Page 4 of Only the Wicked

Fine, Nana. How exactly am I going to help her? Walk with her down the six-mile return trail?

What else are you going to do? You have the time. Unplugged. Remember?

What am I supposed to say? She said she’s okay. If I insist on staying to help her, I’ll come off as a misogynist ass.

You’re really going to leave an injured woman to manage a six-mile trail to the parking lot on her own?

She’s the one who went hiking by herself.

So did you.

The woman twists around, one hand on the railing, her right leg bent. At this angle from the floorboards, I’m offered a clear view up the back curve of her thigh. The hem of her shorts juts out from her ass, shading the path higher, revealing a mere glimpse of white cotton panties.

“Are you okay?”

Of course she’d wonder given I’m hanging on a ladder and gawking like a teenage perv.

“Yes. Ah, I’m just wondering… Did you park in the lot? Cloud Catcher Lane?”

“Yes.”

Of course she did. Where else would she park?

“Ah.” I bend my head, a gesture that sometimes disarms. “How are you planning on getting back with an injured leg?”

She looks down at her bloody knee and shrugs. “I’ll be fine. I’ll find a stick in the woods.”

“And you’re going six miles,” I say, more to myself, wondering about the stats for the likelihood of being attacked if injured. Without my phone, I can’t check them, but logically a woman would be at greater risk.

“Six miles?” Now it’s her tilting her head, only she’s doing it to imply I’m wrong. “It’s a mile and a half, tops.”

“You’re taking the shortcut with an injured leg?”

“I’m not walking six miles on it.”

She’ll break her neck if she attempts the steep decline without help.

She smiles, amused by my question, not offended, I think. Her brown eyes are warm, a deep hue with golden flecks, her pupils small from the abundant sun. She comes across as a good person, like maybe a schoolteacher or a nurse. A nursing schedule could explain her freedom on a Tuesday.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, brushing me off and returning her attention to the view.

Rather than disagree, I give a quick nod, descend the ladder, and wait on the ground below the tower. It’s not a big deal. I’m unplugged and have all the time in the world. When she’s had her fill of the view, I’ll help her down the decline. We’ll be slower, but I’m not in a hurry. If anything, slow is good. Once I’m back, I’ll check my phone.

Although, I really shouldn’t. If the boss can’t take a break, then he chooses employees poorly. And I hire the best—I’ve built a system that runs perfectly, even without me. Or at least, I’m about to discover if that’s true.

This break is overdue. Fuck the naysayers. The board. The investors. The constant inquisition surrounding projections and growth and purpose.

About five minutes later, she descends the ladder.

“Are you waiting for me?” She sounds incredulous—not scared. I suppose that’s a good thing.

“Figured you could use some help.”

“I told you I’m fine. I’m an expert hiker.” She pats her backpack strap like it’s got all the world’s answers.

I give her an agreeable nod. “And I’m sure you are. But all the same, we’re headed back to the same place. I’m better than a stick.”

She sizes me up, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.