First Comes Love (Love Comes To Town)

Manuel and Jorge are avoiding looking at us, clearly realizing that something’s going on too.

“Exactly,” I tell Samantha, showing her the camera screen and the little alligator footage. It’s a stellar shot—a clear, close-up view of his little scaly head—and by how her scowl deepens, she knows it too.

“Whatever,” she says, turning to Greyson. “How long did Russel say he needs again?”

“A while, but it’s probably not a good idea letting him wander too far,” Greyson says, heading for the trees. “I’ll go find him now. Wait here until I get back.”

Although he doesn’t look at me, I can tell his words are directed at me. It’s a bit cute, how he worries. Though he’s probably right. I do need to be more careful.

I accept a granola bar from Jorge, then retreat to my tent. Inside, chomping away at the peanut butter-chocolatey goodness (Han and I always used to call granola bars ‘glorified chocolate bars’), I check my phone. Hannah’s sent me a video that cracks me up immediately: it’s of the Most Handsome Man Alive fast asleep, snoring with his mouth open. At the end, the video pans over to her quietly chortling face. I find myself watching the video several times before finally tearing my gaze away.

Obviously, it’s funny, it’s just… there’s something else. Something in Hannah’s eyes that isn’t just sheer amusement. Love.

I’ve seen that look before. Seen where it’s led to.

Something twists in me. Mom and Dad, in the photograph they used to have hanging over the fireplace, hippie wedding attire on, eyes on each other, they had that look. And yet, where they ended up was so far gone…

Dad, away from home more nights than not, his face red and his eyes unseeing when he was home, blowing up at the stupidest things. Mom, barricading herself in her room, though the thick oak-panel door couldn’t muffle her sobbing… And it wasn’t just the years of it, the two going on three, until they finally broke up.

If that had been all of it, if they’d been able to bounce back after it, maybe then whenever I heard about or saw love I wouldn’t get an instinctive shiver. But they didn’t. Mom was still popping the same pills she’d been proscribed a few months after their separation, and Dad was as much of a functional alcoholic as ever.

That’s what love does to people.

I take a contemplative bite of my granola bar, chew some.

Maybe not always, but a lot of the time. Either love fizzles out and you become the bored couple that nitpick everything the other does or the love inverts, turns into something so hateful and ugly and monstrous that it’s unbelievable that what’s left behind even came from the word.

But Hannah and her guy, you can see it. She’s happier with him, he with her. They make each other better people.

But is it worth the risk?

Tossing the wrapper in my bag, I rise.

Whatever the answer to that question, there’s no point moping around in here. It doesn’t matter anyway. Greyson is my boss. End of story.

As soon as I stick my head outside the tent, I realize it’s been longer than I thought. Already the sun is setting, the shadows growing long. The others have set up a fire and are sitting round its crackling warmth. Greyson is back with Russel, who’s glowering into the fire, with an almost-full bag of marshmallows pressed to his chest.

“Hey,” I say, approaching them. “What’s up? Did you find which way we have to go to find your path again?”

He throws a couple of marshmallows in his mouth and, cheeks poofed ludicrously, grumbles, “No. No idea how we got here. No idea how to get back.”

“We’ll all check together tomorrow,” Greyson firmly, in the tone of having said this before. “Any rate, we’ve already got a great bunch of shots.”

“But the alligators!” Russel exclaims, throwing both arms out in his fervor and dropping the marshmallow bag in the process. “The big, terrible, gnawing murderers of beasts, what of them? This special was supposed to be great. It was supposed to be about them.”

“You were supposed to know how to get back to the camp,” Greyson growls.

Then, catching my ingratiating smile, he takes a breath.

“The show was supposed to be finished and sent to post-production over a week ago,” he says. “But here we are. As much as I want to capture those alligators, I’m not about to sacrifice everything to do it. Anyway, Harley’s right: people do love babies, and she got some good footage today.”

“Only a few minutes of it,” I say, although my heart is hop-skipping with his praise.

If a few years ago, you’d have told me that I’d be working with Greyson Storm—hell, hooking up with Greyson Storm—I would’ve thought you were crazy.

Samantha sniffs loudly. Manuel hands me a sausage. Meanwhile, Russel is eyeing Greyson with what looks to be admiration. “Taking charge like that—you know, you are your father’s son.”