‘Fine. Whatever,’ I say, turning away from him and heading back to where I left my stuff.
Bo follows me quietly. I can feel words jamming up his throat.
It starts to rain. The soothing staccato of water hitting leaves does nothing to calm my anger. I eventually find my blanket and start rolling it up. Bo stands behind me, shifting from foot to foot. He looks miserable.
‘Bye,’ I say, purposely not making any plans to see him again.
I’m wading through the river when he shouts, ‘Because you wanted them to know you were more.’ I stop and turn to face him with the water halfway up my legs and freezing cold. ‘You wanted them to know that they’re underestimating you.’
I nod and start to wade back. ‘Yeah,’ I say, but I doubt he can hear me over the rush of water.
‘I’m the same with my dad,’ he admits. He laughs at himself and pulls up his shirt, so I can see a huge bruise on his ribs that goes all the way down to his hip.
‘Oh my God,’ I gasp. I close the distance between us and reach out towards the contusion before I catch how inappropriate it would be to touch him and pull my hand back. ‘What happened?’
‘We were rappelling, and I fell. I told him I was fine because he was expecting me to say I wasn’t.’ Bo gives me a wry smile. ‘He always turns moments like that into a series of questions. You know – asking me what I’m going to do to get out of it. How would I get back to camp with a broken rib? How would I solve this problem to survive?’
And from just the look on his face, I can see the whole scene – Bo, injured, and needing a father, but only being given a lesson. ‘What a dick.’
Bo shakes his head, suppressing a laugh. ‘No.’ He looks past me, almost wistfully. ‘He’s just worried about us. I’m the eldest. If I can’t survive out here, then he made a mistake.’
I watch Bo for a while in case he wants to continue. When he doesn’t, I ask, ‘Why do you live out here in the woods?’
Bo shrugs. ‘Well, now, for a lot of reasons. But or
iginally my parents wanted us to be free from the prison of capitalist consumerism that perpetuates the institutionalized torture of both the body and the soul.’
He’s not joking. If he had a zealot’s gleam in his eyes, or if he were trying to convert me in any way, I would be running. But he doesn’t. So I nod, because who am I to judge?
‘OK,’ I say.
‘OK?’ he asks, like he knows what he just said is off the pale.
‘I grew up Protestant. We worship a guy who said you have to give away everything you own in order to follow him and find peace. Nobody I know has actually done that, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard of people chucking everything and living off the land for spiritual growth. It’s supposed to be the ideal.’
He narrows his eyes at me. ‘You don’t think it’s strange?’
‘Of course it is,’ I say with a smile. ‘But lately I’ve been thinking maybe strange is more normal than I once thought it was.’
Silence builds, and he starts to look uncomfortable again. He takes a deep breath. ‘Can I see you soon?’ he asks a little too quickly, like he’s ripping off a bandaid.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘You still have to teach me how to use that.’ I gesture to his bow.
‘OK,’ he says. He turns away abruptly, like he has no idea how to say goodbye.
‘I can’t tomorrow,’ I shout. ‘How about the day after?’
‘Sure,’ he says, and we both go.
I look back once and catch him watching me.
21 JULY
Mila picks me up in her Mini. She looks me over thoroughly, almost as if she expects to have to tell me to go change.
Despite the heat, I’m wearing long jeans, close-toed shoes, and a T-shirt (not a tank top). My hair is pulled back, I’m not wearing any kind of jewellery, and I’m not carrying a purse.
‘Did Aura-Blue tell you how to dress?’ she asks me.