This is going to sound really out there, but I’ll say it anyway.
It’s as if Dad is here with us. Not in the flesh. Not walking along the deserted road with us. I don’t mean that. (I’m not totally losing my mind.) Just sort of here in my head. It’s almost like having a motivational speaker playing on my iPod, telling me to keep going, keep positive, keep the faith. We’ll be all right.
I’m exhausted, but I don’t stop. I just keep walking—and talking. The least I can do is make it fun for Elliot. I tell him all the old stories I can remember from our camping trips with Dad. When I run out, I make up some new ones. It keeps Elliot moving. We walk for a good hour or so. We trudge along past little brick office buildings and old wooden houses and the odd convenience store. I don’t know where we are exactly, but I can see we’re coming to the edge of town. The buildings are thinning out. There’s a highway in the distance.
Elliot’s barely able to walk upright anymore. His weight is pulling at my shoulder socket. I don’t let it bother me. I tell myself it feels just like a good yoga stretch.
We come to a small park. Elliot sees a bench and plunks himself down before I can stop him. “I need to go to sleep, Ria.”
He’s right.
I know I can’t take him any farther—but he can’t pass out here. If the cops see two kids sleeping on a park bench, they’d pick us up even if they didn’t know we were missing.
“That’s a terrible bed!” I say and pull Elliot back up onto his feet. I pretend I don’t notice the whimpering. “Want to see a better one?”
I have no idea what I’m going to show him. I drag him around the park searching for a hiding spot to lie down.
I notice a big old pine tree with branches that go right to the ground.
“Look! A teepee!” I say it like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, but Elliot couldn’t care less. He’s so tired, he’s swaying around like a Fisher Price Wobble Penguin.
I pull back the branches, and we crawl underneath.
It’s surprisingly roomy in here. Plenty of space for us to curl up in. I feel better right away. It seems so safe and cozy. There’s something about the smell, too, that’s nice.
At first, I think that’s because it reminds me of Christmas, but then my heart thuds and I know that’s wrong.
I’m not smelling Christmas.
I’m smelling Colin and that pine soap he uses. I suck back a big gulp of air and even still, I feel like I’m not getting enough oxygen.
Elliot says, “Ria?” and I can tell I’ve scared him. I shake Colin out of my head. He was from my old life. This is a new one.
“Remember Dad showing us how to make a mattress in the woods?” I say. “Should we make one now?”
Elliot helps me sweep the pine needles into a pile. I put my purse on the ground for a pillow. I spread the blanket over the needles.
“Crawl in,” I say to Elliot.
He lies down on the blanket. I take off my glasses and undo my ponytail, and then I snuggle in beside him. I pull the blanket over us. He nuzzles into my side and is asleep before I close my eyes.
I used to hate it when Elliot came into bed with me, because he gives off so much heat. Now I’m glad. He keeps me warm. I look after him. We’re a team.
We’ll be okay.