Page 154 of Mountain Grump
I lift my hand to my forehead.
Ethan gives me a look. “Park rangers don’t salute.”
I keep my hand up. “That one guy saluted you.”
“What one guy?”
“The one… I can’t think of his name. He was in the parking lot when you helped me with Quackers’s pool.”
“Fisher?” Ethan rolls his eyes. “Fisher’s an idiot.”
“Roger that.” I finish the salute anyway, then drop my hand.
Ethan shakes his head as he turns around.
I wait for him to disappear into the cabin. And then I wait another moment until I hear the creaking sound of him dropping onto the bed, where I’ve spent most of the day.
Turning so my back is to the cabin, I strip off the shirt and sleep pants I’ve been wearing since last night and set them on another stump.
It’s almost dusk. So the light is dimming, and the air is cooling, reminding me I should hurry.
I use the hair tie I found in my backpack to secure my long braid, then I dunk the washcloth into the bucket of warm water and scrub the soap bar against the wet cloth until it suds.
Today was… good.
Like really good.
Especially considering we’re stranded here because of a plane crash.
After breakfast, Ethan made me sit with my feet up while he handwashed my clothes from yesterday, using the well water and powdered detergent. Then he washed his own clothes, minus his jeans.
As I rub the soapy cloth over my body, I look around at our clothing hanging from tree branches.
I re-lather the soap, then wash lower.
After the laundry, Ethan insisted I spend the afternoon reading in bed—with my feet up.
I picked a well-worn thriller and woke up two hours later to find Ethan outside. Chopping wood. With his shirt off.
I stood at the window for a long time, eating a protein bar and enjoying the show.
Then I lay back down, flustered. And by the time I got up again, I caught the top of Ethan’s butt cheeks as he pulled on his boxer briefs, having just done his own standing bath.
My nipples pebble at the memory.
I bend down and dunk the washcloth in the water again.
Like this morning, Ethan used the firepit to heat water in the teapot, and he added it to the bucket of cold water so it wouldn’t be frigid for me. But it’s getting cooler by the moment.
I squeeze out some of the excess water, so it won’t drip too much and get my socks wet.
The air out here… It’s the same as the air atmy house.
Fresh. Clean. Crisp.
I switch hands and run the cloth over my other arm.
A month ago, I was surviving, one day at a time, living in a concrete box, walking down busy sidewalks, and breathing in exhaust.
