Page 93 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
Dad swallowed. “She was very sick?—”
“Even when Mom couldn’t get out of bed anymore, she taught us how to cook, and budget, and take care of each other, and how to be good people. Mom gave every last bit of her energy and love to us, even when it was torturous for her to do so. You ran like a coward—and return like a snake—and still, she missed you.” I stared at my hands, the emotion thick in my chest.
I didn’t talk about Mom that much, but I should. My siblings and I should talk about her all the time. She was an incredible woman.Shewas the reason Haydn, Rosie, Jules, and I were so close—and the reason I knew how to love like I did. “You may have taken me camping and hunting and on other adventures, but you don’t get to take credit for our survival after you left. That was all Mom.”
Dad nodded, but there was an argumentative glint in his eye. “I don’t think it’s fair to discount everything I did for you. Some people aren’t meant to stay in one place. We’re meant to fly.”
He was never going to understand or regret what he’d done. And maybe I didn’t need him to. Iwantedhim to. I wanted him to apologize and promise to be better. To have a parent back in my life I could trust, or even just respect.
But Dad only cared about himself and what worked for him. He cared about us in a distant sense. In a way that built his own sense of self and ego. We were good people, and in his mind, that reflected well on him and his parenting. But he didn’t do anything without benefit to himself.
My stomach sank with a sudden realization. “How much did they give you to come on the show?”
“What?” His hands fell to his sides. “I’m here for you, Ben.”
“But they’re paying you.”
“They offered me money,” he hedged, “and no one would expect me to refuse?—”
“How did they find you?” I’d suspected Savannah was ruthless, but she’d gone to lengths I hadn’t expected to get my dad here. I’d talked about him a lot—it was too easy to forget the camera was always listening. But Dad was notoriously difficult to contact, and my siblings wouldn’t have helped in any way.
“It wasn’t hard,” he said, sounding shifty again. “And I knew I couldn’t turn down the chance for one last campout with my son.”
The show would have started airing almost a month ago. Dad could have seen an episode on one of his stops. Or maybe someone reached out to him and let him know I was being featured. Dad, always the opportunist, would have immediately had a strike of inspiration.
“You called them.” I didn’t have to ask it. I knew.
“There’s no reason to be puritanical about this. I needed cash, and you weren’t returning my calls. The show is paying me, and I get to spend time with you. It seemed like a win-win.”
“I need a minute,” I said, my voice dull. I stood to find a place to go to the bathroom.
“Bennett. Wait.” His sharp tone made me pause.
“No, I?—”
Dad’s eyes widened at a spot over my shoulder. And then I heard the growl.
40
CHARLIE
I joined the softball team! Bennett’s been working with me and Rosie to improve our skills. It’s way more fun than I imagined it would be. He says I’m a natural. Greg came down to our practice, and now he’s saying he wants to join the team too. And insisting he can teach me how to play. I’d rather Bennett still teach me and Rosie, though. It’s just so much fun! It reminds me of outings with my mom and dad when I was little—joking, playing around, being silly. Like being part of a real family again.
—from the journal of 18-year-old Charlie Savage
My head and body ached. My throat burned. My eyelids felt like sandpaper as they scratched over my eyes with every painful blink.
Sunlight streamed into the cave, illuminating the small space. It still hadn’t rained, which felt like a small miracle, but ominous clouds loomed in the distance.
How in the world was Bennett going to find me?
If they’d given him a map, he would have found me by now. I was several miles from our campsite, but not so far it would take days to get to me if he knew the exact path to follow. At least, I didn’t think so.
That meant he was either following clues of some sort or tracking me.
Last night, I had let myself get lost in my anxiety. If I didn’t stay busy that was absolutely going to happen to me again today. My fire had died out in the night, so I needed to something bigger and more sustainable.
I had to plan for another night here, which meant more moss to cover me. I’d slept fitfully, chilled all night long, but I’d been too scared to go look for bark or moss in the dark. My stomach growled, but I had no tools to hunt for food, and I was deep inland, which meant fishing by hand was out.
