Eva took his hands off her pockets and set them on her hips. “You can hold on to me.”
This was a liminal space. They couldn’t dwell here, no matter how soft it felt. There was too much pain in it. But just for a moment, they could drift. He could touch her. She could let him. And after, they wouldn’t speak of it.
Arthur’s grip tightened, his thumbs rubbing her hip bones. Eva tried to ignore the shiver that rippled over her skin as she steadied her forearm against his shoulder. “Three more stitches and I will close it. That’s it.”
“Fuck,” Arthur cracked out again, the curse almost delicate. “Do it.”
It was so much worse than she’d imagined. Worse than the first stitch, by far. When they’d fought at the cottage, Eva had wanted him without armor. Now she had it. The universe laidArthur Connoway bare to the bone, every inch of his face etched in anguish. He tried and failed to bury the guttural sounds of his pain as he held her body like it was his only anchor, clutching her hips so tightly Eva had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
He would never forgive himself if he thought he’d hurt her.
Bile rose at the back of Eva’s throat when the thread slicked pink. She hated that the only word she had wassorry. She hated the raw, animal edge to his groans, and the stripes of tears salting his skin.
The suture kit had no scissors, so when she’d finished, Eva leaned in and carefully bit off the end of the thread with her teeth. Arthur flinched as she blotted the edges around the wound with another sterile wipe, his eyelids shuttering.
“Done,” she whispered.
Arthur didn’t release her right away. Raindrops streamed down the window behind him, and though Eva still wore the flannel shirt he’d given her, the sight of the deluge sent a chill across her skin.
It was easier to look at him when he wasn’t staring back. Eva let her eyes map the contours of his face. They were sharper than she remembered, his body hardened with time. Arthur would never be a large man, but in the years that had separated them from that fateful summer, his once gangly body had turned lean with muscle.
When he didn’t move after several long seconds, Eva laid her hands over his and gently pried his fingers off her hips. Arthur startled back to himself with a little gasp. His eyes were open windows, and she saw the pain behind them, a wound she couldn’t stitch up.
Arthur snatched his hands back. “Thank you,” he strained.
Eva didn’t mean to sleep, but the rain lulled her down anyway, Arthur’s flannel shirt wrapping her in warmth. She dreamed of the two of them as they’d been eight years before. Arthur used to take her out in the mornings with a pair of binoculars and his old Minolta camera. They’d listen to birdsong and wait for just the right shot.
Her nose wrinkled. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she could still hear those calls. Orioles. Robins. Starlings. Arthur didn’t like that last one. He said starlings had a penchant for stealing the nests of other birds. For someone who cared abouthomeso much, his disdain for such behavior made sense, though Eva couldn’t help but find the birds beautiful anyway, with their dark rainbow of slick, oil-hued feathers. Besides, they could mimic the calls of other species, meadowlarks and killdeer and—
Eva gasped awake, realizing with a start the birds weren’t in her dream at all but all around her. Where was she? Instantly disoriented, Eva shot up in the makeshift bed and whacked her head on the roof of Arthur’s van.
Oh. That’s right.
“Hey! You okay?”
Eva moaned and rubbed the spot, holding her palm up with a nod. “Yeah. I’m good.” She felt more embarrassed than anything. An orange Afghan had been draped over her body. She must have twisted while she dozed, given how it now compressed her legs in a cocoon. At the end of the mattress, the little gray kitten made enthusiastic biscuits with the blanket. When Eva flexed her toes, the kitten pounced. Eva yelped a laugh.
The side door of the van had been left open. Outside, Arthur crouched over a propane stove, stirring a pan of golden eggs. When their gazes latched, the corners of his mouth lifted. Eva felt the smile like a hook in her chest.
“Hey.” She yawned wide and looked around. She’d never seen the van’s interior before, and it surprised her just how colorful it was. How neat. “The rain stopped?”
Arthur nodded, somewhat rueful. “I tried to wake you.”
Even in a tight space, there was room to breathe, clutter coralled behind home-crafted pine cabinets. Curious, Eva opened the one nearest her. Instantly, her eyes fell on a pair of binoculars she recognized, folded and tucked into a ball cap.
She bit her lip, then quietly shut the cabinet.
The air had that fresh, washed-out clarity that comes only after a storm. So did Eva’s mind, now washed free of all but one single, urgent thought: They had to run, now. She’d slept through the sunrise. The return of daylight and clear roads meant their reprieve was over, and at any minute the sheriff’s men could come around the bend. Eva scooped up the kitten.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost six.” Arthur’s mouth twisted wryly. “Don’t look so worried. You slept through the drive, but if Jack’s notes are right, we’re close to the trailhead.” He pointed to a post just beyond the Volkswagen. “The mile marker is there. Figured you’d want to eat first.”
Stunned, Eva turned, taking in the overflowing sea of chalky aspens tinkling in the wind.
He was right. This place was a perfect match to her father’s notes.
Aspens were a special tree, one of a small handful of speciesthat reproduce by sending out sucker sprouts from their roots to clone themselves into existence again and again. The unique system affords them greater longevity and resilience, as they function, in essence, as one cooperative organism.
