Definitely, Maybe in Love (15 page)

Chapter 21

Mel’s arm was linked through mine as our foursome, now temporarily divided, strolled toward Platinum Level parking. The overall mood was somber leaving the Rose Quarter, interrupted by thwarted Trail Blazers fans yelling obscene commentary about specific Lakers players.

“Why does he have to be such a sore winner?” I said, hoping Knightly heard me, even though he and Tyler were still a ways behind us.

“I thought it was kind of cute the way that one player gave him a high five at the end of the game.”

“That was Kobe Bryant, Mel.”

“How does Henry know him?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

“So, I was thinking,” Mel said, “do you want to go up to Beacon Rock tomorrow?” We turned down a row. I could see Henry’s Jeep parked next to Mel’s car under the yellow florescent lights. “A little impromptu overnight campout?”

“I’m seriously so behind in my classes. I’ve got about five hundred pages to read.”

“You can bring your books,” she said, quick to anticipate my excuse. “Just imagine reading
Walden
with the leafy forest as your backdrop and the murmuring river your soundtrack.”

She knew I was a sucker for ambiance. “Sounds heavenly,” I admitted. “I haven’t been up there since we were kids.” I smiled, further imagining the peace and quiet I’d been in search of. The perfect place to chill and reboot. “Okay,” I said. “I’m in, although I doubt your Jetta will make it without four-wheel drive. Does your grandpa—”

“Ty!” Mel tipped her chin up. “We’re taking your Durango tomorrow, right?”

“Hell, yeah,” Tyler called in reply from behind us.

“Umm, what?”

“We’re all going,” she said, patting my arm. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“Melanie.” I lowered my voice. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you knew Henry was going to be here all along.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” Mel defended. “But man, I so wish I could’ve seen your face when he showed up. Beyond epic.”

“Yeah, it was a real scream.”

“I’m surprised at the sarcasm,” she said as we passed by a group of guys watching replays of the game on an iPad. “I thought you’d be happy to see him.”

Happy? Was I? “He pretty much disappeared on me in December,” I whispered, a little elbow of resentment poking my ribs.

“But you weren’t dating or”—she cleared her throat dramatically—“anything. Right?”

“No,” I admitted, though I felt another jab of resentment for some reason.

“Okay, then, so, camping? It’ll be fun.”

“It does sound fun,” I admitted. “But I don’t know. It might not be a good idea.”

“It wasn’t
my
idea,” she said, casually jerking her head behind us.

I glanced over my shoulder. The guys were a few yards back. Tyler had his hand on Henry’s shoulder, saying something I couldn’t hear. Henry looked a little stunned, and I wondered if those two were having the exact same conversation Mel and I were.

…

“How are your classes?”

Small talk. Le sigh. The last thing I wanted to discuss with anyone was school.

I tipped my chin toward Henry, two spaces over in the backseat of Tyler’s SUV. His left elbow was propped on the arm rest of his door. Before answering, I allowed myself a few seconds of thought, deciding how detailed I wanted to be with a guy who might not even care.

“Fine,” I answered. Yes, limited details were best. My murky academic life at present was not my favorite subject, anyway. I stared out the window at the soft morning scenery flying by as Tyler drove us to the campground.

“How’s our thesis?” Henry smiled, teasing me by using the pronoun “our.”

But instead of being amused, more of that repressed bitterness that had resurfaced the night before flicked the back of my neck. How
could
Henry have just left me high and dry like that? For all he knew, my professor hated the whole thing and I was flunking out.

“Fine,” I repeated.

“What did Masen say about the new theory in part five?”

I gazed out my window. “He hasn’t seen it yet.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t turned it in.”

I heard him shift in his seat, rotating toward me. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t think it’s ready. In fact, I might want to scrap it and start over.” This wasn’t at all true, but I felt like lashing out.

“That’s irrational.” His expression was stern, and I could suddenly see the future Henry arguing a case in a courtroom, throwing out objection after objection. How annoying. Today he was dressed in dark jeans, a white crewneck T-shirt, and a dark gray wool sweater that both zipped and buttoned up the front. Kind of overkill.

