Page 59 of Past Tents

I sat up and brought it to my heart. If he could trust me with this, I wouldn’t betray him. Even if we weren’t right for each other, I wouldn’t let him fall. “Okay, then,” I told him. “Let’s start with that. Let’s start with hope.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

ALLY

Islept like a felled tree and woke up to cries of “No way!” and “You messed up, dude!”

The sun was already shining brightly through the gauzy nylon of the tent, but that only meant it was after six in the morning. Other than that, I had no idea what time it was. Telling time by the sun’s position would have to fall into next year’s camping tutorial.

Looking next to me, I saw that Clay was already up and out of the tent—no surprise that he’d heard the call of the wilderness. He probably had already prepared breakfast for everyone. But the continued shouts of various students in the distance had me curious, and if they were awake, I really needed to put my boots on and join them.

A few minutes later, with my hair piled into a typhoon of a ponytail and a flannel shirt buttoned up beneath my puffer coat, I strode over in the direction of the voices. Under the tall pines, I found Cassius and Miles standing with Clay and the park ranger among the trees where we’d practiced hanging food the day before yesterday.

Since the bear hang had only been an exercise, we’d taken all the food down and stowed it in the bear boxes. All but one bag, apparently.

And it looked like a bear had found it overnight.

The nylon sack itself was in shreds, easily torn in two with a bear’s claw. The food that had been inside—a loaf of bread, a bag of trail mix, and several packages of hot chocolate mix—was now mostly an assortment of torn wrappers on the ground.

“Ms. Dalbotten!” Cassius yelled when he saw me and dashed over. “Check it out.”

I walked carefully in the direction of all the chaos, where a couple more students who’d heard the yelling now joined. Chatter erupted anew as Miles and Cassius filled them in on the bear visit last night.

I caught Clay’s eye and cocked my head. “No bears, huh?”

“I just promised you wouldn’t be visited personally. I didn’t say black bears don’t exist out here.”

The ranger chimed in with all kinds of statistics about bear sightings in the surrounding area, all information I was glad I didn’t know about before the trip. “But no one’s been attacked, in part thanks to the bear boxes. This here, though”—he pointed up at the paltry-looking rope dangling from a branch right next to the trunk of the tree—“that’s just bear bait, hanging so close to the trunk. A bear has no problem climbing up there to get it.”

“Clearly,” I said, surveying the damage again. Clay was still eyeing me quietly, probably waiting for me to freak out. I surprised us both by calmly nodding and concluding, “Guess wegot lucky. Good lesson for the kids on hownotto do a bear hang, right?”

“Exactly,” the ranger agreed. “Not so good for the black bear because sourdough isn’t exactly part of its diet, but I’m not chasing down a bear to say so.”

The near bear sighting had all the students so fired up, they helped make breakfast and cleaned the campsite without needing much instruction from us. Within a few hours, we’d packed up and hiked down the trail to where the bus took us all back to campus.

The weather had cooperated all weekend long, but by late Sunday afternoon, the clouds rolled in as if to say,We did our best to hold off as long as we could, but now we’re coming. The first drops of rain splattered on the blacktop in the parking lot as the kids hugged each other goodbye and we loaded them into their respective parents’ cars.

And then...it was just Clay and I in the parking lot standing next to Clay’s blue truck.

He took my hand and led me around to the passenger side, popping the automatic lock. Then he opened the door, swept me up into his arms, and deposited me on the seat, just like he’d done that day I’d splatted on the track.

Clay and I drove back to his house in silence, but the rush of blood in my ears with each beat of my heart would have drowned out a conversation anyway. Clay kept my hand grasped in his own, every so often raising it to his lips. I nearly swooned every time he did it, my heart so full of feelings for him.

When we pulled into his driveway, I had an idea. “Clay, do you still have the tents pulled out from when we camped in your yard?”

“Yeah, they’re in my shed. Why?”

“Can we sleep in them tonight?”

He started to laugh, swinging open his door and coming around to my side of the truck. “Are you serious?”

I shrugged. “I like the close quarters.” He took my hand and helped me down from the truck, ever gentlemanly.

“Don’t you worry, Alexandra. I’m keeping you close for the rest of the night.” He kissed my temple and left a lingering kiss on my cheek. “I love your new appreciation for camping, but we’re sleeping in the house. On sheets. In a bed.”

I grinned. “I like the sound of all of that too.”

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