The Girls of No Return (40 page)

I nodded.

She glanced at the book near our feet. “I wondered where my book had gone,” she said. “Any reason why you happen to have brought your knife up here?”

“Not really,” I said. “Protection, I guess.” That wasn't true. I was going to use it just the way I always had. At least, that's what I'd been planning when I'd packed it. But after the day I'd had, it all seemed a little silly. When I'd taken it out of the book, the knife had felt uncomfortable in my fist, like a pair of too-small shoes.

“Huh.” I hoped that was the end of it, but she went on, circling back to the topic at hand. “What I can't figure out is, why did Gia do that to you? I mean, why
you
?” I didn't turn to face her, but I could tell that Boone was looking at me expectantly. “What does Gia have against you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe she was just in a ‘take no prisoners' kind of mood.”

“Maybe.” Boone kept watching me. “But it's strange. I mean, aren't you her little pet? You must have
really
pissed her off.” She shook her head, then reached down to the ground and picked up the book, opening it and examining the knife. “So this is what you used,” she said, her voice quiet.

I shifted around on the rock. “Yeah.”

“And she was the only person who knew?” The question came out weakly, and I wondered — just for a moment — whether Boone was jealous. She didn't even have to look at my nod of assent. “Why did you trust her? I told you not to. I can't believe you shared something so private with someone so . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she stared angrily into the fire. “I mean, what was going on with you two?” She turned suddenly and grabbed me by the shoulder. “Lida. If she knew something so private about you, what did you know about her?”

I shook my head too quickly. “Noth —”

“What secrets did you keep for her?” Her fingers dug into my shoulder. “What did you know?” she repeated.

“None! Nothing! I didn't know anything!” My throat constricted, making my voice sound thin and girlish. It was the voice of a liar, and I was sure that Boone knew it. I stared into the fire, blinking furiously.

Boone released her grip on my shoulder and leaned back. She pulled a new pack of cigarettes from the same pocket where she had stored the corkscrew. She hit it forcefully against the palm of one hand, packing it, and then ripped it open and pulled out a long white cigarette. She stood and leaned so far over the fire that the flames could have licked her eyelashes. When she straightened again, the cigarette was lit. Boone stood there silently, smoking. At one point, she held the pack out to me, and I shook my head. Finally, she looked off into the trees, blew a perfect smoke ring, and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” She looked down at me. “Sure. Okay.”

The fire glowed fiercely. From where I sat, Boone's eyes were obscured by the interplay of light and shadow.

She dropped her cigarette into the flames and stepped toward my pile of extra logs. “Your house is going to lose its foundation,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Plain English: All these logs won't do much good without more kindling. Otherwise, we're going to freeze overnight.”

I laughed uncomfortably. “I guess.”

“Clearly, you didn't absorb what I taught you, Grasshopper.” Boone reached into her small backpack and pulled out some gloves, which she slipped on. “I'll be back in a few.”

“Where are you going?”

“To bolster our reserves.”

I watched her walk into the trees. She hadn't taken a flashlight with her, but the light in the air was still that strange shade of silver, so I thought she'd probably be fine. Plus, I half believed that Boone could see in the dark.

I sat on my hands to warm them as the fire crackled. Boone was right; it wouldn't last long. Already, the flames were dying down, red coals pulsing with heat.

I had to admit to myself that I was glad she'd come. What did I think I was going to be doing out here alone all night, besides fending off frostbite? And she'd seemed to believe me when I told her I didn't know about Gia and Ben. I kept repeating this to myself as I stared into the coals, the way an addict imagines innocence, insists that no one knows. She hadn't pushed the issue. She'd really seemed to drop it. She believed me. Still, I felt nervous, unmoored.
Explore the shadows
, Margaret had said. Shadows were all I could see.

When I heard the snap of a twig behind me. I said, “Just in time. The fire's almost out.”

“I hope you're going to put some more logs on it, then.”

The voice behind me wasn't Boone's. It was smooth and even, with the faintest trace of an unidentifiable accent.

