Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Not that Jake noticed. He reached for a towel that was lying on a bench, dried his hair, and slung it over his shoulders.
“Milo’s pale and shivering. He says he’s fine, but he’s probably seasick or lake sick,” Jake commented, poking Denny’s shoulder. “Let’s go in. We can change clothes, have a snack, and get ready to hike.”
For the first time in…ever, we were in agreement. I grabbed a spare towel for Milo and discreetly slipped a plastic bag to him in case he needed to ralph before we got to shore.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be on land in a few minutes,” I assured the teen, setting a hand on his arm, flinching at the feel of his too-hot skin. “Dude, you’re burning up. You have a fever.”
“N-no, I’m okay,” he whimpered.
For the record, Milo was not okay.
Neither was Howard.
Both were feverish and obviously ill, and neither protested when we called a van to escort them to Elmwood. David and his son, Michael, opted to stay.
“I spent a lot of money to be here. We’re not going anywhere,” David said, strapping his backpack on.
I shot a questioning look at Jake, who shrugged imperceptibly as if to say, “What can we do?” I was too preoccupied with getting organized for the hike-slash-overnight-portion of the program to dwell on the weirdness of sharing knowing glances with the enemy. Strange stuff.
However, we’d now officially entered the “real camping” phase, and I had to keep my wits about me.
The Four Forest area consisted of four small towns whose borders were delineated by thick forests, winding roads, and the lake. The goal was to hike from Pinecrest to Wood Hollow along narrow trails and arrive at the campsite before dusk. This was wildlife central. We’d been told to stick with our assigned group and be mindful of deer, moose, bobcats, and black bears. There were rules about food storage and general forest etiquette. Don’t leave trash out, and don’t feed the fucking bears.
No problem.
I spent most of the two-hour trek with Michael and friends he’d made with some kids in Denny’s group. Pushing brush aside for the teens while chatting with Denny should have been the perfect diversion, but I was ultra-aware of Jake trudging behind me with David and our extremely slow videographer, who thankfully had brought a pair of sneakers with him.
We paused every so often to give them a chance to catch up. I used that “knowing glance” trick to taunt Jake and for good measure, tapped my watch to annoy him. He just rolled his eyes and cast a meaningful gaze in Ray’s direction. And suddenly, we were communicating again. He was telling me that Ray was out of his element in every way possible—out of shape and unprepared, and damn it, I understood.
And get this, I felt a twinge of remorse that I hadn’t shared the workload. I expected the feeling to fade immediately, but it didn’t. Odd.
“What’s with the camera guy?” I asked Jake once we’d reached the campsite, tipping the ball cap Denny had given me toward the disheveled man limping into the clearing.
“He’s allergic to exercise, and mosquitoes love him,” he deadpanned. “Also, I think we have to watch out for David. He’s either not as fit as he seems or…he’s not feeling great, and he doesn’t want us to know.”
“You think he has the flu too?” I whispered, inching closer to Jake as we observed the middle-aged man chugging a Gatorade.
“Dunno.”
I couldn’t tell you which one of us shrugged first, but it was the tenuous sense of connection I really noticed. Were we bonding over our campers? Undetermined.
We kept our usual distance during the hot-dog fest and the bonfire. Between games of charades and shoveling s’mores in my mouth, I was a busy guy.
But when it was time for bed, I was ready for some shut-eye. I stretched my arms above my head, said my good nights, and wandered to the tents designated for Team Trinsky-Milligan—two two-person tents and one single tent.
“Where’s the other tent?” I set my hands on my hips and surveyed the tents arranged neatly under a giant elm.
David and his son joined me. “I didn’t know there was supposed to be a fourth tent. Whoever claimed the single is already snoring away. Michael and I will take this one. Good night, and thanks for a great day.”
“Good night, Mr. Trinsky,” Michael chimed in, flashing a sleepy smile as he followed his father.
“Just Trinsky,” I mumbled, raking my fingers through my hair. “Just…fuck.”
Look, I was no mathematical genius, but I quickly deduced that we had a big problem. One tent and two guys left…Milligan and me.
I released an exhausted sigh—the kind that originated from my toes—as I mentally sorted through my options. First come, first serve, right? One of us would have to cuddle up elsewhere. Not me.