Page 64 of The Chaperones

Stella, the art teacher

I wake with the smell of the storm in my nostrils. I have no idea when the rain stopped, or what time it is, if I’m still stoned, if I should be getting back to my tent before anyone realizes I’m gone. Through the window, which Travis must have unzipped when the weather passed, I can see that it’s dark outside. So dark I want to paint it. True black, absorbing all the light, the canvas all texture, no empty space.

Travis feels me shiver and pulls the sleeping bag higher over my naked body.

“I’ll make you some cocoa,” he says, turning on the lantern hanging from the top of the tent.

“What time is it?” I mumble, sitting up. My head swirls. My body tingles pleasantly. Definitely still stoned.

“Early,” he says, which means Please don’t leave. He pulls his hoodie over his head and kisses my bare shoulder. Cold air seeps into the tent as he unzips it and slips out. I lie down and stare up at the harsh blue light of the lantern, listening to the hiss of the camping stove as he starts it. It sounds like a torch. Maybe I should get back into metalsmithing. Travis would find me so hot with a blowtorch. I keep thinking about how powerful it feels to control fire as the power boiler thrums. A smile overcomes me. There’s no fighting how happy I am in this moment.

I find my fleece, the one Cassie gave me, zip it around my bare chest, and wiggle into sweatpants and wool socks. As I scoot beside Travis, he hands me a mug of hot chocolate.

Travis nestles into me, and we sit inside the dry tent with our feet dangling out into the cold, wet night. We’re tucked away on the opposite side of the trail from the rest of the campground. A tall tree obscures us from view. For the moment, the wind has stopped. Everything is placid, including us.

Travis isn’t afraid of silences. It’s one of my favorite things about him, how he doesn’t need to fill the quiet. We can be together like we are now, with the slurping of our hot chocolate the only sound in the uninterrupted night.

“I can’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate.” I let the warm, rich liquid glide down my throat.

“It won’t ever taste this good again,” he says.

I sip from my metal mug, the cocoa inside warming my hands. I can trace the shapes of his face in the dim light from the tent, the triangle of his nose, the ovals of his wide eyes, the heart of his cleft chin, the curved lines of his lips as he brings the hot chocolate to his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask.

“It was spur of the moment.” We both know he’s lying. He packed two mugs with him. Enough hot chocolate for us both. His tent has a double camping mattress and two sleeping bags that zip together. Before I can decide how this makes me feel, he adds, “I’m sorry. I wanted it to be a surprise. But I should have told you. I know you’re here for work.” He communes with his mug as he waits for me to react.

“I talked to Cassie,” I tell him before I lose my nerve. “I know I promised I wouldn’t. Trav, I couldn’t spend a whole weekend here with her and not tell her.” I take a sip of my hot chocolate. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

I stare at the slope of Travis’s perfect nose as he peers out into the darkness, my heart pounding in anticipation of what he might say. What he might not say too.

He kisses my forehead. “I could never be mad at you.”

I melt into the moment. Except, it can’t last long because there’s still the matter of how Cassie responded.

“She’s not happy about it.”

Travis doesn’t say anything, but I can tell this isn’t surprising news.

“Has she . . . is she going to try to break us up?”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“She just . . . it seemed like she—” I can’t tell him that she promised he wasn’t in love with me. I can’t plant that seed, even though Cassie will do it the moment she sees him. “Like she didn’t think I was good enough for you.”

I expect him to say that he doesn’t care what she thinks. We’re perfect for each other. Instead, he says, “That’s not it.”

I wait for him to explain, but he remains quiet.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “What is it, then?”

I twist my body so I’m straddling the tent opening, one leg inside, the other out, as I face him. He stares into the distance and subtly shakes his head no.

I put my mug inside the tent and place both hands on his warm cheeks, forcing him to look right at me.

“You can tell me anything.”

The light inside the tent is bright enough to see the conflict consuming him. He holds my gaze, and we have a conversation with our unwavering eyes.

“You promise? You promise it won’t change the way you see me?”

“I promise,” I tell him.

Before my oath is fully formed, I know it’s a lie. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s going to change everything.