I yelled at nothing, at everything, at the failure that was my life, which had led me here, into this godforsaken forest where I was drenched and lost and being hunted by my murderous husband.
I yelled at myself for ever thinking I could do anything, for being so stupidly naïve as to wander into some unfamiliar forest in the middle of the night.
I brought my phone up to my face. It was 4 a.m. I stared at my phone for a minute. I could find my way back to the ranger’s station with this phone. I could. I could turn it on, call for help, or even just check for directions, figure out where I was. That was if there was even a signal way out here. Still, it was my best bet right now, now that I was plopped down here, lost, drenched, and freezing.
The rain was cold and I was tired. I wanted to go home or just to the stupid, crappy ranger’s station even—anywhere to get out of this bone-chilling rain.
My phone went black, and I put it in my jeans pocket. Inhale, then exhale.
I didn’t take my phone out again. I wouldn’t be able to resist taking it out of airplane mode to check for directions if I did. And I had to resist. I had to, otherwise Angelo would track me, find me, and kill me. No matter how bad things seemed now, they were not as bad as that. I could do this.
I sat there, immobile, and told myself again: “Claire, you can do this.”
Then I yelled some more. I railed against stupid, lying Angelo and stupid, mean Blake. Then I railed against myself.
And now that my voice was hoarse from yelling, I got it. This was my doing, just how being with Angelo had been my doing. Just how I was getting myself out of that, I had to get myself out of this.
It was my responsibility to find my way back, not anyone else’s. The world didn’t owe me a thing.
And so I sat on the grass, grim and yet a bit pleased with this latest revelation. I sat and waited for the light that would surely come, that would hopefully show me the way.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ironically, I almost dozed off there, and it was the crash of a far-off branch that fully woke me. I jerked upright to see a squirrel scurrying off the fallen thing. It was light out. Not very light, but enough. Enough to see where I was.
I got up, looked ahead of me, and spotted it only 100 feet or so away. The cabin. I had never been that far at all. I had probably started going at a slant halfway into my journey, and now the way back was easy.
My trip back was calm, unharried. After all, according to my phone, it was only 5:45 a.m. Even if Blake happened to be up, he’d probably welcome my absence, not worry about it.
The light made everything even more beautiful: the blades of grass with their still rain-tipped stalks, the trees with their rustling leaves. Even the ugly ranger’s station almost looked like a nice little red-bricked bungalow from far enough away.
When I got back to the ranger’s station, Blake was in the same position in the sleeping bag as before. He looked deep in sleep, albeit unhappily. There was a crinkle of irritation between his eyebrows. I slipped in quietly, slowly, so as not to disturb him. Then I rolled to the side, closed my eyes, and, finally, fell asleep.
It seemed only a second later that Blake was shaking me awake. Through my half-open slits of eyes, I saw him smile apologetically.
“Sorry, but it’s 8 a.m. We have to get to work.”
Before I could respond, he plopped another two pieces of bread on the sleeping bag over my belly. I sat up and then painstakingly rose, heading into the station. I paused and took in the room once more.
It looked even more dismal in the light—that floor of rubble, that black hole in the fireplace—and this was just the first room.
As if hearing my thoughts, Blake strode in with a broom. “Look what I found.”
“I can do that,” I said.
But as I tucked my second piece of bread in my pocket, Blake shook his head and leaned the broom against the wall near me.
“Eat first. You have to be clearheaded for this. There’s glass and nails everywhere.”
I nodded, leaning on the wall myself. Taking the time to enjoy this raisin bread wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I turned to face the door so I could look at the nature.
It was a strange image, this undisturbed beauty framed by the glass shards of the broken door. The tall, proud trunks of the trees, the playful little swings of wildflowers—how superior it all was and how perfect! I turned back to survey the wreckage around me. Nature had always been perfect; it was humans who were flawed and messy.
Once I finished my bread, I grabbed the broom and got to sweeping. It didn’t take long to sweep all the plaster, glass, nails, and odds and ends of God knew what into a pile in the corner. As I surveyed my work, I couldn’t help but have a proud smile on my face.