.
My walkie crackles, and the two men from the front hut are talking about a barking dog. For the first time, the noise registers, and I realize it's getting closer. I pick up the walkie to tell them it's headed my way when it comes through the trees in a blast of fur, headed straight for me.
Something growls in the woods behind me.
Please do not let me end up in a dog fight.
Rather than turning toward the growling in the forest, I brace myself for impact. The dog isn't breaking its stride and it's headed full tilt for the open gator I'm sitting in. I cross my arms over my face, but the sharp cry of distress and the sound of dirt kicking up, makes me lower them.
The dog is now going equally as fast in the other direction, tail tucked between its legs.
"Get on your walkie," a deep voice behind me says, "tell them to shoot it. Rabid dogs are a fucking nightmare."
Very slowly I turn behind me to see a very tall, broad, unbelievably attractive man. Maybe not a man. His age is really hard to determine. Maybe a bit older than me? Or a lot? The facial hair is throwing me off. When his gaze flicks to me, I think I might be gaping.
"Aww, fuck. Really?" He reaches across me, grabs the walkie, and holds the button to talk. "Shoot the fucking thing."
He smells amazing like cedar and pine trees, as though he was literally grown from the earth. Never would I have thought I'd be the type to enjoy the earthy-woodsy scent, but there it is. Everything about him is so familiar, but I can't place where I've seen him before.
A gunshot rings out across the campground, and I flinch. A high-pitched whine pierces the quiet evening.
"Useless gnats disguised as rangers," he mutters. "Maimed him but didn't kill him." He takes up so much space when he leans across me to slot the walkie into place, but I'm not tempted to move back to give him more room. If anything, I want to lean in, breathe him in, soak up his essence. Oh God, I think I want to lick him. Where did that thought come from?
He puts one hand on each side of the door frame and leans against it, searching my face. "Huh. No scared bunny, but you don't remember me, do you?"
In return, I scan his face. "You look... Familiar? Should I remember you?"
"Who the fuck knows? I've given up trying to guess what the hell is going on here or how I feel about it. Two minutes ago, I was disappointed you didn't remember me, now I think it's probably better you don't. A stray dog is one thing. A whole pack is quite another."
We stare at each other, and his lips curl into an almost smile, as though he can read my every thought.
"What are you doing in the state park after midnight, Emmerson?" His gazes sweeps over my ranger uniform. "Gotta say," he flicks the collar on my shirt, "this outfit has never looked quite so good before."
"You like it?" My voice is breathless.
"I think it would look better on my bedroom floor." His gaze heats, and he takes a step back. "Not that it's likely to ever happen."
"Normally, I'm not a fan of guys who come on too strong," I say, and I re-start the gator. But I don't leave.
"Nothing normal about us, Em. Not a single thing." He grins. "Normal is for gnats." He crosses his arms and surveys the area. "You're working the night shift?"
"They hired me," I say, my mind a little clearer now that he's put some distance between us. "I used to work at the gas station that blew up."
"Unfortunate," he says with a grimace. "Guess I'm in for some late nights. There's probably somewhere in town hiring."
"I like it out here," I say and raise my chin. "Pays well too."
"Hmm," he says, and he releases a deep sigh. "I'll be around. Scream if you need me."
"Scream?" I laugh, and I get the sense that his word choice is supposed to scare me. "What would I scream?"
"Help," he says with a wry smile.
"Original," I say. "I could scream your name instead."
He chuckles, and his golden gaze trails over me again. "Would certainly enjoy hearing that, as unlikely as it is to happen."
"You're not going to tell me your name?"
"Nah." He shakes his head and stares into the woods. "Getting a bit tired of this song and dance. I'll be around because I can't seem to help myself, but maybe my family's got a point. This whole thing is futile. Stubbornness that nets nothing."
"I won't see you again?" I can't keep the disappointment out of my voice. Even though he's further away from me, I'm fighting the desire to turn off the gator, waltz over to him and curl into him. There's an aura around him that feels equal parts dangerous and safe.
"I can't keep doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. Never seems to change."
He steps into the tree line, and it's almost like the woods absorb him. I sit on the gator for another beat, the engine running, unsure if I want to go back to the hut like I'm supposed to or follow him into the woods.
The safe choice is the hut, but it's not until the walkie crackles, a reminder of why I'm in the state park in the first place that I turn the vehicle back toward my post.
I'm away on vacation for the next couple weeks. If you want to follow along, my IG story is the place to be (million.wendy). As always, no idea when I'll update this one. :) But it'll happen...eventually.
Engaged readers: 141