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Chapter twenty-nine

Anna

I take my tenth cleansing breath since getting on the phone with the IT department while I wait to get a word in edgewise.

“Yes, but I already tried that with the last representative.”

I know there’s a bite to my tone, but I’m running out of patience trying to fix our point-of-sale machine that has been acting up all morning. Slipping out early to meet Chris for a short hike seems less and less likely as the machine makes an angry beep. I send him a quick text that I might not be able to make it.

“Nope. Like I said, that didn’t work— ”

A green light flashes at the top of the machine and all of a sudden, the words on the screen look familiar. I slump back in Jenny’s desk chair, relief coursing through my tense muscles.

“It’s working! Thank you, thank you.”

I hang up, inform everyone that we’re back in business, and then I’m out the door and bounding up the stairs to my apartment.

Tanner opens the door to his suite mere seconds after I pass it, but I hold up a finger.

“Not today, Tanner.”

As I slip inside, toeing out of my heeled boots, my phone buzzes at the bottom of my purse.

It’s probably Chris making sure I’m still coming. A quick glance at the clock over the microwave tells me I’m running late. Digging around inside the bag, I press answer and switch it to speaker phone without looking and throw my top in the direction of the hamper.

“Hi, I know I’m late! I’m coming, I promise!”

“Hello, Anna.”

It’s as though something cold and wet slips down my spine at the sound of his smarmy voice. Hearing it in my own home is unsettling. It’s the closest thing to having him in my physical space and it makes me want to toss the phone right off the balcony .

“Thad?”

“Surely you can call me Dad after all these years.”

Never have, never will.

The t-shirt I pull over my head with shaking hands is backwards, but I don’t bother to fix it. Thad’s voice echoes off my wood flooring. “Listen, I want you to talk some sense into your mother.”

“No. She’s a grown woman. She can make up her own mind.”

It might have taken her more than fifteen years, but she’s making the right choice.

“She needs me. As a man I’m the head of the family.”

Thinking of my mom having the courage to leave him makes me stand a little taller. He’s not here and he doesn’t have any power over me.

“ I’m her family.” I bite my lip at the wave of emotion.

“No. You’re a whore living in sin.”

“I’m a person living my life with someone who makes me happy. I hope to hell my mom can do the same.”

“Hell is exactly where you’ll be headed if you don’t repent, young lady,” he spits.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, Thad. It’ll be a picnic so long as you’re not there. I’m blocking your number. And leave my mom alone. Bye.”

The tirade that explodes from the tinny phone speaker is loud and hateful. I’m shaking so hard from telling him off that I grab my backpack and boots and don’t slow down until I’m in my car with tears streaming down my face.

The passenger seat is littered with damp tissues when I pull into the gravel lot next to Chris’s Jeep. An angry playlist and a good cry helped clear my head, but I need to be wrapped up in Chris’s arms. Patting down my pockets and then the centre console to search for my phone, I curse myself when I realize I left it behind. I was so dead set on getting away from Thad’s verbal abuse that I forgot to bring the phone with me. The idea of him ranting away to a dead line, red in the face, is almost enough to make me smile.

Sucking in a deep breath, I give myself a pep talk. “Get it together, Anna. It’s over.”

“I’ll catch up,” I say with confidence, lacing my boots up one at a time with a foot on top of my tire.

The moment the ground beneath my boots transforms from pea gravel to soft earth I begin to relax. Painting has always been a nice outlet after a bad day but moving the adrenaline through my body is way more effective this time. Every step over the layers of damp earth and rotting leaves helps me breathe deeper. I’m going to catch up to Chris, tell him everything, and then sit side-by-side on the familiar cliff as we watch the sun begin to set. I set a quick pace, figuring I’m only a few minutes behind. My thighs burn and sweat gathers along my neck to the point I unzip my fleece to cool off. My stomach growls, bringing me back to reality. Maybe Chris will have cinnamon rolls again. My mouth waters at the idea. The forest looks so different with winter around the corner. Bare deciduous trees are nestled amongst the evergreens, last year's birds' nests revealed. I practically inhale the banana from my bag while I take a break on a moss-covered log, not really caring that my butt is getting wet. I have to be close to the top, I think, tucking away my water and continuing. After ten more minutes, I pause. With Chris I distinctly remember the last bit of the hike getting rocky and steep, opening up before we emerged at the summit. That day the strong sun beat down on our faces and sweat dripped down my back despite wearing a t-shirt. The path I’m on is dense and flat and not very familiar at all. My breathing is coming in gulps and gasps, my palms are sweaty so I rub them against my leggings.

“You’re good. You’ve got this, girl,” I say, hating how small and unassured my voice is in comparison to the sounds of the forest.

For the second time today, I pat my body down in search of my phone before remembering I don’t have it .

“Oh, fuck.” I breathe through a burst of panic.

I shiver, drawing my arms around myself. The fleece that felt too hot and scratchy in my condo suddenly feels as thin as silk. I glance up at the sky. There’s no watercolour sunset ending my hike this time. The sky is bruised black and blue and a gust of wind cuts through my leggings.

Mauled by a cougar.

Exposure to the elements.

Death by darkness.

Listing your potential causes for death probably isn’t the right mindset for surviving a situation like this, but knowing my worst-case scenarios haven’t happened yet gives me hope. I haven’t encountered any bears, cougars, or other predators out here. They’re probably cozied up in their dens, a hundred times smarter than me. Every time my body works up a bit of heat the wind blows it away. I find the biggest tree I can that isn’t far off what I think is the trail and lean my back against it, grateful for the small amount of windbreak. I would kill for a glow stick right now.

“What would Chris do? Think, Anna.”

Not get lost in the first place, obviously. But that attitude isn’t going to help me. I drag my bag over, suddenly wishing it still weighed twenty-plus pounds. Systematically, I begin to search through pocket after pocket. There are dozens of compartments, some I’m sure I’ve never opened. The biggest parts of the pack are empty. A pocket on the hip belt produces an empty protein bar wrapper. When I move on to the pocket on the other side of the belt, something shifts with a metallic click. Hope bubbles in my chest as I unzip it.

“Oh my god.”

Chris’s fire starter. On the last morning of our trip we kept getting…distracted and when we packed up I grabbed anything I could find to speed up the process. The tool is two pieces joined by a sturdy length of cord. Chris briefly explained it to me while I watched him build our fire. When you scrape the striker against the special metal it makes a really hot spark. Terrified to lose it, I tuck the tool back in the pocket and get to work finding rocks and some sticks that are hopefully dryish. I’m about to make my first ever fire and failure isn’t an option.