Page 24 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“Famished. What’s on the menu?”

“I have some very tasty, dehydrated soya and pasta ready-meals in a bag.”

“Oooh, yum.” Sarcasm colors my words. “The way you sold it to me, makes my mouth water.”

“Well, that’s what I’m eating.” Rita turns to look at me. “What do you have, then?”

“Oh. I don’t know if Dylan packed any food for me.” I pat the side pocket of my combat pants and pull out a crushed protein bar. I’m not sure how long it’s been there. “I have this. We can share.”

I open the packet and break off a piece then offer the rest to Rita. She shakes her head but says thanks. Then laughs as she stands up and walks to the shelter. I eat a piece of the bar, which still appears to be alright, then put what’s left back in my pocket.

“It’s so good,” I say chewing hard on what seems like cardboard. “You’re missing out.”

“You eat it. I’ll wait for dehydrated soya yumminess.”

Rita brings the stove, pot, and water bottles back to the fire where I’m prodding the embers with a stick. She’s wearing a headlamp.

“We’ll need some more water. There’s a stream just down the track. We passed it. Do you remember? I’m going to fill up the water bottles. Will you keep an eye on the fire? Don’t let it go out, okay?”

“Okay then.” I feel responsible and in charge. Rita has trusted me to do an important job. “And Rita.”

“Yes, Brodie.” Rita turns on her headlamp and picks up the water bottles.

“Please come back.”

“Yes, Brodie,” Rita says, over her shoulder as she walks away.

Chapter 13

Rita

Ican’t help but laugh. Brodie is so sweet. I can tell he is completely out of his comfort zone but he’s doing so well. I walk to where a small stream crosses the track. The air is cooler this side of the rockface. The stream trickles down a crevice in a series of pools and cascades. I hear it before I see it. Holding each bottle at an angle in the flow, it doesn’t take long for them to fill up. I screw on the bottle caps and head back to the camp. As I turn the corner, the glow of the fire is welcoming. It crackles and sparks as Brodie puts on more wood.

“Nice work keeping the fire alight,” I say setting the water bottles down by the stove near the fire.

“Thanks, Camp Mom,” says Brodie rolling his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. “As you can see, I’m not entirely useless.”

I put some of the water from the bottles into the pot, light the stove, then put the pot on to boil. Nighttime has snuck up on us and, beyond the few yards surrounding the firepit area, is pitch black. The light from the headlamp only lights up a few feet in front of me. I turn it off and allow my eyes to get accustomed to the orange glow from the fire. I sit on the log next to Brodie.

“Now would be a great time to tell some good old horror stories, I think,” says Brodie poking the embers with a stick that catches light. He pulls the stick from the fire and blows out the flame. The stick glows red.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Let’s see now. What about the one where a couple is lost in the woods and a crazy ax murderer is on the run from the cops, and he attacks them, and there’s a lot of blood. But suddenly, a quarterback hero appears who’s on vacation…”

“Vacation, huh?” I hunt around in my day pack for two of the ready-meal packets. “So, the hero quarterback is on vacation and not avoiding an uncomfortable situation in the media?”

“Yes. Rita.” Brodie narrows his eyes at me then says, forcefully, “He is on vacation. And he overpowers the ax murderer before he can kill anyone and, the couple are so grateful at being rescued they give him three wishes…”

“What? Wishes? Are they a couple of genies?”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.” Brodie pokes the fire again then uses the red glowing stick like a wand to draw a pattern in the air. “They have magic powers.”

“So, if the genies have magic powers, how come they didn’t zap the ax murderer? I’d say the plot line is severely flawed.”

“Ah, you’ve spotted my deliberate mistake.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. Brodie Kent is funny. He has always made me laugh. When we were growing up, I would get mad at Dylan for not letting me play their games. I remember Brodie sitting down next to me on our back porch when I snorted anger and sniffed back bitter tears.

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