The delicate scent of lilacs met her nostrils. Mmmm ... Stepping into the fragrant water, she hummed a tune:
“Keep young and beautiful ... ”
Yeah. That was the most fascinating, the most luxurious, most memorable tub she’d ever taken.
All round, her most fascinating, memorable intrusion so far.
And the briefest, so it turned out.
Chapter Nine
Bert wasn’t in the tent. Rick told himself there was no reason to worry, but he scurried out of his sleeping bag, needing to see her, needing to banish his sudden fear. He swept aside the tent flap.
She was nowhere in sight.
The fire crackled. Its pale flames fluttered in the morning sunlight. A distance beyond the fire were their packs. The ponchos had been removed and the red nylon top of Bert’s pack was open.
Rick sat down just inside the tent and pulled on his running shoes. His fingers trembled as he tied the laces.
She’s all right, he told himself. Probably down by the stream.
On her back. Wearing one knee sock.
Rick shook his head sharply to dislodge the thoughts, and winced. His head had a dull ache, thanks to the bourbon. He got to his feet, looked around, and walked across the campsite.
She’ll be down by the stream, he thought. When I get to the top of the embankment, I’ll see her. She’s fine.
God oh God, why had he let himself remember all that last night? Over the years he’d become talented at turning his mind away from the memories whenever they started. But lying there in the dark tent, he’d dwelled on them, wallowed in them. He hadn’t even tried to fight the memories.
He suspected that he knew the reason why—because he had a need to remember what happened last time. He was out here again. Probably a hundred miles from the place where Julie was murdered, but here, in the mountains, in the wilderness. He needed to relive the horror. He needed it fresh in his mind. A cautionary tale. Watch out, be ready, it could happen again.
Shaken by the memories, he had crawled from the tent last night, stirred the smoldering fire to life, gone to his pack and taken out the bottle and revolver. The pocket of his parka was deep enough to hold the revolver. Its weight felt good. He sat on a stump close to the fire and drank. The heat of the bourbon swept through him. He wished he had brought two bottles, not just the one. He had six more nights to go. He needed to hold back, to drink no more than a seventh of the bourbon, or he might run out.
But a seventh of a quart wasn’t much at all.
There were bound to be nights when he wouldn’t need to drink, nights when he would sleep through till morning.
Now is when I need it, he thought.
When a quarter of the bottle was gone, he forced himself to quit. Hoping that would be enough to help him sleep, he put the bottle away and returned to the tent. He rolled his parka into a pillow. In spite of its thickness, he could feel the revolver under his head. He didn’t mind.
Nobody gonna fuck with us this time, he thought vaguely, just before falling asleep.
Rick reached the edge of the embankment. For a moment, he didn’t see Bert and something clamped tight in his chest. Then he spotted her. She was off to the right, sitting cross-legged on a rock near the middle of the stream.
“Morning,” he called, climbing down the slope.
She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Afternoon,” she said.
“Oh, it’s not that late.”
She got to her feet, hopped across the stream, and stepped into her sneakers. She was wearing baggy tan shorts and a white T-shirt. She looked fresh and wonderful. She came to Rick. He put his arms around her. She pressed herself against him.
“How come you didn’t invite me to your party?” she asked.
She knew. Of course she knew.
“You were asleep,” Rick said.
He felt her shrug.
“You didn’t miss much. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I knocked back a few. They helped.”
“The first night out can be tough,” she said. “It’ll get better.”
“God, I hope so.”
“Good thing I didn’t light a match this morning, the tent would’ve blown up.”
Rick laughed softly. “Sorry.”
Her hands slipped inside the seat of his sweatpants. They were warm on his buttocks. “If you have trouble sleeping again, how about waking me up? I don’t want you to suffer alone.”
“All bright.”
She patted his rump, then stepped away. “Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
Back at the camp, Rick heated water on the fire for instant coffee. Bert dumped powdered eggs into her pan, stirred in water, and used her sheath knife to scrape chunks of meat off a bacon bar. She cooked the meal over the burner of her small propane stove.
Rick normally abhorred instant coffee. This morning, however, it seemed to taste great. He drank it eagerly while he lingered over the scrambled eggs with bacon.
And he watched Bert sitting on a log across from him, eating from the pan. Her hair gleamed like gold over one ear where the sunlight fell on it. Her white T-shirt, so bright that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it, hung loosely over her breasts. Her nipples made it jut and he could see a hint of their darkness through the fabric. The pan was on her lap. Her legs, long and sleek, were stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Finishing first, Rick got up and went to his pack. He took out his Polaroid camera.
“Come on,” Bert said, “my hair’s a mess.”
“You look great. Just keep eating.”
She shrugged and rolled her eyes upward. Rick took a shot as she lifted the fork to her mouth. With a buzz, the camera ejected the photo.
Rick crouched beside Bert and they watched the picture appear, faint at first, growing sharp, finally showing every detail in rich clarity. “I told you my hair was a mess.”
“Now let’s get one with your shirt off.”
“Up yours.”
“I’ll wait till you go to change it.”
“Who says I’m going to change it?”
Rick tried to keep his tone light. “You show through, you know.”
She grinned. “Is that a problem for you?”
“I love it. But we might meet someone on the trails.”
“Ah.”
“Or you could put on a bra.”
“If I’d brought one.”
“It I’d brought one.”
“I just don’t think...”
“I know. You don’t want some stranger getting an eyeful. Rather selfish of you, don’t you think?”
“Yep.” Not just selfish, he thought. Seeing her nipples through the shirt might give people ideas. Such ideas might lead to ...
“Well, I suppose if it’s going to bother you. But no pictures, or I’ll change in the tent.”
“A deal.”
“Why don’t you get some shots of the campsite before we tear it down?”
Rick obliged, then put the camera away.
They took the cook kits down to the stream. After cleaning them, Rick remained to brush his teeth and wash. He returned to camp. Standing in a patch of sunlight, he changed out of the sweatsuit he had slept in. Bert doused the fire and watched him. Then she pulled off her T-shirt, walked over to her pack, and took out the faded blue chambray shirt she had worn yesterday. She buttoned it up, and gave Rick a coy smile as she fastened the button at her throat. “Is this modest enough for you?” she asked.
“Well, you don’t have to overdo it.”