Page 96 of Misguided
THIRTY-THREE
Dog
“You never said it’d get so damn cold when the sun went down.” Mel clutches the fleece we bought her today to her slight frame, high-stepping over a fallen branch as we head towards one of my favorite campsites.
“You’ve been livin’ in a goddamn forest for the last year,” I chuckle. “How the heck did you not know it would get cold?”
“My trailer was warm, okay?” She giggles. “And maybe I’m already used to home comforts again without realizing it.”
I shake my head as we break free of the tree line and emerge into the small clearing. I come here every year, and the location hasn’t let me down yet for getting a kill. The campsite is a random spot amongst the stand of cottonwood, made from where a few trees have either been cut or fallen, presumably in a storm. There’s barely enough room to set up the tent, but it’s all I need.
I’d hoped to get here in daylight still, but the unplanned stop off at the mall, and then the return visit to the clubhouse, killed any chance of that.
“Tuck yourself in there and pull my sweatshirt from the bag,” I say, pointing to where the stump and fallen trunk intersect to make a nook.
She does as I tell her, folding herself into a ball and tucking her legs inside my over-sized sweater. Her hair is pulled into a high pony, and she rests her pointed chin on her knees as she watches me set us up. It’s cute as hell, and an image I’ll relish even long after this trip is through.
A few wayward branches and leaves conceal the stone-ringed fire pit I resurrect every year. I clear the debris, digging out the base a little, and then stack the dry twigs on top of a pile of brown leaves.
“Can I be honest with you?” Mel asks.
“Sure.” I cup a lit match in my hands, lowering it toward the kindling.
“I honestly had no idea you were this resourceful.”
I throw her an inquisitive look, lifting one eyebrow as the flames take hold. “How so?”
“You don’t act like this at the club.”
Every part of me wants to protest, tell her she’s wrong. But she’s not. “I know.”
“Why? I mean, I know there’s the whole Dog vs. Koen thing, but why do you hide who you are?”
I motion for her to make me room and drop down beside her, pulling the pack between my legs. “It’s just easier.”
“How?”
“When you act like a fuckin’ idiot, everyone’s laughin’ at you. It makes you laugh too.”
I can feel her eyes bore into me as I search the bag for the food I brought along. Yet I won’t give her the satisfaction. She wants me to look at her, probably so she can see the truth written in my loveless eyes. But I won’t do that to her—I won’t make her another person who pities me for what happened, for who I am.
I do that enough myself.
“Beans, or stew?” I lift the two choices from the pack. “I’ll show you how to cook it while I set up the tent.”
She sighs, letting me know this conversation isn’t over in the tight curl of her lips as she smiles. “Stew.”
I get to work and cut the tins open, showing her where to put them at the edge of the fire so that they cook, but the contents don’t burn to the sides of the tin before the middle is warmed through. I steal glances at her as I set up the tent; crouched over the fire with my sweater wrapped around her like a blanket. She prods and stirs at the tins, lost in her thoughts as I flick out the bedrolls.
“Cooked yet?”
“I think so.”
I lean over her, loving the way the heat of the flames carries the soft scent of her shampoo as her hair warms. “Looks good to me.” Tins of stew, and the chef.
Using two thick sticks as tongs, I move our dinner from the heat of the fire to the edge of the cleared dirt so they can cool a little. Mel turns the pack sideways, giving us both a cushion to lean against as I join her at the edge of the circle. She resumes her position, tucked up with her arms banded around her legs, as I lay stretched out on my side facing her, propped up on one elbow.
“Why does he hate you being a part of the club so much?”