“You figured out our master plan!” Skip pretends to rip out his hair and curse at the sky.
“Don’t take it personally. Hard to get anything past me.” I ammostlynot smiling at Skip’s antics.
Skip wobbles his head. “I can’t promiseyouwon’t talk about your feelings, butIwon’t compel you. Lots of people find they can be freer out here, in the wilderness, than back home.”
“Sounds like the tagline of an outdoor rehab.”
Skip laughs, ever good-natured. “You’re a comedian!” he informs me, shaking his head like I’m a little tyke, before moving on to some other Crocodile Dundee activity.
Campfire spaghetti, it turns out, is jarred red sauce with barely cooked TVP.
The trip’s collective disappointment can’t get the mighty Skip down, because after dinner, there’sghost stories. (And liquor, provided by the best man.)
The official Outventures agenda includes passing around the metaphorical sharing stick (if it was a real sharing stick, I would have hiked back to Chicago) and telling the scariest stories we know. The unofficial agenda includes getting sloshed in the woods with a mix of functioning alcoholics and Instagram models. I’ll let you guess which camp Steve has nominated himself to be captain of. A quiet groomsman, whom I have never seen open his mouth, tells a twenty-minute-long cinematic ghost story. Clara nudges me, mouthingAnt. So this must be the engineer Pen wants to set me up with. A safe choice, all around. And yet, all my concentration is focused on a staring contest with Eitan as we suck back seltzers like it’s our job.
“And then, they creeped forward.” Ant looks around the circle, suspense electrifying his features. His hair sticks in all directions and the fire crackles in his eyes. “When they looked in the crib…It was empty.” Ant’s voice drips with terror. “Nothing but a bloodySpainted on its sheets.”
“Jesus Christ,” Andres mutters. “I’m not drunk enough to listen to a story this scary.”
There’s a lull as people regroup from that horror story. As good a time as ever to sneak in a bathroom trip.
My eyes glaze over Eitan before I stand up and head into the woods to find a private spot.
My bladder is full to bursting. I stumble through the trees, away from the light of the fire and the lamps, before any notion of poison ivy or bears crosses my mind. Are there bears up here? Shit. I should have spent more time reading about Northern Michigan fauna. I spin around and realize I may have wandered too far from the camp, because I’m not seeing even a twinkle of light.Doubleshit.
I ball my flannel up in my fists. My palms are slicking with more sweat by the minute. What about serial killers? Those hang out in the woods, too, don’t they?
A twig snaps. I startle—a full body flinch.
“Ruby?”
Even in the dark, I recognize that fluffy mop of hair. “Eitan?” I hiss, pretending he didn’t just bring me close to peeing myself.
“Yes?” he says back. “Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know, an axe murderer?”
“I think strangulation would be much more likely out here.” He tilts his head, and my eyes are adjusting enough to catch the movement in the moonlight. “Quieter.”
“Great, thanks for that.” I shiver. “Well. Didn’t realize I needed a buddy to nature pee.”
“I saw you wandering off.” The tension is clear in his words; the obligation Eitan feels to take care of Ruby Hirsch, career Unstable Woman.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know. I—” His brows pinch together. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He sighs. “Sorry, I don’t know how to—what is and isn’t okay, after…Well, you know. I’ll just head—” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder and begins to turn.
A couple steps rustle on the forest floor before I stutter out a syllable. “Wait.” I scratch my neck, look up at the sky, check to make sure this temporary insanity isn’t due to a full moon. “Can you—” I clear my throat. “Stay with me? Stay here, I mean.”
“Scared?” he asks, turning back to face me, his voice light. Teasing.
“Practical,” I correct.
“You’re nothing if not practical,” he says this with the utmost sarcasm.
I twirl my finger in the air. “Turn around, please.”
He snorts and slowly turns, kicking some leaves back and forth. I pull down my pants, feeling safe enough to nature pee with him standing there—I order myself not to read into that—and squat.
