Page 65 of The Nook for Brooks
Her words landed heavy. I took a gulp of my drink. I was expecting sweet, but fuck, that pink bombshell had a serious kick to it.
I gasped as Bea leaned forward. “You know, the two of you could come up with a compromise. That’s what all relationships are based on, after all. You might be surprised to discover part of you craves his safe, quiet life… and perhaps part of him secretly craves your windswept horizons.” With a tap of one long-nailed finger, she set the compass around my neck swinging back and forth. “Like my Grammy always said—a compass is useless unless it can point the way back home.”
BROOKS
I promisedmyself I wasn’t going far. Just a short stroll into the wilderness. A modest jaunt. A dignified ramble. A man needn’t climb Everest to prove his fortitude—a tidy loop around the outskirts of town would suffice.
“Step outside, prove your courage, return in time for tea.” That’s what I told myself. That was the plan.
The trail began reasonably enough. A neat dirt path, shaded by trees that whispered pleasantly in the breeze.
I kept my chin up and my pace dignified. My pocket bulged with bow ties—my “emergency calming devices”—which I occasionally used for reassurance. I was prepared. Sensible. Heroic.
By the third minute, I was sweating.
“This is fine,” I muttered. “This is perfectly fine. Great explorers perspired too.” I tugged at my rolled sleeves, which immediately unfurled, flapping like limp flags of surrender.
At the first fork, the left-hand trail looked dark and ominous, while the right-hand path looked much brighter and easier to manage.
“Easy choice,” I said to myself.
Five minutes later, the right-hand “path” had thinned to something only chipmunks would consider navigable.
I turned back—except the path behind me had disappeared. Trees loomed on all sides, intimidating and treacherous.
“Excellent. I’ve been in the wilderness for ten minutes and I’ve already wandered intoThe Lord of the Flies. If I hear someone blowing a conch shell, I’m inveryreal trouble.”
I pressed on, swatting mosquitoes that seemed to multiply with every kill.
Then came the itch. A creeping, prickling burn up my wrist. I looked down to find I’d brushed against a glossy patch of leaves climbing a tree trunk.
“Leaves of three, let it be!” My eyes widened. “Oh god. Poison ivy.”
Before my very eyes, red blotches bloomed up my arm. “Oh great. My first outing alone and I’ve contracted nature’s equivalent of herpes. Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?”
I decided the adventure was over.
I needed to get home and pour a bath filled with calamine lotion… now.
Unfortunately, with every step I took, the forest grew thicker, the undergrowth higher, and every tree trunk looked like the twin brother of the last.
I chose a landmark—a birch with a knobbly bulge on its side that resembled Mrs. Hutchins’s scowl when she visited the Nook to tell me how much she loathed my last recommendation—and kept walking. I knew if I saw it again, I was going around in circles.
I didn’t just see it again.
I saw it again…five more times.
“Oh, so now I’ve turned the forest into a roundabout and Mrs. Hutchins is the traffic island. Marvellous.”
My skin burned.
I slapped my own face trying to swat a mosquito the size of a rat.
I tried veering left. Then right. Then I attempted a straight line before a thicket of brambles snared my trousers, clawed at my ankles, and left me hopping on one leg.
By the time I wrestled free, I looked like I’d been mugged by shrubbery.
The light was starting to fade, shadows stretching longer between the trees. The cheerful green of the leaves deepened to a moody gloom, and suddenly every squirrel rustle sounded like the footsteps of an axe murderer.
