I know when he wakes because for half a second he curls closer, and then I hear him say “shit” far too close to my ear and feel him roll away.
I suppose I could pretend to be asleep but that’s really not me. “Happy to see me this morning?” I ask instead.
“Don’t get too flattered,” he says moodily. “I just need to pee.”
“I wasn’t flattered. I assumed it was one of your robotic parts malfunctioning. Though I find the idea of a malfunctioning sex robot weirdly titillating.”
“Drew,” he says between his teeth, “that really isn’t helping.”
I like the idea of Josh with a raging erection he can’t get rid of slightly too much, but he was nice to me last night so I decide to be a decent human being for once. “What would help change the mood?”
“You seem to enjoy talking about death,” he says. “That should do it.”
“Hmmm,” I say, trying to think of something death related. “I really only enjoyed discussing Sloane’s death, to be honest, but let me think. Oh, got it. When was your first funeral?”
“My grandmother,” he says. “When I was ten. She didn’t look real. Yours?”
“My dad, when I was eleven.” I stare at the top of the tent, at the beads of water all over its surface. “It was a closed casket. I think that’s part of what made it so hard to accept.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Why was it a closed casket?”
“You and your sexy questions,” I say, poking him. He’s such a doctor. “Suicide, so it was too messy. Brains everywhere, apparently. Is this still turning you on? Because that wouldn’t surprise me about you.”
He gives a short, low laugh. “No.”
“So anyway, I convinced myself he wasn’t really in there. For that first year I kept thinking he was going to come back for me, and I pictured him, like, climbing through my window, or pulling up in front of our apartment in his Jeep and laying on the horn. And then on the anniversary of his death, I woke up and I finally realized nothing was going to change.”
I had been shocked, and I was also old enough to know how stupid it was that I was shocked. And when my mother said What’s wrong with you? in that tone she had, as if she was already mad at me before I’d answered, I didn’t dare tell her why.
He’s rolled toward me over the course of this fun trip down memory lane. “Jesus,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“It was fifteen years ago. I’m over it. How’s your dick?”
“It’s great,” he says with a quarter smile. “Thanks for asking.”
I wasn’t sad, but something about the sympathy in his eyes makes ancient grief stir and I have to force it back into its little box. “You’d better go pee before I pull this sleeping bag off. I don’t want you getting excited again.”
“Yeah, you’ll be pretty irresistible in three pairs of sweats. And by the way, just because something happened a long time ago doesn’t mean you aren’t still allowed to be sad about it.”
I swallow hard. It would be stupid to be sad about something that happened fifteen years ago. Especially when there’s plenty to be sad about right now.
He lifts himself from the floor in one swift move and opens the tent to go pee. I follow him out but my exit is way less graceful, my muscles screaming in protest from overuse.
“Shit,” we say at the exact same time as we step outside. The sky is a worrisome gray, the cliffs are shrouded in fog. Everything, absolutely everything, is soaking wet. Chris and Kai are on a walkie talkie with someone. They both look troubled as they explain the situation to us a moment later: the trail will be treacherous, but we only have enough food for today, and if it rains tomorrow, we’re screwed.
They leave it up to us, and as a group we vote to head back. No one wants to potentially be stuck here for several days if the weather doesn’t improve. We agree to skip breakfast just in case the trail’s washed out and we have to return.
The rain is merely a light drizzle, but by the time we’ve packed everything and have the tent put away, I’m soaked through my rain jacket and Josh is so stressed about it all that he’s stressing me out.
“I don’t like this,” he says. “Let’s leave your pack. I’ll dump my sleeping bag and the tent here and you can shove anything you want to keep in mine.”
I stare at him in shock for a moment, and slowly my chest starts to warm. He’s not worried about the trail and he’s not worried about himself. He’s just worried about me. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Besides, if we get stuck up there, we might need the tent and the sleeping bags.”
I can see him trying to find an alternative, but he knows I’m right. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he says, his jaw locked tight. “Small steps. I’m gonna be right behind you, just…” He blows out a breath and pushes a hand through his hair. “Just promise.”
I can’t think of a time in my life where anyone has cared this much about my well-being, even when I was an age where they still should have. I have to swallow hard as I nod. “I promise.”
We begin. The slope is muddy and slick. Our progress is painfully slow, and as we get higher we discover the narrow path is almost entirely washed out.
“Jesus Christ,” Josh hisses behind me. “Slow down.”
It’s in my nature to snap at even the mildest criticism, except I know he’s not criticizing me. He’s simply panicking on my behalf. I slow down.
We make little progress, and even though we skipped breakfast and don’t dawdle, it takes us far too long to finally hit Crawler’s Ledge. I cling to the side, using vines and trees and anything else I can grab. Adrenaline has my hands shaking, my heart thudding so loud in my chest it seems audible, and when I hear a suspicious noise behind me, I turn, panicked I might find him falling. “Face forward,” he barks, his voice sharp. “Don’t worry about me.”
It takes us hours to inch over the narrow paths that edge the side of the cliff. The ground is slick, the winds are occasionally strong, and the skies open sporadically, spitting just enough rain to make my chest seize up. I know if I start to slip, Josh will try to save me. It’s terrifying, more than anything else, because the odds are that I’d just pull him over the side with me.
It’s late afternoon by the time we begin our descent into the Hanakoa Valley, yesterday’s lunch stop. The trail is slick and muddy, but at least I don’t have to worry I’ll look back to discover he’s gone over the edge.
“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get to the hotel?” I ask him, as if we are soldiers who’ve long been at war.
“Eat,” he says. “I don’t care how filthy I am, I want the biggest steak you’ve ever seen in your life. And a potato. And maybe another steak.”
I laugh. “I just want a shower. God, I want a hot shower so bad.”
“And then what?”
“Another shower.”
Thirty minutes into our slippery descent we all hear it: the sound of rushing water. Kai’s shoulders sag. “That creek from yesterday?” he says. “It’s now a raging river.”