The Distance from Me to You (13 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said. She tugged at his arms so she could inspect the injury. “Let me see.” She wanted to assure herself only minimal damage, if any, had been done. But she also just really wanted to see Sam's face up close. She was suddenly frantic with worry that he might be mad at her.

Sam kept his hands firmly in place. “No way,” he said. “You're violent.”

To McKenna's relief, his voice sounded playful. This was the Sam she first met, not the hostile one from the restaurant.

“Come on. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Liar.”

“I didn't mean to hurt you
badly
,” she corrected. “Come on. Let me see.”

Her hands were closed around his wrists now, and this time when she tugged, he let his hands fall away. There was a faint pink mark above his brow, nothing major, it would probably disappear within minutes.

“I think you'll live,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat slightly. She was aware of her hands still grasping his arms, mere centimeters separating them. If she stood on her toes, she could kiss that eyebrow without moving much closer.

As if he'd read her mind, Sam said, “Are you going to kiss it and make it better?”

Abruptly, McKenna released her grip and stepped back. “No,” she said.

He shrugged, that infuriating grin returning, as if he could take or leave both McKenna and her kisses. But then he said, “Hey. I'm sorry, too. I was a jerk back there. I never even thanked you for lunch, or laundry, or any of it.”

“Well. You're welcome.”

“I'm sorry,” Sam said again.

McKenna nodded.

Sam said, “So does that mean we're okay? You and me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “We're okay.”

“Pretty spectacular,” he said.

She let out a stream of breath and walked back to the edge of the summit to retrieve her pack. At some point during their exchange, the sun had started to drop. To McKenna it looked like it was quivering, gathering up its strength for the downward plunge, orange starting to spread out and take over the landscape. It's not just the dawn that's rosy fingered, McKenna thought, and wondered if Sam would get that reference the way Brendan or Courtney would.

Without a sound, Sam appeared beside her.

“If we stay to watch, we'll have to descend in the dark.”

“We'll use your headlamp,” Sam said. Then he reached for her. “And I'll hold your hand.”

His fingers closed around hers, and McKenna found herself stepping closer, as if she'd never been angry at all. They watched the sun drop behind the mountain ranges and light up the sky before slowly going dark. Of course Sam was right. It was spectacular.

• • •

It was slow going down the trail in the dark. McKenna let Sam wear her headlamp and she walked behind, her hand gripped in his, close enough that her face hovered inches from his back. She could smell the sweat and wood smoke on his worn T-shirt, and see his skin through the line of tiny holes that ran just above his pack, from one shoulder to the other. When they came to a campsite, they threw down their packs and looked around. No tents set up.

“Looks like we have the place to ourselves,” Sam said, casting the narrow light from the headlamp.

“It's like that more and more,” McKenna said. “I didn't see a single person on the trail all day.”

“Summer's ending. People are headed back to real life.”

“Not me,” she said.

Sam smiled, and this time it didn't look arrogant at all. “Not me,” he agreed.

Now that the sun had set and they'd stopped moving, a chill settled in around them, still far enough north, and getting late enough in the season, for cool New England nights. McKenna pulled out her fleece jacket and long pants while Sam pulled on his wool sweater. The cold made her realize she hadn't seen him with any outer layers and she wondered if he had enough gear to make it through the colder months.

Without necessarily agreeing on it, not in any verbal way, they blew off setting up the tent and started looking for kindling. The spectacular sunset had given way to a spectacularly clear night sky. It would be a pain to set up tents in the dark—there was no chance of rain, and opportunities to sleep under the stars would be fewer and fewer as the nights got colder. As McKenna took the headlamp back to gather wood, leaving Sam with her flashlight, she thought she could see Orion's belt, a sure sign that summer was on its way out.

Her headlamp shone the way as she headed back toward the campsite, her arms full of twigs and sticks. As she dropped the load beside him, she saw that someone had left a little bottle of
whiskey leaning against a tree, with a note tied around the neck.
Enjoy.
She picked it up and twisted the top to see if the safety seal would crackle. It did.

