Page 9 of Leveling

Chapter 6

Luna watched him, wondering how to help, but here’s the thing that Nomads know—every storm they survive is just one more storm gone by. Every storm. You have to survive. And how you survive, well that’s up to you. Totally up to you. Survival. Luna dug through one of her boxes for a light nylon jacket, pulled it over her tank top, zipped it to her chin, and hugged herself against the chill.

Beckett touched her lightly on her back. “Let’s get under the tarp.”

The first sprinkling rain hit their roof with splats and plonks then came in at an angle under the tarp. It was hard and cold and shocking to the skin, so they rushed into the safari tent dragging their chairs.

The canvas tent was tall. Standing up inside was easy for Luna, but Beckett’s head brushed the top. They set the chairs up beside each other, and Beckett lit a lantern giving the whole space a warm glow. Rain pitter-pattered on the tent’s roof.

Luna shivered. “Do you have a blanket?”

Beckett rummaged through a small trunk, happy to have something to do. He had rushed with this young woman into the harbor of his tent without considering what they might talk about once there. When entertaining mainland girls he had common interests, a place to begin with in conversation. Music, sports, school. He couldn’t imagine having anything in common with this exotic creature. But he wanted to. And the thing was, he had spent the day with her, and she was comfortable. She worked. She talked. She laughed and joked. He was nervous because of his idea of her, yet her company relaxed him. It made no sense. But nothing much made sense anymore, anyway. He handed Luna an antique-looking quilt.

“This is beautiful,” Luna said. “Yours?” She stood to wrap it around, then sat back in the chair.

“My grandmother gave it to me. She’d be pissed if she knew it was this close to a drowning.”

“She wasn’t a big fan of a drowning?”

Beckett chuckled. “Her great-great-grandmother was a sea captain’s wife. The quilt has been passed down to her descendants as long as they promise not to go to sea.”

“Oh.” The pattering rain grew louder, making speech impossible.

When it waned, she said, “So you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t do what you’re told.”

Beckett tilted his head back and took in Luna, going by the name of Anna, wrapped in his family’s heirloom blanket. She looked mussed-hair, wet-bedraggled, lantern-glow beautiful. “No, I’m the kind of guy who knows better, thinks it through, can’t think any good will come of it, but then does it anyway.”

“Sounds a lot like the same.” Luna grinned.

“Well, your version has me rushing headlong in reaction. Believe me,” He leaned back in his chair, both hands on his head, rubbing around on the top of his too-short hair, “A lot of thought and preparation went into this voyage to a sinking ship.”

“You think it’s sinking?”

“The ocean is rising, it’s very much the same thing.”

Luna’s voice took on the soft sultry tone that happens in caves with only one source of light and raging elements outside. “So what made you come here, Beckett?”

“Oh, that’s a long story and not a very interesting one.”

“From the sound of the rain we have a while and not much else to do. How about I try to guess?” She stood and headed to his bedside table.

He chuckled, “What are you doing?”

“Shhhh, I’m investigating.” She walked around the room looking on tables and shelves. Searching his personal effects, chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought. Her eyes were lidded by a fringe of dark lashes, not catching the light, absorbing it.

“Aha!” She held up a dog-eared copy of Walden by Henry David Thoreau. “Are you reading this?”

Beckett said, “I did, months ago.”

“So that’s why you’re here, this is your Walden.”

“Wait, you’ve read Thoreau?”

“Of course and don’t distract. I guessed, right—with the water and the tiny house and the little garden? You’re living Thoreau’s dream. I’m right, I know it.”

Beckett appraised her, chuckling. “You know, I never even thought about that, but nope, wrong. I read Walden because I’m planning to live in a small mountain house when I get back...”

“Oh, drat,” She returned the book to the shelf. “Okay, second guess.” She spun slowly, then in her most queenly accent said, “You’re here to earn the money to buy a small mountain house, that you’ll live in with a beautiful mountain girl and your ten frolicking mountain babies. Ta da!”

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