He leaned on the cooler separating us. “You do realize that’s going to put you a year behind? Don’t you think you should…”

The act of folding my arms silenced him, my non-verbal communication screaming at him to butt out.

“Sorry,” he said, raising one hand to shield his face. “I’ll spare you all unwarranted guidance.”

“Thank you, Counselor for the Prosecution.”

“I just don’t want you to waste your time,” he said, choosing
not
to let the subject drop.

“Waste my time?” I echoed. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” I sat back, reeling in my frustration. It probably wasn’t fair to erupt like that. After all, he had no idea how badly I was stressing about school.

“Sorry, that was rude,” I said and leaned my head against the seat. “I’m turning it in to Masen soon. Though it still needs a lot of work.” I exhaled a wistful sigh. “I wish I could take a semester off to get it done. That would be pretty amazing, actually.”

Henry nodded and turned to the window. “Interesting.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you going to clue me in about why you moved?”

He seemed confused, as if my question caught him off guard. Did he think I hadn’t noticed that he was suddenly gone?

“It was short notice,” he said while running a finger along the rubber at the base of the window. “The opportunity had always been there, but it didn’t present itself until the end of the year.”

I was aware that he was speaking English words, but the cryptic-ness of their meaning was lost on me. “You never told me there was a possibility of you moving.”

“No.” He dropped his hand and turned to me. “I didn’t.”

I glanced at the front seat. Mel and Tyler were arguing over control of the stereo. “You took Dart, too,” I said, my voice dropping a notch. “And to
Switzerland
?” I could hear the accusatory tone in my voice.

“I didn’t
take
him,” he argued. “An opportunity presented itself for him, as well.”

I folded my arms. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

“And not to Switzerland,” he muttered like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Then why is that what Lilah’s telling everybody?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “I haven’t spoken to her in months. I
was
there for a few days over the break, but—”

“In Switzerland,” I confirmed, giving him flat eyes.

He nodded but did not elaborate. “I’m living across the Bay now. Oakland.”

“In a castle?” I asked, again with the flat eyes.

“No, it’s a HUD apartment.” He adjusted his glasses. “Furthest thing from a castle.” Before I could ask what the devil he was doing living in the projects, he explained. “We bought a complex that was about to foreclose. Dart and me. Two hundred families would be displaced if we didn’t take care of some major renovation. It was easier just to move in for a while.”

“
You
”—I couldn’t help saying, deadpan—“are living in public housing and doing construction.”

“Well, Dart did most of it, since he has more time on his hands and needed a project.”

My mind couldn’t frame the picture, so I rewound, snagging on something he’d said. “Dart’s been at school all this time, too?”

“No,” Henry said, looking out the window. “He left California a few weeks ago.”

“Why?”

“Another project,” he said vaguely.

“Where?”

Henry flicked a piece of fuzz off his jeans, then his gaze rolled back out the window. “Uninteresting topic,” he said.

I groaned loudly, wanting him to hear it. It felt like pre-Thanksgiving all over again. One step forward, two steps back. Still, I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting over to his side of the car. His face was emotionless. Giving nothing away. Typical Knightly.

“So,” he said a moment later, “are you seeing anyone?”

“Ha!” My eyebrows were probably somewhere up in my hairline.

“What?”

“
You
can ask personal questions but
I
can’t?”

He raised a tiny smile.

“No,” I said. “Nothing new or exciting to report there. And yourself?”

“Much too busy.”

And that was that.

Not even my loyalty to Julia or my own morbid curiosity could compel me to keep chipping away at the proverbial man of marble. In front of us, Mel and Tyler were discussing, rather loudly, whether to listen to talk radio or music. I leaned back and shut my eyes.
Their
conversation was more entertaining than ours.

We arrived around ten in the morning. Our overnight spot was beautiful. To the east lay foothills, the gateway to the Cascades, with the Columbia River cutting a pass through the mountains like a blue-green snake. Beacon Rock, the core of an ancient volcano, was quite a sight, parked on the banks of the river, sporadic pines peppering its otherwise bald head.

