“You did!”
“She’s been pawing at bugs all day!” Arthur said with a defensive sweep of his arm.
Eva snorted a laugh. She couldn’t help it. “You named our catBug.”
“Ourcat?” Arthur countered indignantly.
It was just enough to send her over the edge. Eva bent over giggling, tears salting her cheeks.
Arthur’s ears reddened. “Forget it,” he muttered. “She can be Snowball.”
“No, no, I think it’s cute.” Eva pushed herself up, swiping away the moisture in her eyes. Honestly, it felt good to cry for something funny for a change. “Sorry. I do, I… Sorry.” Another laugh slipped out of her. She pointed to her face. “This isn’t about you.”
The emotional release made newborn blades of grass push out of the soil at her feet. She scooped Bug up and followed a sulking Arthur into the tent, her lips still trembling with laughter.
“What do we do about this?” He nodded to the remaining sleeping bag they had to share.
It was a good question. The cooling temperature would leave them both shivering without a few extra layers. Luckily, they still had the clothes in Arthur’s pack, including the flannel shirt she’d worn in the van.
“Unzip it,” she decided. “We’ll dress warm and sleep underneath.”
“And the cat?”
Bug arched her back and pawed the floor of the tent, widening a sudden yawn.
“Oh, she’ll sleep with me. We cuddle now.” Eva nuzzled the animal close and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Isn’t that right, Bug?”
Eva used to love camping, priding herself as a child on her hardiness to the outdoors. It was something she and Dad had shared. So it irritated her no end that no matter what she did, no matter how the last few days had depleted her stores of energy down to the dregs, she couldn’t fall asleep.
She blamed the pine cones digging into her back. She blamed the cold. Most frustratingly, she blamed her proximity to the man beside her.
Arthur’s presence was distracting, from the telltalesnluufof his snores to the chocolate curl hanging over his nose. It took everything in her not to fix that lock of hair. Not that Arthur would have noticed, since he apparently slept like the dead despite the rough terrain and shivering cold.
Eva rolled over and stared at him in the dark.
He’d given her a sweatshirt from their remaining pack, takingfor himself the flannel shirt she’d worn last night. The shorts he’d given her had started to chafe her thighs, and after he’d fallen asleep, Eva had dug through the pack and pulled out the softest alternative she could find: a pair of boxers.
In desperate times.
At last, she gave in to the urge and reached to delicately lift the lock of hair out of Arthur’s eyes. He didn’t even stir. She studied his profile. Dry lips. Harsh cheekbones. A pained grimace, softened by sleep.
Eva couldn’t believe he’d wanted to come with her. It was so unlike him to stick around.
Rolling onto her back again, Eva closed her eyes. On her other side, Bug slept in a T-shirt nest between Eva’s back and the tent wall. Eva ran a finger softly down the kitten’s spine and tried counting sheep. She tried flexing and releasing first the muscles of her toes, then her feet, then her legs. She tried clearing her mind to a blank slate, but the harder she tried to sleep, the more awake she became.
With a huff, she finally surrendered and rolled onto the balls of her feet, ankles cracking.This is ridiculous.She eased the zipper open, glancing back. Arthur and Bug were both fast asleep, turned away from each other with an Eva-sized gap between them.
She quietly slid the zipper closed again, willing to chance a brief separation to relieve her screaming bladder.
The air outside tasted infinitely fresher. Eva craned her neck up at the stars. You never saw them this vivid down in the valley, where light pollution made them fade. Here, the constellations told a story older than honey itself.
When her skin goosed with cold, she rubbed her arms and dug out the roll of toilet paper from the backpack, slipping her feet into her shoes. She quietly tiptoed past the tent to do her business,grateful that the forest was never truly quiet. Night music filled her ears and settled her. The burbling river. The orchestra of crickets. The snore of pickerel frogs. If Arthur were awake, he could tell her what species of owl hooted in the trees.
For a moment, Eva let go of her fear of the unknown, forgetting the missing pack and the gnawing sensation of somethingotherwatching them where they slept. Forests had a way of making her feel small in a good way. Here, she was just another part of the ecosystem, and all she had to do to be worthy was exist.
A tear surprised her, slipping down her cheek. Why was that feeling so hard to hold on to?
“Ev!” Arthur called out.
