Page 31

Izzy

I’m hauling the added weight of Lucas’s deception as we slog up yet another steep incline.

With each step, my legs remind me that twice a month at the gym won’t cut it.

I figured we’d be gone a few hours at most, but that’s not how Captain Coyote Killer likes to hike.

From minute one, Rick has been a nonstop motion machine, taking us through a dizzying maze of intersecting trails.

He’s like a migratory bird able to find its way through thousands of miles of territory.

My muscles and lungs sigh with gratitude when Rick finally has the decency to take an extended meal break. Hopefully, David won’t be livid at me for abandoning my post for most of the day, but Taylor assured me all would be fine.

We eat at the aptly named Overlook Pass.

From our lunch spot on an exposed ledge, we can see Lake Timmeny far below.

The water reflects like a mirror framed by lush greenery.

Above, a hawk makes a looping circle, scouting its prey.

A chipmunk scurries by, taking shelter under a nearby rock.

Naturally, I’m rooting for the cute and fuzzy critter to make it through the day alive, but the hawk needs food, too, and now I’m battling with myself over the morals of the natural world.

But here I am, enjoying a ham-and-cheese sandwich, so I have no business passing judgment on anybody—except maybe Lucas.

“Beautiful,” Lucas says. He leans back, taking it all in.

Rick grunts. “If you’d put down that guitar and leave your room more often, you could enjoy this view every day.” He passes his son a sly look. “Though I guess you’ve enjoyed other pleasures recently.”

His observation doesn’t come across as playful ribbing. It’s obvious what he’s referring to, but is he reprimanding Lucas for inappropriate behavior, or could he be… jealous ? It’s difficult to say. His eyes are as dark and emotionless as I imagine the hawk’s to be.

I can’t stop thinking about Fiona. I care a lot more about what happened to her than what she and Lucas might have done in the dark. But Rick’s displaying the same compassion for the missing woman that he shows for the animals he shoots. Strange.

After lunch, we finish the trail and reach the anticlimactic summit. While I feel invigorated from my time in nature, my mission is incomplete. Lucas has been untruthful, but I can’t be sure there’s anything nefarious behind it. It could be he’s just embarrassed.

I need more time alone with him, so I’ll have to get creative. Obviously, his dad is a powerful presence. That might be causing him to clam up.

The best idea I come up with is to lie, yet again. Here I am, questioning this boy’s character because he told a fib, and I’m about to do the same. We’re maybe two-thirds of the way down the hill when I shout, “Look! Over there—a coyote!”

Rick snaps to attention. “What? Where is it?”

I point to a particularly overgrown patch of forest some distance away. “He was over there. I just caught a flash of movement, and I swear it was as big as Nutmeg.”

“Damn,” Rick seethes. “Can’t believe I missed it. Must be losing a step in my old age. I’m gonna try to track it down. Lucas, we’ve done this hike enough times that you know the way home, right? You can escort Izzy back?”

“Yeah, sure,” says Lucas. He doesn’t sound enthusiastic.

Rick is off in a flash, soon swallowed by the forest, as he races to catch his imaginary quarry.

I’ve caught mine, but I have no idea what to do with him.

We walk in an uncomfortable silence. The sound of leaves and sticks crunching underfoot is extra loud.

I feel like an obligation Lucas has to lug around.

He doesn’t know me, we’ve hardly interacted, and he’s unhappy that I outed him as a cougar toy.

If something is going to happen, it’ll be up to me.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known you and Taylor were together.” I’m speaking to Lucas’s back because he’s walking several paces ahead.

This stops him in his tracks. He turns to look at me, his penetrating stare making me flinch. “What makes you think we’re together?” he asks.

“I dunno,” I say. “There’s been some weird energy between you two, so I figured something’s going on.”

Lucas stands taller and brushes his long hair away from his eyes. His full, soft lips are slightly parted, and once again that quiet intensity is drawing me in.

“Why are you so interested, anyway?” he asks. “You’re kind of nosy for the new girl around here. Are you really a nanny, or some kind of undercover reporter?”

I gulp, but maintain a neutral expression. “I guess I’m just a nosy nanny.” I laugh awkwardly. “But it’s not like I don’t have a good reason to ask questions. You’re the one who kissed a woman who vanished the next day.”

“What are you suggesting? That I did something to her? Think we met in the middle of the night for a hookup and now she’s somewhere in the woods, buried under sticks and leaves for the coyotes to find?”

Shit. He knows I made up the coyote story, and he’s probably figured out why. Note to self: Lucas isn’t someone to be taken lightly. Best course of action is to redirect.

“You still didn’t answer—are you and Taylor an item?”

His playful grin is even more self-assured than before. “Why? Are you interested?” He takes a step toward me.

His candor catches me off guard, and sadly, he’s right.

I am interested. Part of me hopes he is unattached (and not dangerous).

I stop those thoughts before they can sprout roots.

Getting involved with the subject of my inquiry (who is also still in high school ) doesn’t exactly meet my standards for journalistic integrity.

“I’m just curious, that’s all. You’ve been cagey about it, and so has she.”

“Maybe some things are better left a mystery,” he replies, and leaves it at that. He turns away and resumes walking the trail.

We march in silence. I’m supposed to return with some breathtaking discovery that will meet Taylor’s expectations, but all I’ve acquired is a blister on my right heel.

At least we’re no longer going downhill. The flat ground is easier on my calves, but tall trees block my view of the lake, so I have no idea how much farther we have to go. It all looks the same to me.

Lucas has been quiet, leaving me to obsess over how I mishandled things. When he turns around, I think he’s giving me a second chance.

“I have to pee,” he says.

