Page 45 of New River Gorge(ous)
I push myself off the porch swing, the one hundred yards between mine and June’s house feeling like it might as well be a marathon at this point.
“Hey, Beck.”
I turn and look at her.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I say.
I start to descend the steps when Brooke’s arms wrap around my waist in an awkward hug from behind. She lets go quickly before I can turn around and hug her back the way my body craves.
I give a neighborly wave as I trudge the distance between our houses. The first thing I do when I make it inside my front door is text Logan.
Beckett
You don’t need to hit on Brooke.
Logan’s response comes back less than a minute later. It’s a GIF ofLady and the Trampeating the impossibly long spaghetti noodle that leads to their dog version of a kiss.
I want to tell Logan to keep his distance, but I also know that he’ll never let me hear the end of it if I stake a claim. Not that he’ll actually do anything when he knows I’m interested in her—he’s too good a friend for that.
Whoever said knowledge is power was right. I know I don’t need to respond. But that same knowledge doesn’t stop me from typing out a terse message.
Beckett
She’s not one of the tourists. She’s going to be your employee. And she’s my neighbor.
Logan
Aye aye, captain.
Logan responds, followed by a winky face emoji.
Sometimes my friends are insufferable, but I also know thatheknows not to hit on her, and something about that makes me feel just the tiniest bit better as I collapse on my bed.
I fall asleep thinking about that tiny pink line of scar tissue on Brooke’s face and how it looks like a paintbrush.
24
Brooke
Meemaw is thrilled about my job with Logan at the rafting headquarters.
“Brookie Cookie, that’s perfect!” she squeals. “And the hours are just right too.”
My hours are 8-12 on Monday and Wednesday, so what she really means is my hours are perfect for her to watch her shows in peace. I get it. I have a tendency to voice comments about some of the soap operas, and there’s only so much you can do when you’ve had limited mobility for a while.
It’s too early for Beck to be home from his shift, but I need the headlamp for my first day. I don’t want to show up unprepared and come across as disorganized. I know that this is temporary, and that I’ll likely never see the people who come through for rafting again, but a girl has some pride, and I was raised to do the right thing. In this case, being prepared for work the way your boss told you to be prepared is the right thing.
I open the front door, stepping out into the brisk mountain morning air. I’m not sure if Beck will be home before I have toleave, but it would really help me a lot if he was, and if he would give me that headlamp to borrow.
I lean against the siding of the house and heave out a sigh, thinking of what to do, when something white flutters just off to the side of my vision on the porch swing. Immediately I cover my head and close my eyes. I do not need an overzealous seagull attacking me today.
It takes a moment before I remember I’m not at Camp CGO, and the seagulls here in West Virginia have not attacked me, so I’m probably safe.
I crack open an eye and stare at the porch swing. Something black is there too.
I draw closer to the suspicious objects and find a headlamp pinning down a piece of plain white paper. The paper was folded in half but flipped open in the wind, leading to the flapping and seagull confusion.
