“That’s called rotating in spirit,” I counter.
Crew huffs a quiet laugh and the sound does something strange to my insides. Nevertheless, I adjust my stick as directed, but the marshmallow catches anyway, blooming into a small, furious flame.
“See?” I explain as it blackens. “This feels right.”
Without warning, he reaches over and snatches it from my hand. His fingers brush mine for half a second, and I swear my brain short-circuits like a faulty outlet.
“You’re going to set the forest on fire,” he scolds mildly, blowing out the small flame.
“I feel like that would be on-brand for tonight.”
Crew gives me a look. The light from the fire makes his features sharper than they already are, blue eyes piercing through me. “I’d rather not add arson to the list,” he jests, peeling the burnt layer off the marshmallow and passing back the stick.
I take it, careful not to touch him in the process, but end up nearly swallowing my tongue, anyway. It’s not so much how he pops the burnt sugar into his mouth, but more so how he licks his fingers.
Get it together, Alma.
Clearing my throat, I follow suit and pop the marshmallow into my mouth. It tastes like sugar, smoke, and questionable life choices. “That’s fair.”
We sit quietly for a while after that. It’s not like the thick, suffocating silence from the truck, but one that somehow feels…earned. Crackles and pops from the fire fill the gaps, small embers floating away with every slight breeze. Crickets hum somewhere beyond the treeline, frogs and other insects joiningin the soundscape. The sky above us is magically clear, stars scattered like the Universe got overzealous with glitter.
I can’t remember the last time I saw stars like this. I can’t even remember the last time I noticed anything that wasn’t inside my house, the inside my marriage, or the inside of my own head.
“You ever been out here before?” Crew asks as if reading my mind.
When I glance over at him, he’s staring up at the stars—not at me.
“No. Closest I’ve gotten to camping is a Pinterest board.”
His mouth twitches, but his gaze remains trained on the sky. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Gasping, I slap a hand to my chest in mock outrage, earning me his full, undivided attention. “Wow. Rude.”
Crew shrugs and pulls his marshmallow from the flame. “You don’t strike me as the pitch a tent for fun’ type.”
“I have layers, okay.”
“Name one.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it and promptly close it again. “I own hiking boots.”
Lips curled dubiously, he swivels his head toward me. “Do you really?”
“They’re very clean,” I stress.“Veryclean.”
Crew chuckles again, quieter this time, and I have this moment where I realize that I like making him laugh. It’s actually a little unsettling how much I want to keep hearing that sound. Mentally shaking the thought away, I shove another marshmallow onto the stick just to have something to do with my hands, and focus on not burning it this time. When he doesn’t correct me, I realize I must be doing it right.
“So…” His gaze lifts to mine. “What happened? With your husband, I mean.”
I hitch a shoulder and rotate the stick. “He wasn’t supposed to still be a part of my life. I filed for the divorce weeks ago, had him served. He barely asked why and moved out. We didn’t speak for a few weeks…until he finally went through the papers, that is.”
Crew doesn’t interrupt, listening as intently as any good therapist.
“He came back tonight to argue about alimony.” I let out a humorless breath, shaking my head as the argument replays in a reel. “He wanted me to retract it, said I wasn’t entitled to his money, that I could work. Mind you, I gave up my job because he said I should. Before we got married, he promised I wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore, promised me security. Turns out that only counted if I behaved, if I didn’t hold him accountable to his vows and let him have his fun. When I argued my case and told him the alimony stood, he lost his ever-loving temper.”
Crew’s jaw ticks slightly, but still he doesn’t speak, allowing me to get the full story out. The fire pops as I remove the marshmallow, sending a small shower of sparks upward. He holds out a half-assembled s’more, chocolate and crackers awaiting the sugar I just barbecued.
“So I ran. In retrospect, I should’ve gone out the front door and yelled for help, but I turned the corner and ran upstairs instead.” I swallow. “That’s when he grabbed my arm.Hard.That’s also when I kicked him. I didn’t even think about it. I just…reacted. I can still feel the resistance, the split-second where gravity made its decision. He fell, but he didn’t get back up. There was so much blood…” I whisper the last bit. “So. Much. Blood.”
