Mindy Mejia - Leave No Trace

‘Hey, it’s Maya.’ I’d left a message on his voice mail before leaving the house last night. ‘I’m taking off for a little while. Jasper should be fine until you get back.’

My voice had almost broken on Jasper’s name, just like I’d bitten back tears when I installed the pet door going out to the backyard and topped up the automatic feeder to the three-week line. He wouldn’t need nearly that much – Dr Mehta would contact Dad, too, as soon as it was clear I was missing – but I still felt horrible leaving him. My loyal German shepherd, my guardian and friend, had watched me go with sorrowful eyes.

The provisions, the cash purchases, the untraceable phone – none of it would have been necessary if I’d rescued any other patient in Congdon. The authorities couldn’t care less about Greta, or suicidal Eliza, or Big George. None of them had been featured on national news. They hadn’t been written about in Time magazine, or garnered over a hundred thousand social media fans who picketed outside the gates, or been vilified with signs reading keep them in jail in the last town they’d known as home. This was Lucas Blackthorn, the boy who came back from the dead, and they weren’t going to let him off the grid again, not without a fight. So, I put Jasper out of my mind and concentrated on the present and on the fact that – so far – I was winning. I’d gotten Lucas out.

I only agreed to rest longer because of the pain. Although it was more manageable this morning, a slow walk across the living room was about all I could handle. Harry gave me some of the antibiotics from the first aid kit and didn’t listen to any of my arguments about not taking the pain pill – they weren’t meant for me, someone else needed them more than I did – and made me swallow one anyway, which turned the flame down to a warm ache and made everything else uncomfortably fuzzy. He went fishing after breakfast, trying to get the last catch before ice-in, he said, but I suspected that, even though he’d insisted we stay, three people in his house were two too many. After he left I sent Lucas to the car to retrieve the clothes I’d bought for him, and it was jarring when he walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, to see him dressed normally.

When I commented on it Lucas gave me his this-place-is-­beyond-messed-up look. ‘What’s normal?’

I waved to the blue all-terrain pullover and cargo pants. ‘That’s normal.’

He grinned. ‘You think that because you were born and raised in Duluth. Normal might be completely different if you came from somewhere else.’

I sighed and rolled gingerly onto my back, swimming in the medication and fighting to keep my head clear. ‘The answer is always a pullover, cargo pants, and hiking boots.’

‘I used to make myself bracelets out of bark.’

‘And that’s why they assigned me to be your cultural ambassador.’

‘Right. Thanks for showing me that part about prison breaks. I think I’ll fit in pretty well now.’

I laughed and immediately clutched my side, wincing.

Lucas crossed the room, laying his hand on top of mine and waiting as my breathing evened out.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘It’s fine.’ I ignored the pain growling through the drug haze, ready to lie to anyone if it meant we could leave sooner. Most people appreciated bullshit, especially when it helped them dismiss you, but Lucas wasn’t having it. He sat next to me on the couch looking awkwardly out of place, a model for Outdoorsman magazine trying to play nurse. I attempted a smile and it didn’t hurt.

‘Swearing. Sarcasm. I think your speech therapy is almost complete.’

‘I’m a quick learner.’ He returned the smile and we stared at each other as the wind blew snow dust against the window. Sitting with Lucas, arguing with Lucas, being able to smile at Lucas without wondering how many people at Congdon were watching us – it was almost worth being shish-kebabbed on a stump of rebar. He must have been thinking along the same lines, because he bowed his head and gave my hand a hesitant kiss.

‘It’s still hard to believe I’m free, that we’re here together.’

The warmth of his breath against my knuckles cut through the medication in my system, providing a sudden, not unwelcome point of focus. ‘They’re going to be looking for you. You’re not safe here.’

‘I dreamed about this, about being with you.’ He worked his way up, tracing the outside of my arm like he was drawing a picture in the snow, then his eyes flickered up, narrowing. ‘Except in my dreams you weren’t bleeding.’

I propped myself against the cushions and trapped his face between my hands, arresting his attention. ‘Ice-in is almost here. Soon the lakes will be frozen over. I want to come with you, but—’

He stopped my mouth with a kiss. I didn’t have a lot of experience with kissing, and none where the kiss softened you, inhaled you, twisting into your fingers and toes and making you forget, for a mindless second, that you had a seeping hole in your side. Maybe I could’ve been more clinical, felt it less, if he’d been like every other guy, steeped in all their insecurities and sexual myths about what a kiss did or didn’t mean, but Lucas possessed none of that crap. He moved slowly and artlessly, cupping my shoulders like I was a snow sculpture come to life and might break apart if he wasn’t careful.

I wove my fingers through his hair and pulled, anchoring him to me as we explored, pulses thrumming, beating faster and harder against each other in a race neither of us knew how to finish. Then I made the mistake of stretching, bowing my body to get a fraction closer, and broke away in a sharp gasp of pain.

‘Are you okay?’ Eyes dilated, breath unsteady, he watched me clutch my stomach.

‘This is my ow.’ I breathed through clenched teeth.

He laughed once and hovered anxiously, waiting until my breathing returned to normal before easing me back against the cushions. We stared at each other, inches apart, until the drugs smoothed everything over and I forgot about my stomach again.

‘What will they do if they find you?’ he asked.

I added up the charges. Grand theft auto, B&E, identity theft, kidnapping, and assault. ‘Jail. Probably prison. That’ll be a change of pace.’

He shook his head. ‘No. You’re coming with me.’ Then he touched my cheek, frowning. ‘I’m not losing you now. I’m not going to trade you for him.’

‘I’ll be a liability. I’ll slow you down.’ My eyes drifted closed and I struggled to blink them back open.

‘Get stronger.’ He murmured and before I could respond, the sound of tires on gravel cut through the front yard. Lucas jumped up and checked the window, relaxing as he saw who it was. ‘Harry.’ Then, glancing down at his new cargo pants and clearing his throat, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

I grinned as he retreated down the hall.

For lunch Harry fried walleye and I was able to walk to the kitchen without too much trouble and eat at the table. The two of them talked fishing through the whole meal, swapping stories and techniques, and Lucas asked a hundred questions about licenses, regulations, and enforcement. By the time we were washing the dishes, we’d gotten a full retrospective of the DNR, the evolution of sport fishing in the Boundary Waters, and the fight against a new copper mine some of the locals had convinced Harry to join. Harry was working through a list of invasive species when Lucas glanced at me as he wiped and stacked the plates. In some other world this could be our life. A warm room at the edge of the woods, chipped plates, laughter, the call of the wind in the eaves. It flared in his eyes, too, longing for a homecoming we’d never have. After everything was cleared and cleaned, I retreated back to the couch, feeling heavy and listless, and fell into an instant, dreamless sleep.