We sit in silence as the scent of coffee and pine wood surrounds us.
“I asked for breakfast at eight,” she says. “And we’ll start filming at nine. So not too early for them.”
Brooke pulls out her folder and looks over the day’s schedule.
“How did you get into media studies?”
She taps the end of her pen between her lips. “I like telling stories, I guess. Moving around a lot, I became good at reading people. I had to. There wasn’t time to waste figuring people out. I’m also qualified to teach English. It opens up options when I’m looking for the next job.”
She says it mater-of-factly, as if it’s a given that she’s moving on.
“Do you ever think of staying?”
She sips her coffee and looks out at the trees. “Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to stay for a few years, but I think I’d get bored. I’ve always moved around. It’s all I know.”
I’m about to ask her if there’s ever been a man, something she wanted to stay for. But at that moment a cabin door creaks open and one of the students creeps out.
They make their way to the toilet block and give us a wave on the way. Another door opens and soon there are students emerging from their cabins, blinking in the daylight as if it’s first dawn and not almost zero-eight hundred.
I sip my coffee and watch a blackbird flutter from branch to branch high up in a pine tree.
I like the quietness between us. It reminds me of being married, when I was home and before Mina got sick. Comfortable silences that don’t need to be filled. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed that until this morning, sitting here with Brooke, sipping our coffee.
“We’ve got a big filming day today.” She shuffles papers. “They’re filming the camp staff. Working in twos and swapping over so they each get to work on their personal project.”
“Do you want me to go with a team?” I ask, unsure what level of supervision is required.
“I like to let them get going, then I’ll stop by each group to check in. They know the parameters of the camp, but you could walk around and make sure no one’s straying off the premises.”
She shifts her position, and our thighs brush on the seat. The contact makes me shudder, and I hide it by leaning forward. I’ve got three more days of this and two nights. Two nights to pretend I don’t feel the earth shift every time Brooke touches me.
11
BROOKE
The day passes in a blur. I move between student groups, watching and assessing and stepping in when needed. I barely see Joel. He flits between groups, keeping a respectful distance, helping them move their supplies and ensuring they all come back to the hall for lunch.
I notice he gives Dana her space, watching from the sidelines as she sets up her interview with the indigenous liaison at the camp.
He chats amiably with the boys. Even Justin hangs on his every word, listening to an adult for once.
Everyone likes Joel. He has that aura about him, easygoing and friendly. But I see the military man underneath. The way he scans the treeline, a habit he probably doesn’t know he has. And the fact that he was up at silly o’clock to go running in the woods.
When I woke up to the smell of coffee and him standing before me, his t-shirt plastered to his body with sweat, I thought I was still dreaming. No one should look that good after a jog, but somehow Joel pulls it off. The muscles in his arms were burstingout of his t-shirt and slick with sweat. They’re the kind of arms that could pin a girl down, or pin me against the wall, hold me up as his body presses against mine…
These types of thoughts have been invading my brain all day, making it difficult to concentrate. I’m both eager and anxious as I mount the steps to the dining hall. When you’ve been imagining someone pinning you to the wall all day, it’s hard to look them in the eye and talk about the rabbit stew the kitchen staff cooked, which, I’ve got to say, is a poor choice for a group of teenagers staying in Rabbit camp.
I line up to get my stew and am relieved to see Joel sitting at Dana’s table. His gaze follows me across the room, and I sit with my back to him at Madison’s table.
“Is it far tomorrow?” Madison asks, trying to hide her anxiousness. She doesn’t like mountain roads or min-buses, she confessed to me, which explains why she packed so randomly to get here. She must have been anxious on the morning we set out.
“Only half an hour up the road,” I reassure her.
“What if it rains? Bruce said it might rain.”
“What do you think we should do if it rains?”
She seems stunned that I’m asking her instead of providing a solution. She wants reassurance, but I want to see if she can find it herself.
