“And how about now?”
She watches the students in front of her. Justin has the camera out and points it at the trees as he walks. He falls behind, and when we catch up to him, he stops recording and runs to catch up with the others.
“Sorry, miss,” he calls. “It’s just looks so good, all the shades of green and the light.”
We keep walking and I think Brooke isn’t going to answer the question, but after a few moments of silence she speaks.
“Now, I don’t need to belong. I learned that as I got older. I’m doing what I love, I get to see different parts of the county, I’m a lot surer of myself.” She shrugs. “I don’t need anyone else.”
And she does seem sure of herself and confident in her life choices. But I can’t help wondering if she even knows what she’smissing. Working with the SEAL teams was the best experience of my life. I belonged there. I had a place and a team and people I could rely on and who relied on me. Since leaving, I’ve built a community in Hope. I can’t imagine not belonging somewhere.
But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to knock her confidence. If she’s happy living a nomadic life, then who am I to question it?
But as we walk side by side, I can’t help wondering what a future would look like where Brooke stayed. In the last few years, I’ve gotten used to living alone. But then I’m never alone; I have my girls and the community I’ve built. But for the first time in a long time, I wonder if that’s enough.
15
JOEL
The light fades quickly under the canopy of the forest. One by one, phone flashlights blink on. Outside of their narrow spheres of light, the path is dark, and the undergrowth closes in. The students’ chatter dies down and the atmosphere shifts.
It’s with relief that we emerge from the trees into an inky twilight surrounding Pine Creek Camp. The lights in the hall are on, and the smell of cooking meat wafts through the air.
There’s relief on the faces of the students and also triumph. The walk was an unexpected adventure, and now the chatter picks up as they file into the hall. The students slump into chairs dispersed in groups around the tables.
I enter last and find Brooke turning slowly, a worried expression on her face.
“Where’s Justin?” she says sharply.
The kids stop talking as everyone glances around. She strides toward a group of boys at a round table, the friends he’s most often with. “Was Justin with you?”
One of them shrugs. “He kept stopping to film.”
“Did you see him come back to camp?” Brooke’s body is tense, but she keeps her voice casual, not wanting to alarm the boys.
The boy shrugs. “I couldn’t see anything.”
“He might have gone to pee,” one of them adds hopefully.
I catch Brooke’s worried expression. “I’ll go check.”
I jog to the toilet block in the middle of camp. It’s empty. I check the cabins, calling Justin’s name. But all is silent.
By the time I get back to the hall, he’s still not there. Brooke meets me at the door, the strain in her features apparent. Behind her, the students are silent, and the group of boys follows her to the door.
I meet her gaze and give a slight shake of my head. I don’t want to say out loud what I’m thinking in front of Justin’s friends: that he’s missing.
“His phone is going straight to voicemail,” says one of his friends in a worried voice.
Brooke holds my gaze before composing her features into a neutral expression and turning to the boys.
“He must be out filming still,” she says, her voice steady. “Can you tell me exactly when you last saw him?”
“He was filming for most of the walk,” says one of the boys, Ethan. “Even when it got dark, he put his phone light on the camera. He said it looked cool like that. It made it look spooky.”
“And when was that?” asks Brooke. “How close were we to getting back?”
“It was when we all put our lights on, about twenty minutes ago.” He looks around at the other boys, and they all nod.