I didn't turn around. Closed my eyes for a beat and said, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

My heart tumbled over itself, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I pulled my hands out from under me and laid them on my thighs. I heard the whisper of dried pine needles as she walked closer. She was right behind me, but still I didn't turn to face her.

“I can understand the unwelcome welcome, but you could at least look at me.” She walked around my left side and sat on the rock in front of the fire. Her hair had fallen out of its ponytail so that it hung down, framing her face like a halo in the firelight. She was wearing the cashmere gloves that she'd had on in Circle Share two days before, but I could see that her hands were shaking with cold. “Lida. We need to talk.”

“Really?” I asked. “It feels a bit late for that.” Sarcasm coated my tongue like syrup. I hoped I could keep it up despite my traitorous heart.

“Lida —” Her hands were still shaking, and I wondered if she really was cold, or if it was something else — anger, maybe, or fear. “I want to explain why I did what I did.”

“You've got nothing to explain,” I said. “It was crystal clear a couple of days ago.” My scalp shivered, and I glanced behind me. Nothing. But I knew I had to get Gia out of there before Boone came back.

“I thought we could discuss it. Maybe talk it over? I've had some time to think about it. I'm not mad anymore,” she added, as though that meant anything.

“
Talking it over
would have been helpful before Circle Share. It feels a little late now.” I stared into the fire. I wasn't going to make eye contact with her. I knew that if I did, I might bend.

“Oh, just listen to me, will you?” Gia's voice began to rise, sounding younger, less sure. “I was really upset. I'd just come down from visiting Ben, and he told me — Well, you can guess what he said. Lida, I really liked him. And he just —” She turned to me, staring at the side of my face until I was forced to look at her. When I did, I could see that her eyes were bright with tears. “He wasn't like the other guys I've been with. He was . . . interested in me.”

“He was interested in who he thought you were, you mean.” I was pulling from a place behind my lungs, where anger had been simmering all along.

She was quiet, but her expression moved from sadness to anger to sadness to shame. “Maybe,” she finally said, “but I didn't think of it that way.”

“So you thought you'd punish me, right? An eye for an eye?” I wanted to scream that I had a pretty good idea of how it felt to like someone, to have them think I was interesting and wonderful, and to lose them in an instant. Why couldn't she see that?

“Kind of.” She glanced down.

“Well, maybe this will help. I didn't tell him anything. I didn't tell Boone, and I didn't tell Ben.”

“What do you mean?” She looked up sharply.

“
Boone
saw you coming down the trail.
She
put two and two together.
She
told Ben, not me.”

The fire crackled and sparked. I heard Gia's breath shudder uncertainly as she tried to control it. Finally, she said, “I didn't know that.” Her voice sounded so small that I had to glance at her. Her face held the regret of a child who, in anger, has destroyed some little gift or trinket. Her jaw trembled.

“No,” I said, “you didn't.” I was saying all the right words. I was doing just fine. I remembered, suddenly, the way I'd felt when I'd called Jules out in the cabin. Powerful. And ashamed. Expansive. And small. Good, for one whispered moment, and bad, for all the long hours after. And I realized that Gia had probably been feeling this way for the past couple of days. A wave of sympathy coursed through my body. I looked away.

She didn't say anything for a while. Eventually, I glanced over again. I saw the streak of tears as she sat quietly, crying without making any sound at all.

Gia raised her eyes to mine. “Oh, Lida. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known. In all honesty — I've never . . . had a friendship like yours.”

I'd heard Gia lie. Over the past couple of days I'd thought about it, and I'd realized that she'd probably lied to me plenty of times. But she wasn't lying now. I believed — I still believe — that she was serious. My heart, that disloyal sidekick, flipped again. I'm sure Gia could see the hope that dashed across my face like a thief.

She shook her head. “Who am I kidding? You're probably the only real friend I've ever had. And that made it worse when I thought that you'd —” Deep breath. “I thought you'd given me up. That you'd given up on me. It was the worst feeling in the world. There's no word to describe it.” She laid one of her cashmere gloves on my knee.