Sam knelt by the fire pit, already arranging a tepee of sticks over some newspaper he'd been carrying in his pack. His figure was mostly visible by starlight, but he'd balanced her flashlight on a stump and she could see him silhouetted against dim shadows. His head lowered in easy concentration, blond hair flopped forward, muscles flexed naturally. No matter what Sam did, he always looked athletic, the way a wild animal looked athletic just walking across the grass, or even resting. McKenna wondered again if he'd played any sports in high school, but of course she wasn't going to make
that
mistake again.

“Somebody left this by a tree,” she said, showing him the whiskey. “Trail magic.”

Sam looked up. “Hope it was sealed,” he said, not sounding especially enthusiastic.

“It was.”

McKenna put on her sandals, then sat down on the log next to the flashlight, while Sam lit paper. The fire crackled and flared with almost magical obedience. She floated the note from the bottle into the flames, and admired the view she had of Sam's face, lit up by the orange glow. By the time he sat next to her, she was digging through her pack for food. She brought out the hummus, its plastic tub damp with condensation, and a pack of rice crackers.

“Look at that,” Sam said.

She waited for him to make a crack about her fancy food, but all he did was pick up a rice cracker and say, “Thank you,” in that raspy voice.

“You're welcome,” McKenna said. She'd already decided to share her cookie with him after dinner.

• • •

When they finished eating and packed the remnants of the food away, McKenna was conscious of having nothing between them on the log, not even the flimsy plastic containers of food. She thought he moved just the slightest bit away from her as he reached into his pack. Was it intentional? Did he want distance between them?

She picked up the whiskey bottle and offered it to him.

“No thanks,” Sam said.

“You don't drink?”

“Not much. Surprised you do.”

She shrugged and put the bottle down. “I don't much. But, you know. Here it is.”

Enough strands had come loose from her braid that she could feel her hair whipping against her face. She pulled off the elastic and started undoing the braid, combing her fingers through the long strands.

Sam watched her for a moment. “You're a good girl,” he said, with just a hint of sarcasm.

McKenna took the knit cap out of her pocket and pulled it over her head. What had she done wrong now? He was impossible to navigate, to figure out.

“You certainly seem to have a lot of opinions about me,” she said, then reached for the bottle and took a healthy swig. It shot through her body like she'd taken a mouthful of fire. She used every last bit of will to keep from coughing and spitting it out on the ground. Sam sat watching her.

“Opinions,” he said. “Yeah. I've developed a few of those about you.”

He reached out, as if he were going to touch her hair, but then thought better of it. McKenna picked up a slender log and tossed it onto the fire. It flared, warming and brightening both their faces. She took another sip of whiskey, smaller and more manageable this time, but it still burned her throat.

Sam eased the bottle out of her hands and put it on the other side of him. Which was just as well, because she was feeling dangerously light-headed. Enough to say, “You know, about the other day. At the restaurant. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have pushed you. Even though I would like to know. About you. Whenever you're ready to tell me. I mean, we're friends, right?”

Sam became absolutely still then, his eyes on the fire. He seemed to be considering when, if ever, he'd be ready to tell her about himself, and whether or not they were friends. McKenna wished she knew exactly what he'd been through. Was there someone at home waiting for a text or a phone call? Someone to wonder if he was all right, if he was safe or hungry? Even though McKenna hadn't spoken to her parents in weeks, their concern followed her with every step, and in a strange way,
embraced her throughout this adventure. She worried that Sam didn't have an equivalent to that.

Not taking his eyes off the fire, Sam said, “Yeah, Mack. We're friends. Definitely. And I shouldn't have said you wouldn't make it to Georgia. Because how the hell do I know? You just have to want it, I guess. You have to mean it when you say you're going to get there.”

“Yeah?” McKenna said. To her ears, her voice sounded a little husky, too. “How am I doing, then? Would you say? So far?”

She could see it. He started to turn toward her, something about his face softening.