Not exactly what I was hoping for, but I actually have to do the same.

“You go that way, I’ll go this way. See that rock over there?” He points to a sizable boulder, the top of which sticks up from the earth like an iceberg poking out of the water. “We’ll meet there.”

“Fine,” I say, and I leave the path, bushwhacking to a secluded spot where I feel safe to go.

As I relieve myself, I try not to dwell on all the places ticks can hide.

This is so much easier for a guy. I readjust my clothes and wander back to the path, trying to retrace my steps, but the sameness of the forest is disorienting.

My heart rate ticks up a couple notches as I scour the ground for imprints my feet left in the soil or a branch I might have broken.

I think I’m headed the right way, but I also think I should have reached the main trail by now. I’m about to cry out for help, when to my delight, the vegetation thins and I return to what I’m sure is the designated meeting spot.

I look for the pointy rock and there it is. But I see other rocks that are similar, buried in the ground all around me. But no, I’m confident this is the right rock. So where is Lucas?

I wait. Maybe he had to do more than a pee. Gross. As the minutes slip by, I grow increasingly anxious. I recall how Rick navigated these trails with ease and referenced all the times Lucas had done this hike.

Did he leave me here as payback?

“Lucas! Lucas!”

I race ahead on what I believe is the trail, but how can I be sure? Every tree, every rock, even the ground itself all looks the same as I remember, but different, too.

My anger at Lucas gives way to a gnawing fear. The trees loom over me, no longer peaceful; they’ve become threatening. The sky barely peeks through their dense branches. Dark shadows converge around me, obscuring the path. I check my phone. No signal. No way to GPS my way home.

Panic grips me. I run forward, continuing to call for Lucas. At some point, I realize that the path I thought I was following is gone. All that’s there is thick undergrowth, a blanket of dead leaves and pine needles underfoot.

Will I become the next unexplained disappearance?

I have a dim hope that Lucas is merely playing a sick game.

I stop to listen, praying I’ll hear an obnoxious giggle, something to signal it’s a bad joke.

But all is silent, except for the blood rushing through my ears.

My terror deepens with each step to nowhere.

Walking isn’t an option. I’m running now, even though I remember something about staying in one place if you’re lost. But I keep hearing another voice—this one as irrational as it is demanding, telling me to move, that the right trail is just ahead, and all I have to do is keep going to find it.

My head whips around as I plunge through branches that claw at my face like an attacking animal. I’m moving too fast, but I can’t slow down. Fear makes me reckless. Every step, I hope, will reveal a sign, some familiar marker, anything to orient me, but it never does.

I realize too late that I should have been watching where I was going.

My foot strikes something hard. At first I’m not sure what happened.

All I know is I’m unexpectedly flying through the air.

The next instant, I land hard on the ground.

Pain rockets up my arm, but my ankle takes the brunt of it.

It swells almost immediately, like an inflating balloon.

I try to stand, but when I put weight on my foot, a sharp, stabbing sensation shoots through my leg. I brave a step and it’s not pretty. The pain is intense enough to make my eyes water. I have to sit down. My ankle continues to swell.

I want to scream at myself for all the terrible decisions I’ve made. Coming to the lake, visiting the site of old bones, opening my big mouth to the police, lying to Rick so I could be alone with the boy who’s abandoned me.

What now?

Tears, that’s what. They streak down my face, gracing my lips with their salty aftertaste.

Irrational fears arise—or maybe not so irrational.

What will my parents think if I don’t return?

How would my disappearance alter their lives?

I’m not ready to become anybody’s ghost. I have too much to do, and now I’m getting angry.

I won’t let Lucas beat me, but I can’t walk, and I worry what will happen when night falls.

So I do what any smart, levelheaded, partially college-educated young woman would do in my predicament. I scream—as loud as I can. My throat turns raw from the effort, but I don’t let up.

I’m howling like a madwoman when I hear something rustling in the trees.

My heart swells more than my injured ankle, filling with relief.

But fear coats me anew as I worry I’ve summoned nothing more than a creature, perhaps a bear with teeth and claws that will tear me to pieces.

Or worse… a predator who preys on young women…

whoever or whatever is at the heart of the lake lore.

It’s moving toward me and causing too much of a disturbance to be a small animal.

I brace myself, holding my breath, worried that giving myself away would be the worst thing I can do.

But it’s too late. Something is heading this way quickly.

I grab a nearby stick; it’s a flimsy weapon, but it’s all I have.

I’m ready to scream again, this time to scare it off.

As I brace for the end, to my delighted surprise, an old woman appears from behind a thicket of bushes.

She’s dressed in a bright teal fleece and dark jeans.

Her face is heavily lined, and despite the protection of a lavender adventure hat, her skin is deeply sun-kissed, as though she’s seldom indoors.

She appears as comfortable in this landscape as any animal living in the forest. Her long, flowing gray hair, coarse and silvery like a horse’s mane, makes me think of the legendary wisewomen.

As she moves closer, I see concern in her wide, luminous blue eyes.

She carries a walking stick in each hand, her knuckles gnarled like the knots of a tree branch.

A sob escapes my throat as she lowers herself to my level.

“You’re hurt,” she says in a raspy, age-worn voice. “Are you lost as well, dear?”

I nod, over and over, unable to muster any words. She brushes my cheek, her touch filled with kindness. “Well, you’re not lost anymore. I’ll fix you a splint and we’ll get you out of here. Are you staying at the lake?”

I nod again, my voice still locked somewhere inside.

“Well, you’re in luck. I live there as well. My name is Grace Olsen. What’s your name?”

I smile slightly as I answer her question. Fate is a funny thing.