Once outside the car, I took a deep breath and spun in a slow circle. Surrounding us on all sides were green and fragrant Douglas firs, pines, and maples. Spongy ferns filled in the lower landscape, dotted with blood red rhododendrons and a rainbow of spring wild flowers. The wind blew through the tops of the trees, and its accompanying harmony was the chatter of geese, the flutter of hummingbirds and a woodpecker hammering away on a tree above. Somewhere out there, I could hear the rippling of the Columbia ribboning its way between the trees.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I allowed a tranquil smile to spread across my face. When I stopped my spin and opened my eyes, Henry was watching me, a tent pole in one hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Reminds me of home,” I explained. “I’m from Oregon.”

“I know that.” He gave me a sideways look and walked off. Jeesh, what was
his
problem?

I turned back toward the eastern horizon. Last year, I’d read an article about this very spot of forest. Pictures from several decades earlier depicted an enormous bare patch from clearcutting. I’d been furious at the time, but as I stood there, gazing up at that same spot in person, I would’ve never known any logging had taken place all those years ago. The forest was completely grown in with tall, healthy trees as far as the eye could see. Sure, Henry had preached to me about new growth afforesting, but I’d never
seen
its results.

To my personal vexation, it was surprisingly impressive.

I left the dusty white Durango and wandered toward the campground. The guys were setting up the tent. Henry was down on his knees, jacket off, pounding tent pegs in the ground with a mallet. No directions were used, and in a matter of minutes, the tall orange structure was assembled.

Staring up at the finished product, something occurred to me. “Uh, Mel?” I muttered, as I handed her a sleeping bag from the back of the Durango. “I realize it’s very roomy, but there’s only
one tent
.”

When she grinned, I cringed. Of course this was part of her plan.

Sensing my alarm, she relaxed her devilish smile. “Don’t worry,” she said in a sotta voce whisper, as we dragged a heavy cooler toward the center of camp. “There will be no hanky panky inside the tent.” She nodded toward the guys. “Tyler knows that.”

“Good, thanks,” I said, letting go of my held breath.

“What goes on
outside
the tent…” She lifted one eyebrow. “Just don’t try to find us if we wander off the trail for a while.”

Henry walked toward us, his arms full of large rocks. After shooting me another intense look, he knelt down and began arranging the rocks in a circle for our fire.

“Thanks for the warning,” I whispered to Mel, watching him. “Something’s pissed him off. I think he wants to murder me in my sleeping bag.”

“That’s not what he wants to do to you in your sleeping bag,” Mel murmured.

I glared at her. “Pardon?”

“Nothing.” She snickered.

Our troop tooled around the thick woods all day, romping halfway up the trail toward Beacon Rock, then turning back a different way when the sun arched to the west. At around five, we were forced to end our hike early after I slipped on a mossy rock by the river, tweaking my ankle.

“Think of your happy place,” Henry prescribed, his left arm around me, acting as my crutch. “We’re almost back to camp.”

I winced, regarding the trail ahead of us. Mel and Tyler had disappeared into the bushes, leaving us alone. “Really,” I insisted, trying to squirm free, “it doesn’t hurt that much.” I attempted to limp away from him. “See, I can walk on my own.” It was a pitiful attempt.

“You’re favoring your right side,” he observed, wrapping his arm around me again. His hold was iron-tight this time. Even though he had a five o’clock shadow going, he still smelled like that ceramic bowl of shaving cream in his bathroom back in Palo Alto. Something about that smell was making me feel dizzy, or maybe my foot hurt more than I thought.

“Hold onto me till we get to the car and I can check it out,” he said. “I feel responsible. It was my long pass of the Frisbee that sent you flying.” He tightened his grip, hoisting me closer so that even my healthy foot was barely touching the ground as we walked.

Maybe thinking he was taking my mind off the pain in my ankle, Henry described a little Tahitian town he’d visited a few times. White sand, clear blue water, friendly and accommodating neighbors. It sounded like a little piece of heaven.

“Perfect place to finish your thesis,” he added. “Under a banyan tree, laptop shaded by an umbrella. Endless Diet Cokes.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, trying not to wince.