Page 31 of Shifting Gears

Cracking an eye open, she blearily takes in the surroundings. She clearly lost her contacts at some point, and in the low morning light, the details of the unfamiliar room she’s in are blurry; she keeps her emergency glasses in her purse, which is missing in action. There’s a TV somewhere on the adjacent wall. In front of her is a table scattered with mugs and remotes. The whole room smells vaguely like a mix of warm vanilla and machine shop. Against the far wall, she can see the fuzzy outline of a large collection of barbells and weights, and on the nearest wall, there’s a framed picture of a bumblebee, with an undoubtedly cheesy quote underneath.

It doesn’t take three guesses to figure out whose house she’s in.

On what turns out to be a couch, Eleanor shoots up into a seated position—wincing at the spike of pain the movement sends to her aching skull—and takes stock of her situation. She’s still in her clothes from last night, and she’s covered by a few soft blankets that slide down at her movements to pool around her waist.

Eleanor relaxes, letting out a breath. She’s not in Dani’s bed. She didn’t somehow black out and forget taking a massive step last night—Dani must have let her crash here. Eleanor’s shoes and purse are sitting neatly beside the couch, and among the empty cups on the table, there’s a full glass of water and two pills next to a sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it.

The house is quiet. Dani must still be asleep. Eleanor only distantly remembers the party wrapping up, Dani insisting on taking her keys, and walking somewhere she didn’t recognize.

She hasn’t been quite that drunk in a long time. She can only imagine the nonsense she spewed—Dani had been close all night, perfectly in range to hear any more stupid comments Eleanor might have blurted out about how hot she looked. And, to top it off, now that Eleanor is awake and coherent, she can vaguely recollect talking to Naomi again later in the night, long after she lost track of how many drinks she’d had. For the life of her, Eleanor can’t remember what their conversation had been about. She could have said anything. She could have blurted out her connection to CromTech—the only thing that had stopped her from revealing it earlier in the night had been Dani’s timely interruption.

Eleanor’s nausea intensifies. As quietly as possible she slips her shoes and her glasses on, swallows the pills, and starts her quest to find the exit.

Dani’s house is cute. It’s older and well lived-in, cozy and nicely decorated with eclectic furniture and lots of knick-knacks. The walls of the hallway leading into the kitchen are lined with photos—Dani smiling with Sarah, jumping off a dock with Mila, holding beers up with the boys, and kneading bread with an older woman that Eleanor assumes is her aunt. Dani’s age in them ranges from young teenager to what looks to be relatively recent.

Eleanor has no idea how long she stands there taking in the intimate details of Dani’s life. She meant to sneak out quickly, but something about the opportunity to learn more about Dani makes her slow. So slow that she doesn’t notice the figure leaning against the kitchen counter until it’s too late.

“Morning.”

Eleanor jumps what feels like a foot, whirling around to see Sarah Cooper looking at her over the rim of a mug of coffee.

“Sarah!” Eleanor says loudly, quieting her voice immediately in fear of waking the other occupant of the house and trying not to look as shaken as she is. Sarah is in her pyjamas, her short hair sticking up at the back like she’s just rolled out of bed. Eleanor wonders if Dani and her cousin share a house. “I…I didn’t know you were here.”

“Mhmm,” Sarah hums, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. She looks significantly less hungover than Eleanor feels.

Eleanor shifts from one foot to the other. “I slept on the couch. Dani must have—I just woke up here.”

Sarah quirks a brow. “Uh huh.”

Maybe it’s the hangover, or maybe Sarah just has a spectacular poker face, but Eleanor can’t even begin to guess at Sarah’s thoughts. If Eleanor had revealed whom she works for, wouldn’t Sarah know? But it’s only been a few hours—maybe the word hasn’t gotten around town yet. Or maybe Eleanor didn’treveal anything at all and she’s panicking over nothing. Maybe Sarah is just teasing her.

“I’m going to go home,” Eleanor says, slinking toward the front hall.

Sarah nods. Her face is totally neutral. “Okay.”

Eleanor endures the walk of shame through town to get back to her car at the River Run, and once she’s safely back in the privacy of her rental house, she flops onto the couch with a groan.

It’s enough to make a woman swear off drinking.

Chapter 8

Almost a week passes afterPride before Eleanor sees Dani again.

Even days later, a wave of mortification rolls over her every time she thinks about what she might have said or done. For all she knows, she might have completely lost her head and told the entire bar whom she works for, not just Naomi. It’s all a blank space in her memory. On top of that issue, she’d been far too obvious in her attraction to Dani, which she has no plans to act on.

What Pride makes clear to her is that getting some space from the group is for the best. She needs to get back to reality, and it’s as good an excuse as any to finally get back to work on the project she’s been ignoring since she started spending more time in town.

After a day to recover from her crippling hangover, Eleanor drives around the back roads yet again, careful not to hit any major bumps this time, more determined than ever to find the old development site she’s been searching for. Unlike during her last search, Eleanor actually gets out of the car this time to trek into the woods—she doubts that it’ll be conveniently labelled, but she has coordinates and a maps app and a whole afternoon to look. She even has better shoes this time.

Even so, she still isn’t used to hiking. It’s slow going, guided only by an increasingly patchy cell signal. She wades through bugs and underbrush and climbs over jutting pieces of rock, sweating through her shirt and flinching at every strange-looking plant that could be poison ivy. And after she’s gone justfar enough that she’s not sure she could find her way back alone, her phone unhelpfully notifies her that she has no service at all.

“Of course,” Eleanor sighs to no one, glaring down at the blinking icon.

By the time she finds what might be a faint trail to follow through the woods, she still hasn’t located the parcel of land she’s looking for. She’s lost in a sea of trees, a mix of tall pines and shorter birches. She sits on a nearby rock, tiredly pulling out her notebook to jot down the area she thinks she’s explored while she decides which way to follow the path.

“Would it kill them to put up a fucking cell tower?” Eleanor mutters, scribbling in messier lines than usual. “Try to keep people from getting stranded in the forest like a goddamn ’80s slasher movie? How many lost hikers does it take to—”

She stops abruptly and almost drops the notebook when she hears a rustling to her left. Her brain jumps to the worst-case scenario—snarling animals, deadly snakes, a long and tragic death alone in the woods—until a voice rings out.

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