“Fine,” he said. “You're doing just fine.”

McKenna pulled her hat down almost to her eyes and put her elbows on her knees, the two of them staring at the fire together like it was a huge flat-screen TV. In the quiet, she became very conscious of him sitting there, close to her, and it seemed that the main thing they were doing—their primary activity—was not touching each other.

She turned to look at him: the sharp cheekbones, unruly hair, lips that looked a quarter inch away from a smile, even when, like now, they were set in concentration. She wanted to run a finger along one cheekbone, then turn his face toward her so his blue eyes could look right through her.

“Sam?” she said.

“Yeah?”

In the stillness that followed, the quiet in which she couldn't decide exactly what she wanted to say, Sam spoke instead.

“I missed you the past couple days,” he said.

“You did?”

“Yeah. And I worried about you.”

“You don't need to worry about me,” she said, a little defensive. Why the hell was everyone always worrying about her?

That shrug again. He still wouldn't look at her. “Okay, I don't need to worry. Am I allowed to miss you?”

“I guess you can miss me. If you want to.”

Sam smiled but he still didn't look at her. Now, McKenna thought. Now would be the time for him to kiss her. To reach over and touch her face. But he didn't. He just sat staring at the fire, thinking unreadable thoughts.

How many hours ago had she felt so mad at him? Even then, she reminded herself, the resolve to maintain that anger had been wavering. And now all she wanted was to get closer. She wished she knew how. All those mountains of books at home, all that studying, all those good grades, and she didn't know how to do the most basic thing in the world, which was make a boy kiss her.

She stood up, grabbing a stick to stoke the fire. The little structure Sam had made collapsed, sending up sparks and a stream of smoke, threatening to smother the newest log.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Watch it.” He moved to stand up and fix it.

“I got it,” she said.

She dug a little hole in the middle with her stick, letting the fire breathe in much-needed air, and in a minute it was crackling again. McKenna turned around. There was Sam, still
sitting on the log, lit by the newly strong glow. An impulse gripped her and for once she pushed all second-guessing out of her head. She unzipped her fleece jacket and tossed it on the ground behind Sam. Before he had a chance to say anything, or she had a chance to think, she did the same with her T-shirt.

She meant to do her bra, too, that's how brave she was feeling, but seeing Sam's face, she stopped short. He still didn't move. His features were set, frozen, unreadable. She stood in front of him, wearing nothing but her pants, her bra, and the wool cap. I should've taken off the cap, McKenna thought, but now she was feeling mostly embarrassed and she couldn't move another muscle. She stood waiting to see what Sam would do next.

When he still didn't speak, McKenna felt like she might die of mortification. She started to believe that a silly girl whipping off her clothes without warning was so commonplace for him that he couldn't even be bothered to react.

Except for a little vein in his neck. McKenna could see it pop in the firelight, making his whole body look tense with the effort of not reaching out for her.

It seemed like hours ticked by. McKenna felt the heat from the fire against her bare back. She resisted the urge to bring her arms up in front of her. Having made this first move, she couldn't possibly move again until Sam did. Or said something. Anything.

And then finally, he did: “What are you doing?”

This was not the response she'd hoped for. The old anger rearranged itself inside her, like the fire gathering breath, but this time it was mingled with something else. Something she'd not come close to feeling, ever.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” she said, her voice a lot more vulnerable than it had sounded in her head.

That vein popped out of his neck a tiny bit more, the strained look on his face relaxing just enough to make him look wolfish. McKenna knew somehow, instinctively, that he wouldn't be able to sit there much longer. Any minute now, he would
have
to touch her.

In one graceful motion, Sam got to his feet. He stood in front of her, not touching her yet, just standing, looking down at her face. Then he pulled her hat from her head, and dropped it to the ground. He stroked her hair with both hands, fanning it out over her shoulders. It felt natural that from there he walked his fingers down her spine. No unpracticed fumbling—her bra was unsnapped in a single easy motion, falling down over her arms. She felt his lips next to her ear.