Page 49 of The Night We Met

“See? Sometimes happiness comes from the most unexpected places.”

“We’ll have to thank Mike,” I mumbled, giving Woofarine the last bite of the jerky.

We reapplied sunblock, cleaned up our mess, took one more painful swallow of our grape blood water, and got back on the trail.

The stop was a good one. I felt better. Ready to take on the next six miles—actually looking forward to the next six miles, I realized.

I didn’t enjoy being plunked in the woods on some epic adventure with no warning, but I did like the company.

It made me think The Amazing Race or Naked and Afraid, where the person you’re partnered with makes all the difference.

“You know what this makes me think of?” she said.

“What?”

“Naked and Afraid.”

I grinned. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Would you ever go on a show like that?” she asked, glancing at me.

“God no. Would you?”

She shrugged. “I think it would be cool. I’d learn so much about myself.”

“You’d learn what malaria feels like,” I said.

“I’d learn to appreciate the comforts I have at home. I’d learn to savor the things I take for granted. I’d finally kick my caffeine habit.”

“You’d learn suffering in a world full of way more suffering than necessary. And you’d have to be naked in front of a stranger,” I said.

“And a camera crew,” she added.

“And then all the people watching at home.”

“Yeah, but they blur the important stuff. Nobody at home would see anything. And the camera guys are used to it.”

“So you’d do it?” I asked.

“I mean, I’d have to learn survival skills. I don’t actually know how to do any of that stuff. But yeah. I would.”

“Like you’d learn stick in the parking lot?” I said, referring to the comment she made that day at the hospital.

“Sometimes necessity forces us to be the most efficient version of ourselves,” she said. “So you wouldn’t do it, then?”

“I think I know too much,” I said. “All the stomach parasites and infectious diseases. I’d just be stressed the whole time. You know, some of that stuff causes lifelong chronic illness. It’s not worth it.”

“Christopher—what’s your last name?”

“Wright,” I said. “Christopher Wright.”

“So tell me, Christopher Wright, is that why you don’t like deer? Lyme disease?”

I smiled at the trail. “No.”

I felt her looking at me. “Oh, this is a thing, isn’t it?”

I glanced at her, but I didn’t answer.