Awakening, 2nd edition (27 page)

As for the office . . . Barnett would’ve heaved a sigh, shaken his noble head and said gravely , “It ’s a shame . . . She had such a great potential.” For a moment she even heard his low baritone: “Great potential.” But the next second his voice would ’ve dropped that deep sorrow and would’ve state d, in t he utmost matter-of—fact way , “We need to find a replacement.”

Not even a week would pass before she’d be completely forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe a ye ar later, someone new would ask , while looking at the old documentation and trying to find the right person to contact: “Who ’s that? Is she still here?” And somebody else would reply indifferently , “Nah, she ’s gone for good. Drowned last year . Went to some off-site training, hit it off with some guy over there . . . They went for a boat ride and she never came back . . .”

And then it dawned on her. That’s why he ’d saved her! That ’s the reason!

Well, that might not have been the only reason, but still . . . had he come back alone, there would ’ve been a lot of explaining to do. And who knows how successful he ’d be at that. Such a classic plot : a couple, a boat, a tragic accident. The poor macho had had no choice but to save her! No problems, no explanations to deal with and , oh, such a convenient by-product: he ’s a hero! A real hero. A hero who saved that ignorant , presumptuous , pompous fool in a skirt. He risked his life , he jumped in to the water in his clothes, he did the right thing with no hesitation . These are signs of a true leader.

She felt that she was far from being fair to Robert, but there was nothing she could or wanted to do about her anger. Instead of feeling thankful , she felt irritation boiling up inside her. So you ’re Superman, right? You ’re above all petty human feelings, right? The whole , “I told you so ” concept is not for superheroes, is it? Can ’t you at least hint that I should ’ve listened to your warning ?

But he had to be a true hero. He dragged her to the shore, brought her around, arranged a campfire with in five minutes—and did it all as if these were his routine day-to-day activities. Although who knows, they may well be . No one has a clue about what he does at work. Or after work for that matter. Now he sits here and shows off his nerves of steel. Like an adult with a child. And that would ’ve been fine, except he ’s a r ascal who thinks women are second-class citizens, if not worse. He would ’ve jumped faster in to the water to save his dog! After that information that Kevin had relayed, all his help wasn’t worth a dime. That ’s right, isn ’t wo rth a dime!

Stella looked askance grimly at Robert. He was gazing into the dancing fire with that look of relaxation and comfort that people tend to have when they lay back on a soft recliner in front of the TV. Darkness had nearly fallen over the forest, and the glow of fire illuminating his calm face made him look like a hunter on a planned campout in the woods.

Robert apparently sensed her gaze.

“Better now?” he asked, turning to her.

Stella made an effort to answer politely. After all , he had saved her life, no matter what his motivation .

“I’m fine, ” her tone was still somewhat dry.

“Try getting some sleep if you can. We ’re moving at dawn.”

“That way?” Stella pointed in the direction from which the boat had brou ght them here .

“No, that way, ” Robert stuck out his thumb to point somewhere behind his back.

“To accomplish what? To get as far as possible from the lake?”

“You could say so.”

“Why?”

“There should be a road somewhere in that direction. It ’s better to spend an extra three hours, but to get to it.”

He was right. He was right again. And that was even more irritating .

“Are you going to get some sleep?” she asked, mostly to break the silence . It was obvious that quiet suited him just fine.

Robert nodded.

“Most likely, ” he said, not tearing his eyes away from the campfire.

“And I thought supermen never sle pt , ” Stella quipped.

Now that was really stupid.

But he didn’t mind.

“They do. When they get a chance.”

“What about wild animals?”

“The most dangerous ones around here are cougars. And they would never approach a fire.”

“Aren’t bears more dangerous?”

“Not for us. It ’s the smell of food that attracts them. Plus, there are no bears here.”

“Then you know what ?” Stella stood up, feeling that she was about to make another dumb move. “I ’m going to take a walk. Just want to sit by the water.”

He was supposed to object. He was at least supposed to warn her not to get too far away from the campfire. But all he did was look at her with a kind of ironic interest in his eyes and say , “Sure.”

Then he turned back to face the fire and fell silent.

Stella clenched her teeth, cussing the whole stinking world in her mind, and , not being clear about the purpose of her trip herself, headed towards the dark mass of the lake. When the flames of the campfire were left behind, it suddenly occurred to her that Robert must ’ve interpreted her trip in an entirely different way. And in light of that natural interpretation , her bright “Sit by the water ” line was turning from the truth to a clumsy teen-like explanation stinking of a pathetic attempt at making a joke.

Something stirred in the dark woods. A cougar, Stella thought , with grim hope. She almost wanted to face some big bad wild animal. And , indeed , a wild beast emerged from the darkness : a little yellowish-brown squirrel. It jumped out onto the grass, curiously studied Stella with its dark , beady eyes and silently disappeared. It had little interest in people and their silly games.

When she came back Robert was gone. The campfire crackled cheerfully in complete solitude, its flickering light illuminating the trunks of the surrounding pines. There was something odd about this neatly arranged campfire with not a single sign of camping paraphernalia around it—neither accessories, nor food, nor people. Only a pile of brushwood nearby. Stella sighed, stepped into the warm circle and sat down on the ground. Twenty minutes of slow walk ing had blown away all her childish anger. What was left resembled only adult discontent. At herself, at Robert, at the entire situation. That plus a gnawing feeling in her stomach.

Suddenly she realized with a certain degree of amazement that Robert ’s absence didn ’t worry her at all. Not that she didn ’t care —in fact, the idea of spending the night in the forest alone was anything but appealing. But she simply knew that Robert would be back. It felt weird not counting on his return, not having a hunch about it, but simply knowing . Knowing with the same degree of certainty as one knows in the middle of the night that the sun will inevitabl y rise in the morning. Making the feeling even weirder was the fact that they had met for the first time three days ago and that it was hardly a pleasant acquaintance.

Somewhere on her left, a loud crack sounded. Someone—or something—was confidently and forcefully approaching the campfire. Stella stiffened inside, feeling cold in the pit of her empty stomach. Of course it must be Robert. Who else could it be? But what if it wasn’t him? Who ’s coming this way? Is it even human?

The darkness between the tree trunks suddenly thickened and became soaked through with hostility and danger. The cracking quieted for a moment, then resumed. Stella looked around, searching for a heavy branch . She spotted one on the opposite side of the campfire and was about to pick it up, when Robert eme rged into the light, a long , dancing shadow trailing him. He was carrying a bag, which upon closer inspection turned out to be his jacket.

“Our dinner, ” he anno unced to her casually, as if they had talked just a moment ago.

He squatted by the campfire, put the jacket to the ground and unfolded it carefully. Inside lay a pile of firm , bulky pot-bellied mushrooms. With an empty stomach , they looked very appealing.

“How are we going to cook them?” Stella asked, letting all her worries go for now.

Childish curiosity was tickling her.

“Will we smoke them?”

For some reason she imagined smoking mushrooms, threaded onto thin skewers. Or was that how you dr ied them?

“Our best bet would ’ve been to simmer them, ” said Robert. “But with no pans around we ’re going to bake them in coals. Hand me that branch over there, would you?”

Whether due to hunger or not, the baked mushrooms tasted better than any of the creation s served by the professional chief yesterday. They sorely lacked salt, they had a somewhat bitter taste, some of them were not easy to chew, but nevertheless, they were splendid. When the sucking feeling in Stella ’s stomach gave way to a fulfilling heaviness, she discovered that she was no longer in the mood for squabbling.

Following this softening in mood , the conversation somehow took its own course. Not surprisingly , within five minutes they were already talking about what had happened with the boat and who they should be thanking for arranging this al fresco accommodation . Stella was convinced that this was another mischievous wrongdoing by the same anonymous villain who had tried to blackmail Alex. The recent swim in the ice-cold water made her even less tolerant to any form of scheming than usual and she kept trying to figure out how she would find and expose the rascal who had been behind their unplanned adventure. Robert did not make the slightest attempt to argue with her but , when asked about his list of suspects, replied that it would be logical to suspect those who have something to gain from this sabotage —or in other words, everyone.

Stella then tried approaching the problem from a different angle , and , with the same vigor , began calculating who could have broken the boat’s meter in the heart of the night. It ’s impossible to pull something like that off in complete darkness, and doing it during the day would ’ve drawn attention, so likely the bad guy had operate d in the evening or using a flash torch. light. On top of that, he had to know whose windows overlook ed the lake. He also had to . . . She went on and on.

Robert listened to her theories again without interrupting , and once more simplified everything dramatically once she was finished. There was no reason to fiddle with the meter , either in front of everyone or in pitch-dark night, he said. It was sufficient to take the boat for an absolutely legitimate ride, go around the nearby cape, adjust—or rather misadjust—all you want with no t a single soul around to see you, and come back in the same open manner. Which is precisely what someone had done this morning, according to the chitchat at today ’s breakfast table. Whoever that was, this person unquestionably knew what he was doing, since everything was done very professionally. In addition, this anonymous well-wisher had preferred not to take any risks and had prudently got rid of the walkie-talkie, which , despite all the rules , was missing from the boat at this point.

Stella didn’t argue. He was right. But still, still . . .

“Still, how do we find th e jerk?” Stella asked thoughtfully.

The question was of course purely rhetoric. Nevertheless, to her surprise, an answer was offered .

“We’ll know tomorrow.”

“How?!”

And suddenly Robert cracked a smile.

“Easily. Whoever is behind all this will be leading the rescue effort. Assuming of course there is a rescue effort.”