“You heard the Steve Wheeler thing,” I admit. It’s not a question; the cabin is maybe five hundred square feet. He can hear everything.
“It’s fine,” he says.
“I didn’t want them to worry more, is all,” I explain. “They’re already kind of freaking out, and…”
“They’d worry more about me than a stranger they’ve never met?”
I don’t answer, just look away for a moment.
“Right,” Gideon says, and scrubs his hands over his face, muffling his voice. “Yeah. I get it. Parkway should be clear in a day or two and then you can leave.”
“Thanks,” I say, and walk back into the kitchen.
I stand there for about thirty seconds, feeling like shit, then walk back into the other room.
“I’m sorry you heard that,” I say, which is true. “I didn’t mean for you to.”
“Want me to pretend I didn’t?”
“Can you?”
“Sure,” he says, and leans forward to start messing with the ice packs around his ankle. “Of course. Done.”
I last about ten seconds.
“I didn’t say that because I think you’ll do anything, it was because they’re already worried that I’m out in the wilderness in a snowstorm and I didn’t see any reason to make it worse—”
“I said it was fine. We can stop talking about it.”
I feel like I might explode, or at least shoutstop saying fine it’s not fine this is all very weird if you say you’re fine one more time I swear I’ll scream, but instead I say, “Sure,” and head back into the kitchen so I can pace around a little more, feeling frustrated and pent up and a little crazed. It doesn’t work.
“I’m going for a walk,” I announce, heading back into the main room.
“Now?”
“No, tomorrow, I just thought I’d let you know,” I tell him, pulling a sweater over my head. “Yes,now.”
“You can’t leave,” he says, and there’s a note of panic in his voice. “It’s freezing, it’s past sundown, it’s hard enough to find your way—”
“I’m notleaving, I’m stepping outside for a minute because this cabin is about five hundred square feet and I need some space,” I tell him with all the calm I can muster.
“Do you know how hard it is to find someone in the woods when therehasn’tjust been a blizzard?”
“I have a general idea, yes,” I snap, because my patience is gone. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Gideon looks horrified. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think his eyes go wide and his face goes pale. “Andi,” he starts. “It’s surprisingly easy to die of exposure even in conditions—”
“I’m not going for a hike,” I say, practically growling it through clenched teeth. “I’m going to go out there—” I point for some reason, as if there’s a direction that isn’toutside, “—and I’m going to stand there in the snow and enjoy not being in the same space as you for a while. Maybe if I decide to get really crazy, I’ll stomp around the cabin a little. I’m not going anywhere besidesnot here.”
He looks so relieved that it’s like I didn’t just explicitly tell him that I want to be where he’s not. Maybe he’s used to that sort of thing.
“Take a flashlight,” he says, and somehow, instead of biting his head off and sayingof course I’m going to take a flashlight, obviously I’m going to take a flashlight, I’m not a five year oldI just nod.
“I’ll be back,” I promise, very calmly.
“Don’t leave visual range of the cabin,” he says.
“Do you want me to wear a beacon?” I ask, sarcastically.
