‘He wanted to let you know that he was going to his mother’s place for the next two weeks,’ Grandpa tells me.
‘Oh yeah,’ I say. ‘He mentioned something like that.’ I trawl my turbid memory and dredge up our first date when Rob told me about his divorced parents. ‘His mom lives in Seattle, right?’
As I talk, the details, which have become more fluid for me lately, take shape based on the context I’m pouring them into. Now that I think about it, I can almost remember Rob telling me about this.
‘Rob goes back and forth between his parents so his mom doesn’t get lonely,’ I say, to prove to no one in particular that I was listening to him.
‘Nice boy,’ Grandma says, like she’s reminding me.
All I can think about is two weeks with Bo minus the irritating thought that Rob will be waiting for me in my grandma’s parlour when I get back. And I know that’s not right. I’m going to have to do something about Rob when he gets back, regardless of whether or not anything ever happens with Bo.
Grandpa misreads my dark expression and says, ‘Don’t be too disappointed, dear. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
‘Oh my Lord,’ I groan. ‘You’re worse than a greeting card.’ I go back up to my room with their snickering trailing behind me.
I can hardly dress fast enough. I throw on a shirt and shorts and tie my hair into a low braid. I put on my hiking sandals when I get downstairs and go out the back to say goodbye to Grandma on my way to the trailhead.
‘Please don’t stay out after dark. There are some bad characters in that forest,’ she tells me.
I pause and shift under my backpack. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
She looks up at me and purses her lips, reluctant to talk about unpleasant things.
‘You know,’ she says, and lowers her voice. ‘Druggies.’ She looks back down at the row of berries at her feet. ‘Some bad characters are out there making all sorts of things from the mushrooms and the weeds and heaven knows what else. I don’t want you running into any of that sort,’ she says. Then a thought occurs to her. ‘You haven’t seen any of those people out there, have you?’
Actually, I think I might have. Bo did mention that his father made holistic remedies that he sold in town. But my grandparents don’t have any concept of gradation when it comes to drugs that aren’t prescribed by a doctor. Put it in an orange bottle with a printed label on the front, and Grandma will chug her uppers and downers religiously, but smoke a little pot, and you may as well carjack a nun.
‘No,’ I lie. ‘Just me and nature.’
‘Well, I’m glad. Nature can be very healing,’ she says, indicating her garden with a proud smile. Gardens aren’t nature any more than a tree by the side of the road is a forest, but there’s no point in arguing with her. ‘I’ve been worried about you out there,’ she says. ‘You come straight back here if you do see any druggies, and we’ll report them to the authorities.’
I don’t say I will. I feel bad about lying to her already, and I can’t make myself do it again. I thought I was done with that, but there’s no way I’m going to narc on Bo just because my grandmother is old-fashioned.
‘I’ll be back before dark,’ I promise instead. That appeases her, because everyone knows ‘druggies’ only come out after sundown, and then I’m racing down the trail to the woods.
There’s no reason for him to be there this early. I’m fully expecting to have to wait for him, but I don’t mind the thought of waiting for Bo. I wade through the river, spread out my blanket, and take off my sandals to let them dry. I pull some books out of my backpack, fully intending to read the John Stuart Mill Bo had suggested, but the only book that seems to stick to my palm is my journal. It flops open automatically to where my pen is sandwiched between the pages, like a dog rolling over to show you its belly.
I’ll have to get a new notebook soon. This one is nearly full. That can’t be right.
‘You’re early,’ Bo says.
I look up, and there he is, standing in the ferns like he grew there. He’s wearing the same camouflage pants I first saw him in and an old T-shirt that’s so faded, I can’t tell what colour it used to be. Although I’ve only met him twice before, I’m starting to realize all of Bo’s clothes are so old and out of style they’re almost in again. Not quite, but you could make a case for him being mistaken for cool by someone. I don’t want him to be cool, though.
‘You’re early too,’ I reply.
‘I couldn’t wait to see you,’ he says. Then he blushes, second-guessing his honesty. It’s as if someone’s coached him to hide what he feels from girls, but it doesn’t come naturally to him.
‘Me neither,’ I admit.
Another awkward silence that we have no idea how to fill up. He looks around, growing more uncomfortable.
‘You know, we don’t always have to be talking,’ I tell him. He looks at me sceptically. ‘I’m serious,’ I say. I stand up and go towards him. ‘If you don’t have anything you really want to say, you don’t have to say anything.’
He frowns, like he knows that can’t be right. ‘But women find emotional connection through dialogue,’ he says. ‘They are impressed by a man’s ability to express his thoughts and feelings.’ He speaks in a clinical way, like he’s lear
ned all this stuff out of a book. It’s adorable.
‘Because that’s what women want in a man,’ I tease. ‘A large . . . vocabulary.’ He looks confused. I try to recover from the failed dick joke. ‘So, what do I do to impress you?’ I ask him.