No, scratch that. All the bad decisions I’ve made since I bumped into Matt at that coffee shop three months ago.
I try to find something optimistic to focus on, the fresh scents of the forest are still present, but the tip of my nose is so cold from the bite of the wind that changed from pleasant, spring chill to a reminder that winter likes to dig its claws in sometimes before letting go.
My texts to Matt still show as undelivered.
A rustling noise catches my attention, my entire body tensing. Isn’t springtime when bears wake up, grumpy and hungry after their long winter’s nap? Have there been bearsightings in this area? I glare down at my phone. I wouldn’t know because I can’t check.
The rustling gets louder and my heart speeds up. I won’t have to worry about dying of hypothermia or eaten by a bear because I’ll die of a heart attack before either of those two things happens.
Suddenly, a tiny, reddish-brown squirrel shoots out of the underbrush and stops in the clearing. He, at least I assume it’s a he, pulls up short and looks right at me, tail flicking in the air before it lets loose a chittering string that I assume included all kinds of squirrel profanity by his aggressive stance.
I break off a piece of my granola bar and toss it away from me to the other side of the clearing. The squirrel flinches, ducking and going silent, his small frame twitching while I assume he debates murdering me with his tiny, bare hands. Finally, he blinks and scampers over to the granola bar, snatching it up and darting back into the forest.
I think about keeping the rest of my granola bar in case he comes back with his buddies, but now I’m worried that the scent of my food has somehow travelled on the air and larger, more predatory animals are now making their way to the clearing for a smorgasbord of granola bars and me.
And out of those two things, I am definitely more filling.
I stuff the last bit of bar in my mouth and chew frantically before getting out my hand sanitizer and applying it liberally. Hopefully, bears don’t like the antiseptic smell. I drizzle a few drops around my rock for good measure and tuck my hands inside my jacket, tucking my chin in against the cold.
“Poppy!”
My head whips around in time to see Matt crash into the clearing. His golden hair is tousled, and his cheeks are red. There’s a rip on the arm of his jacket.
“Is there a bear?” I ask, alarmed at his dishevelment.
He looks behind him. “No, no bear, but we have to go.”
“Why, what’s wrong?”
He waves his phone around. “I got it Poppy. Geoff will have to back me now.”
“Got what?”
He ignores my question, zipping the phone into his jacket. “We’ve got to move.”
“Did you find a branch?”
He blinks, glancing down at my ankle. “Uh. Is it still sore?”
The ibuprofen has taken the sharp, sickly edge of the pain off, but it feels swollen. “I definitely can’t put my weight on it.”
He crouches down next to me. “Okay, I’ll have to piggyback you out.”
Bleeeaaat!!
“What is that?” I peer over Matt’s shoulder. A little goat hops into the clearing, its floppy, fawn-colored ears too big for its head.
Bllleeeaaaatttt!
“Omigod. What a sweet little baby. Where did you come from?” I croon, overwhelmed by the cuteness.
“It’s just a goat. It could be from anywhere,” Matt mutters, rubbing the tear in his jacket.
Something in his voice sounds off. “That’s a baby and I don’t think it looks like a mountain goat.”
“As if you have any idea what a mountain goat looks like. I’m sure its mother is around somewhere.” He grunts, trying to shift me onto his back. “Poppy, you have to try to hop up or something.”
The goat scampers over, peering up at me. “We can’t leave this little thing out here all by itself.”