I couldn't stop two fat tears from rolling down my own cheeks. I wanted to tell her that I knew how that felt. I knew exactly how that felt. But I didn't get a chance.

“I believe the proper word for it is
bullshit
.”

Boone was standing next to the tent, her arms filled with pinecones and tiny sticks. I didn't know how long she'd been there. She walked over and dropped the wood unceremoniously next to what remained of my earlier forage. Then she turned to Gia. “Welcome to our humble home. Now get out.” She crossed her arms and stood across the fire from us. She stared hard at me.

Gia didn't even blink at Boone's sudden appearance. “No, thank you. I came to see Lida.” She turned to me. She lifted her hand and wiped away a tear with her index finger. “I really am sorry,” she said. “You have to believe me.”

“I've asked you once, politely. I'll ask you again. Leave.” Boone stepped closer to the fire, pulling off her gloves and holding her hands out in front of her like she had nothing better to do. She never took her eyes off me.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Gia said to me. “Lida,” she continued, pretending as though Boone wasn't even there, “I should have given you more credit.”

“Credit for what?” Boone asked.

“This is a private conversation.”

Both girls were addressing their comments only to me.

“Lida.”

“Lida.”

They were waiting for me to say something. But what?

“I'm sorry,” I said to the coals.

“No need,” said Gia, just as Boone asked, “What for?” Then there was silence.

And here's what I wanted to say, what I was screaming in my head:
For pretending that I'm not responsible for any of this. For lying to each of you, and to myself. For wanting you to look at me the way you looked at Ben, Gia. Most of all, for being unable to control my chaotic, heedless heart.

Here's what I said instead:

 

 

 

The fire was hissing, just coals and the occasional intrepid flame. Boone bent down and reached for some sticks. I wasn't looking at either of their faces, but I watched Boone's arm as it floated over the fire, placing a log on top of the small pile of branches. Her arm retreated and then reappeared moments later with another log in hand. The flames caught quickly. A thick wall of heat stretched out toward us all, and — I know this sounds crazy — I felt safe. No one had said anything for at least a minute. I don't know what I thought was going to happen, but I do remember this: I thought the worst was over.

That is, until Gia said to me, “I should never have doubted your loyalty.”

Boone's hand reappeared over the fire with a stick.

“I should have talked to you, instead of assuming you'd betrayed me.”

The hand shook, dropping the stick. It hovered there too close to the flames.

I looked up, and turned my face toward Gia's. I shook my head, hoping that she could read the message in my eyes. But she couldn't — or wouldn't — understand what I was asking of her.

Boone's hand withdrew from the fire. I heard the whisper of her feet as she walked around the pit to my other side. She squatted down on her heels next to me, saying nothing.

I stared at the fire until my eyes burned and tears sprang from their corners. Then I took a deep breath. “I —” But I couldn't finish. I didn't know how to explain.

Boone's voice was low and soft, as though she was coaxing a feral dog with a piece of meat. “What did you do, Lida?”

Gia shifted so that she could peer around me at Boone. “What do you mean?” I could almost hear the snap of each puzzle piece as they fit together in her mind. “Or maybe you don't know. Is that it?” I felt her gaze settle on the side of my face. “How did you think I met Ben in the first place?”

I heard the sharp intake of breath from my other side.

“I thought you were dumb,
Elsa
, but I didn't think you were oblivious.” Gia wasn't talking to me anymore. Everything she said was meant for Boone now. Each bladed word.

Boone raised herself to her feet. “Go,” she said again, though her voice was raspy and thin. “Leave.” She sounded far away, as though the words came from someplace remote, inaccessible by car or conversation. It scared me.

“No,” said Gia.

Snow began falling, gauzy in the firelight. Tears mixed with the flakes as they hit my face. I had to make them understand. I had to make them see that this was all my fault, that it was
my
fear,
my
weakness,
my
desire that had gotten us all to this point. “I —”