Page 14 of Across Time

"I don't recall asking a half-dead girl to go sleep in the woods and starve while she's trying to return to health.” He reaches my side. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to stop you. I could carry you back but I can't watch you all the time. You'd just sneak out again."

His response couldn’t be more reasonable. I suppose that’s what’s so surprising about it. I look up at him in the moonlight, feeling unexpectedly sad that I will never see him again. I swallow. In two years’ time will he still be on this farm or will he be off fighting? I don’t want to know. I’m glad I’m leaving here before I start to care.

"Well...goodbye. Please tell Marie-Therese I was sorry to leave so suddenly.”

I turn toward the orchard, but within seconds I hear the sound of feet behind me, matching my pace, as if the two of us are out here for a leisurely walk, nothing more.

I stop and round on him. "What are you doing?"

"I assume you were planning to sleep near the orchard, but I can't have a dead girl on my property," he says simply.

Oh my God. And to think I was getting all choked up at the idea of him going off to war. "So you're escorting me off your land so I don't die here?"

He shrugs. "No, I'll just come with you and make sure you leave in one piece."

I huff in frustration and pick up my pace, but as we approach the orchard, the trees begin to block the moon and it’s so dark I can barely see a foot in front of my face. Anger keeps me walking fast despite that fact. "Your presence defeats the purpose. And you can't leave Marie alone. She'll panic."

I stumble and his hand reaches out to grab my arm. “She'll be fine for a few days."

He’s making no sense at all. How has he gone from incessantly worrying about Marie-Therese to she’ll be fine for a few days?

After five minutes of walking, we've reached the orchard. He points to a small clearing near the woods. "This seems like a good spot to sleep?" He’s already begun spreading his blanket.

I hate him for ruining this. I was trying to do the right thing and now it feels as if I'm a tantrum-prone child being humored by her dad. "I'm not sleeping with you."

His mouth twitches. "Well, that definitely removes some of the fun from the evening. But there are wolves here, so you might at least want me close by."

Any pride I might have had goes skittering away at the word wolves. I slide down to the base of an apple tree across from him, leaning against it with my arms folded.

He spreads himself out on the blanket and glances over. "Didn’t you bring something to sleep on?" he asks. "You're not very good at this running away business."

God I hate him.

"I didn’t want you calling me a thief for the rest of my life. Just leave the blanket for me and go. I promise to drag myself off your property if I'm dying."

"That's exactly the kind of promise you won't be able to keep if you're being torn apart by wolves,” he says, his tone conversational. “They are regrettably less than thorough, wolves are. They'd leave your head and bones behind."

I sort of want to laugh, and I sort of want to throw something at him. His hands fold under his head and he closes his eyes. Wishing I’d planned more thoroughly, I lie down on the patchy grass beneath me. "I wouldn't do that," he says, eyes still closed. "Not if you haven't checked for snake holes."

I freeze. "You're making that up,” I hiss.

"Am I?" he asks with a small tick to his lips. "I guess we'll see."

I know he’s just messing with me, but within five seconds I'm off the ground and marching over to his blanket. "Move over," I demand.

“Decided you’d like to sleep with me after all, then?” he asks without opening his eyes.

“No, I just figure that you’re larger and slower, so the wolves will kill you first,” I reply, lying down beside him.

Compared to the bare ground, the blanket feels surprisingly luxurious, and there’s a breeze keeping the air almost pleasant when it was stifling in the house. It would be okay if I were here with pretty much anyone else.

I try to picture Mark in Henri’s place but I can't. Mark and I would never find ourselves out in the middle of an orchard on a hot night with nothing but a blanket beneath us. His one and only camping experience took place on the golf course of his parents' country club, where a staff provided all their meals and even set up their tents. I’d laughed at the story and he had too, but I remember thinking I wanted that: a life where you could pick and choose your hardships. Where even the worst experiences were shaped into something soft and mild enough that you could survive them.

"I did this once," he says, "as a boy. My mother followed me, just as I've done to you."

"Was she as annoying about it as you are?"

"Worse,” he says. “She brought an entire pie and a tub of cream and began to eat in front of me."