Where Sea Meets Sky

But I also know he’s more than a friend. He’s on the brink of becoming something else, if only I have the courage to try.

We stand like that for a long time. Too long. It’s getting cold and dark but now the moon is out and the stars are like the glowworms we saw in the cave. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to go back to the hut or to my life as it was. I want to keep standing here with his strong, hard arms around me, staring up into infinite space.

“We should go back,” Josh eventually says, and I hear a bit of trepidation in his low voice.

I turn around and face him, my chest pressed against his. I rub my lips together, wishing I could ask for what I want, even though I don’t know what it is. I want him to help me.

“Okay,” I say quietly. So we’re not going to talk about it. So it was just a friendly embrace. So that was it.

He sucks in his breath, hesitating for a moment, then he steps back and away from me, removing his backpack. He digs the flashlight out of the front pocket and flicks it on. The light is weak but it works.

But by the time we get to the end of the boardwalk, it doesn’t. Clouds roll in from the sea, hitting the mountains and covering the moon.

Our light is gone.

We are alone in the dark.

We are alone on the mountain.

I try not to panic. I take out my Samsung Galaxy and try to use the flashlight feature. It kind of works, painting the route in front of us in a dim gray. But when I hit rocks and nearly stumble over a low ledge into a mess of trees below, and Josh has to yank me back to safety, I realize we can’t use it to navigate.

“Shit,” I swear. “Shit, shit, shit, fuck!”

I can’t keep the panic out of my voice.

Josh grips my arms, and in the dimness I can barely see his face. “Gemma,” he says, calm and steady. “It’s okay. Save the battery on your phone. I know there’s no reception right now, but you never know what tomorrow will bring. If we try and go down that path in the dark or with those phones, we’re asking for trouble. Do you know what they teach you in Boy Scouts?”

I shake my head.

“Neither do I,” he says. “I was kicked out after the second day for lighting shit on fire. But I did take an outward bound class in high school. You stay in place. You don’t move. You wait for people to come to you. Trust me, this happens all the time at home, people going off to hike in the mountains above Vancouver, and if only they didn’t move, they would have been found. They would have survived.”

“It was so cold last night,” I say, the terror rising in my throat, the image of Nick rolling away from me when I was freezing.

“It was cold,” he says. “But that’s why we packed a backpack, to prepare for this. There are two of us for heat, plus I know how to make a good bed and shelter from the elements. We’re going to be fine, and as soon as dawn breaks, we’ll be on our way. We know where we are. They know where we are. We’re not lost. We’re just delayed in getting back, that’s all.”

I stare at his face in the dark as a cold breeze whips up my hair. I’m putting all my trust in him. I don’t know how he knows this stuff but I believe him. He’ll take care of us. He’ll take care of me.

As if hearing what I’m thinking, he places his warm hand on my chilled cheek and says, “Trust me, I’ve got you.”

And he does. With the weak light of the phone we head back a few feet from where we were and stop at a grassy area beside a low shrub. On the opposite side of it, against the direction of the wind, Josh starts ripping up grass from the ground and leaves from the surrounding trees.

I do the same, adding the occasional hunk of moss that feels dry. We spread it out on the ground beside the tree, then on top of all the foliage he lays down a silver emergency blanket that he brings out from the first-aid kit.

Next he brings out an extra pair of socks and a sweater and orders me to put it on. I do so quickly and he does the same. Then he gives me my rain jacket. As I’m slipping it on, he walks a few feet away to relieve himself. I should do the same but my adrenaline is running too high.

“All righty,” he says as he comes back and gestures to the makeshift bed. “Lie down.” He puts on his jacket but he doesn’t zip it up.

I carefully lower myself to the ground. The low bush really does block the wind and I immediately feel a lot warmer.

He gets down on his knees beside me and puts his hands on my waist, lifting me up slightly. “Here, flip over. We’re spooning tonight.”

A faint smile touches my lips. I roll over so my back is to him and he lies down right beside me, his body pressed flush against mine. For once I can luxuriate in the contact and I move my body back against his, craving his heat. He tangles his long legs over mine and wraps the open flap of his rain jacket over me like it’s the end of a blanket. One arm goes up over my head, making sure my jacket hood is covering me, while the other holds me in a tight embrace.

“You okay?” he whispers in my ear. Even through the hood, his breath is hot and sends shivers running down my spine.

I nod. It’s all I can do.

“We’ll be okay tonight,” he assures me. “The bush will block the wind and all the stuff between us and the ground will let us keep each other warm. That’s why most people die in the wilderness. They think it’s more important to have shelter over them, but it’s the ground that kills them. It will steal all your warmth.”

“What if it rains?” I manage to ask. “Or snows?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">