Fall With Me(14)
Author: Bella Forrest

I let out a low whistle. “Well, then, that’s quite the honor.”

She narrows her eyes, as though she can’t decide whether that jab is an insult to her or not.

“You shouldn’t be jealous.”

I laugh. “I’m not.”

“Okay, sure. Well. Thanks for doing the trail ride. We might not be back until tomorrow, too.”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath.” I go into my cabin and lie down, trying to stave off the headache I feel building behind my eyes.

The six kids that stick around for the trail ride are five girls, plus Simon. Instead of heading to the beach, I take them inland, over golden grass and through groves of cypress trees. The fog has pulled back and the day is bright, the sound of heat bugs fills the air. The horses kick up dust as they plod along. It is warm without being overly hot, the kids are chatting happily, and I should be enjoying myself but I’m not.

I can picture Allison zipping up Highway 1 in her sporty little red Honda Del Sol, Griffin in the passenger seat. The fact that this bothers me is bothering, and when Peaches, the palomino mare I’m riding, reaches out to grab a mouthful of leaves from a passing branch, I jab her with my heels harder than I meant and she skitters forward, ears pinned back.

“Sorry, girl,” I mumble, patting her neck and smoothing down a section of her cream-colored mane. I resolve to put the whole thing out of my mind. When that doesn’t prove possible, I resolve to not let it bother me. Is it that people like Allison always get what they want? Is it that I can see exactly the kind of summer Allison’s going to have, and the reason her summer is going to be so great is because Griffin has shown up, which therefore means my own summer—which I’d been counting on being as predictable as it’s always been—is now completely shot to shit.

But I shouldn’t let it get to me. I really shouldn’t.

That evening, we cook up the trout Bill and the campers caught that afternoon. I watch as all the campers clamor to sit near Griffin; they’re like a bunch of puppies.

“You shot a lion in Africa?” I hear one of them gasp.

“Wow, that’s so cool!”

“Was it scary?”

“What kind of gun did you use?”

He gamely tries to answer all their questions. I set my fork down.

“There is nothing even remotely cool about going on a hunting trip like that,” I say. “It’s disgusting.”

Everyone stops and looks at me.

“How is it any different from, say, deer hunting?” Allison asks sweetly.

“There is a huge difference between hunting for sport and hunting because you’re actually going to use what you kill. Hunting for sport like that is ridiculous and pathetic.”

“I wasn’t actually the one to shoot the lion,” Griffin says. “I was pretty young at the time.”

“People hunt for all sorts of reasons,” Bill says. He gives me a look. “We shouldn’t put down others just because we don’t happen to agree with everything they do.”

I’ve only eaten about half the food on my plate—and the trout really is good—but I stand up from the picnic table. “I’m going to get started on the mess in the kitchen,” I say, which mostly no one hears because they’ve all turned their attention back to Griffin. He gives me a curious look as I walk by and it’s all I can do not to dump my plate of food on his head.

In the kitchen, I busy myself wiping up fish scales and vegetable peelings. The sound of laughter comes in through the open window and I glance out to see Griffin telling some story, gesturing with his hands, everyone is cracking up.

I’m not exactly sure why I feel this much rage toward him. In a way, Allison does have a good point—it is good for the campers to have a younger male around, someone other than Bill. And clearly, Griffin is able to relate to the kids and they adore him. But it is not the way I envisioned this summer going. This is the one solace I had, dependable in its total predictability, and now that’s completely gone to hell.

I decide to clean the entire kitchen. While they’re out there eating dessert, I sweep and mop the floors, clean out the fridge, scrub the sink. It feels good to have something to pour all this energy into and I’m so focused on what I’m doing that I don’t realize he’s come into the kitchen until he clears his throat and says, “Hey.”

I stop scrubbing and brush my hair back from my face.

He sets his plate on the clean counter. “You really shamed me back there, you know. About the lion hunting.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not; his expression is difficult to read.

“It wasn’t my idea,” he continues. “It’s something my father wanted to do. He thought it would be a good father-son bonding experience or something. The African Serengeti is totally the place I’d choose for something like that.”

“Well, your dad sounds like a real gem.”

Griffin smiles. “Oh, he is. You have no idea. Except when it came down to actually taking the shot, he couldn’t do it.”

“So is that supposed to make it better?”

“I’m not saying that. But, yes, maybe. Seeing as I wasn’t the one who actually did it.” He reaches across me and turns the water on, runs his plate under the faucet. His arm touches mine and I take a step back.

“Look,” he says. “I wanted to tell you—”

“Unless you’re telling me you’re leaving, there’s really nothing to say,” I snap.

Something that might be a hurt look crosses his face. I try not to roll my eyes.

“I don’t know what I did to make you decide I’m this terrible person, but—”

“You showing up here was enough. I’ve had an incredibly shitty year and I figured the one thing I could count on was coming back to my summer job—the same summer job I’ve had for years now—and knowing that at least this would be the same as it’s always been, that at least I had that to look forward to. But no, I don’t even have that, because you show up—claiming you were f**king kidnapped, which is the biggest load of shit, by the way.”

He holds up his hands. “Look, sweetheart—is it because you feel like I’m stealing the spotlight from you or something? Because that’s really not what I’m trying to do at all. Allison said you were—”

I laugh. “Allison knows nothing about me. And I don’t care about this proverbial spotlight, I just want things to go back to how they used to be.” I say the last part of this sentence in a shaky voice, and I’m mortified to feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes.