Chapter 26: Marshmallows and a Hot Spring

Marshall Grounds was a campground filled with trees, wildlife, grassy patches, hiking trails, scaling hills, a few riverbeds, and it was all encompassed within 10 acres. As planned, Mark and I got there before sundown, keeping the car in the parking lot with the other campers' cars, and walking the rest of the way to the grounds with him carrying one duffle bag as I carried the other.

We made camp before sundown: the collapsible tent was pitched and tied down with stakes; the front 'door' zipped open and closed. Blankets and pillows were placed to one side, duffle bags and fishing poles on the other.

Gathering firewood wasn't nearly as painstaking seeing as most of the woodlands were dry and leafless.

For the better part of the set-up, I was quiet, only communicating enough to get things together and avoid duplicating work. And after a while, I was just clamoring for some time alone to get my thoughts together, during which Mark took that moment to head to the lake and fish while I stayed inside the tent.

I'd become lost in my head as all I could think about was my father.

What were his last moments going to look like? Would he be able to speak? Would he be able to think and walk on his own?

Would he appear just as he did now, or would his skin tighten around his bones…Would he die as a human or a skeleton, a catalyst of once was and never would be again?

When was he going to die? How long did the doctors give him? Three weeks? Two months? One year? Maybe five…?

I knew those answers would be no more comforting than the questions that burned inside me. I was at odds with the universe, feeling less safe than I'd ever been in my entire life. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of what might happen.

The campfire was toasty; bright orange and reds flickering with small embers rising to the sky.

It turned out that not only did he know how to make a good fire, but Mark was also an ordained chef when it came to our makeshift kitchen. The plate in my hand was full of cooked rice, freshly caught trout which he'd fileted and deboned, and canned green beans: The dinner of champions.

Survivor vibes. Dad wasn't kidding.

Mark returned from the tent, wearing shorts and a white tank top. Not many men could pull off shorts in my opinion, but he had some great calves and did them justice. He sat next to me on the blanket, a safe distance away from the fire.

"You've been quiet all night."

Leave it to him to call the baby 'ugly'.

"I just have a lot of stuff on my mind," I confessed, taking a bite of rice—more of a distraction than filling my lack of appetite even though the food smelled good.

"I bet I can guess."

"I'll give you one guess."

"You're thinking about your father."

"Wow, how on Earth did you figure that one out."

Mark said flatly, "I have telepathy."

I half-smiled at his sarcasm. "Why don't you use your powers for the greater good?"

"I'd rather use them on you."

"I'm not in the mood for anyone to invade my mind, including you." I muttered, poking at my green beans with one of the prongs on my fork.

"Then save me the effort."

"Would it suffice if I just said 'everything' was on my mind?"

"Only if it were true."

I shrugged uncomfortably. "If I talk about Dad, it'll make the situation feel real."

"The situation is real."

"I don't think I'm ready to accept it."

"The sooner you do, the easier it'll be—"

"—Nothing about this process is going to be easy for me." I interrupted hotly, glaring at him. "And if you think it will be—"

"—I don't think that at all."

"Then why did you say it?"

"I didn't." He said evenly. "You did. What I was going to say was that the sooner you accept what's going to happen, the easier it'll be to prepare yourself for when it actually does."

"Well, I don't like that either." I said begrudgingly. "And it's easier said than done."

"As are most things."

I rolled my eyes. "You know, if he'd just told me a year ago, I wouldn't be feeling this way."

"Wouldn't you?"

"No. I'd have already accepted the truth for what it was. What it is."

"Maybe he thought you'd be feeling the same way as you are now, just with a year's difference."

"Well, we'll never know, will we? He's known a whole fucking year and never said a word."

"It was by his own design, to spare you the pain for as long as he could. He had your best interests at heart."

"You think he was right to hide that from me, don't you? You seem to be coming to his defense quite a bit."

"I'm just saying that I can see where he's coming from."

"Well, I'm so glad you do." I said callously, standing up.

"Alexis—"

"Maybe you two can bond over that as well! If you think he was right to hide something like that from me, I guess I need to wonder what you'd be willing to hide to protect my so-called 'best interests'."

Mark looked up at me from where he sat and said truthfully, "You don't need to wonder anything."

"I don't, huh?"

"Rest assured, there are things that I don't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you have no business knowing what they are."

"Like what, for example?"

"Confidentiality-wise, I can't tell you."

"Are you talking about your work as a detective because I really don't care who's killing anyone right now. A Texas Chainsaw Massacre sack head motherfucker could be roaming around and killing only god-knows-who right now and I wouldn't be bothered in knowing who they are, what their motive is, where they live, or any other details that normal people might be interested in knowing. But I'm betting that's the kind of thing you'd keep to yourself, right? For the 'best interest' and safety of the public."

"I'm legally obligated to do so."

"Are you morally obligated to lie to me?"

"If it meant protecting the city—"

"I don't mean you lying to me as a cop!" I snapped. "I meant as my boyfriend! Would you lie to me?"

"I would." He said bluntly, nodding.

"About what?"

"If it meant keeping you safe? The sky is the limit."

I let out a sigh of exasperation, "Well, that's just great. All the men in my life just get to lie to my face without a care in the world. No—that's good. That's fine. That's great. That's fine."

"You asked a question. I gave you an answer."

"It's not the answer I wanted."

"But it is the one you needed to hear."

"So, you're telling me the truth? Now, at least since it's in my 'best interest'? That's great," I said sarcastically. "I'm so glad we're on the same page."

"Alexis—"

"—No, you know what: Fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want to be with anyone who'd rather lie to my face than just tell me the truth!"

"I wouldn't enjoy doing it!" Mark responded defensively, getting to his feet.

"I don't want you doing it at all!"

"Alexis, people keep secrets. It's what they do."

"Yeah! It's what they do! Other people! Not people who are close to me!"

"You can't expect everyone to be straightforward with you—it's unrealistic."

"I'm not asking for everyone to be up front about their shit. Just two people in my life! You and him!"

"Did you honestly expect him to tell you the truth if it was going to hurt you this much?"

"Yes! I wouldn't have expected my father to lie about this! I didn't think he would. He told me everything when I was a kid, even the stuff no kid should ever know." I said angrily, throwing my hands up in the air. "Nothing was ever kept quiet in my family, nothing! My father having fucking cancer should not have been a secret—he could have told me! He should have told me!"

"He did it to protect you—"

My body shook violently as I screamed, "I DON'T NEED PROTECTING! And I never asked for his protection—I don't need it! I can't believe I have to keep saying this to him, to you. Why don't any of you understand that by now!"

"He's only trying to keep you from getting hurt. That's all any of us want f—"

"You—the both of you—have no fucking right to decide what I should know. If it hurts me, it hurts me!"

"And it is hurting you!"

"So, what if it is? Dad should have told me; we'd have been in the trenches together, battling this shit together. Come Hell or Highwater, we'd have gotten through this like we have gotten through everything else! But he didn't…" I felt tears fall down my cheeks as my voice broke, "How can I trust him not to lie to me again? How can I trust you?"

"Alexis, I am being honest with you."

"You're only honest now because you can afford to be!"

For the first time since I'd met him, Mark looked unnerved. It was as if I'd pushed one too many of his buttons and he was activated.

"I've never lied to you." He said firmly. "Not once."

"How do I know I can trust you won't to lie to me in the future? Since you and Dad obviously think withholding the truth is such a good idea. It's obvious you're no better than he is!"

"God, I'm trying my best here. What the hell do you want from me!"

"I just want things to go back to the way they were!" I cried. "I just want someone to hurt like I'm hurting, someone who deserves to feel what I feel! I'm not asking for much!"

I stalked towards the tent, viciously unzipping the entrance. My anger dissolved in the instant I started crying hard into the blanket, desperately wishing I could disappear so my hopelessness would do the same.

I lied on my right, tiredly blinking at the siding of the teal-gray tent, surprised to feel a blanket on top of me, considering I never bothered with one when I unintentionally had fallen asleep. My guess was that Mark had come to check on me, found I was asleep, and covered me with the blanket.

Awfully sweet of him, considering the fact I'd just bared my angry soul to him when he hadn't deserved any of it.

My eyelids were swollen; they burned as I tried opening them, feeling more exhausted after my crying spell than I'd been all year. I wasn't sure what time it was except that it was past sundown, crawling out of the tent to see the moon and stars were out.

Mark roasted marshmallows on a fork which hovered over the slowly dying campfire as I moved to stand next to him; he acknowledged me with a small smile.

I crossed my arms and said embarrassingly, "I'm sorry I screamed at you."

"You don't need to apologize, baby," He assured. "And, for the record, I do understand what you're going through."

"Do you."

"Yeah." He patted the blanket on a spot next to him. I took a seat. "Granted, I don't know what it's like having someone in the family die from cancer. I didn't have to go through that when my parents passed away."

I looked at him, taken aback. It only occurred to me then that I didn't know anything about his parents. He talked about his sister, but never about them, which maybe that was the point. Talking about the dead always hurt, yet it always felt self-centered, wanting to forget.

"How did…?" I asked.

"My father passed away in his sleep from a silent heart attack," Mark informed with a gentle voice. "My mother passed from a pulmonary embolism."

"Sudden death. Sounds like you have bad genetics in your family."

"And you have bad luck in yours." He agreed.

"People think it'd be easier knowing they died quick, but…"

"You and I both know it doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"Did your parents know any of that was going to happen? That there was a chance? Did they say anything to you?"

"No. Neither of them ever went to the hospital or to doctors. They didn't know what hit them."

"I know you didn't have to tell me any of that. So…thank you."

"I know what it's like to lose family." Mark reassured as he touched my knee. "Frankly, you remind me a lot of Angelina, and how she deals with everything."

I let out a small dark laugh, "Not well, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that. The both of you just feel things a lot more deeply than others do. You can feel other people's pain. It's great for other people, but—"

"—Not for us."

"It's not a bad trait," Mark offered. "Once Angelina cries five buckets' worth and breaks a few plates, no one would ever know anything was wrong."

"How do you deal with that kind of grief?" I asked curiously. "Do you just buckle down and get really into your work?"

"Something like that."

"I can see that."

"See what?"

"Your type."

He flashed a coy smile. "My type?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "You're the type that shuts people out, right? When you go to work, everything is normal. Arrests get made, paperwork gets finished, maybe some empty platitudes are shared between you and the other cops. But when you come home, the walls come down. It's only when you're alone you allow yourself to fall apart, to feel human again." (Mark glanced at me with a subtle disarm that could only have meant that I'd seen right through him.) "Even though feeling human makes you feel like shit, it's easier feeling that than nothing at all. Once you get to that point, escapism is no longer a desire, it's a necessity."

Mark's subtle disarm became one of admiration. "That was…scarily accurate. You really know how to read people."

"Well, yes, but I cheated a little this time around: I got to know you first."

"What do you know?" He asked, as if ready to be entertained.

"Well…Compared to your colleagues, you're more of an observer, preferring to watch rather than engage. You're someone who likes to be in control of things, and you don't mind being in charge of people." I listed off. "And the strong emotional bond you have with Angelina is one that's been strengthened by the death of your parents; you've learned to lean on each other for support."

"Accurate so far." Mark agreed.

"You don't talk much unless someone engages you in conversation." I added. "You mean what you say and you mean well. So, again: I'm sorry I screamed at you…and for implying that you'd be a liar in the future."

"Apology accepted."

I said sheepishly, "Things come out when I'm angry, but I rarely mean them."

"And yet, there's always some grain of truth in what you have to say."

"No, I'm pretty sure I was just venom and tears earlier."

Mark tipped his fork in my direction, offering the crunchy marshmallow for the taking. I peeled it off as he reached into a bag beside his feet to pin another onto its prongs.

"You said you don't want to be with someone who's going to lie to you." He reminded.

"Yeah, but—"

"—So, I won't lie to you."

I said skeptically, "You can't promise me that."

"Can't I?"

"Mark, I don't really expect you to tell me everything; I was just furious—what's more, I wasn't even mad at you. Just at the circumstance. And it's like you said, you're a cop; there will be things you know that I can't know."

"Maybe it would be better for the both of us if you did."

"That depends." I kidded. "Is there a Texas Chainsaw Massacre sack head motherfucker running around killing people?"

"No. Not in this city, at least."

"That's comforting to know." I popped the marshmallow into my mouth.

"I figured you would think so."

"Oh yeah? Is it your turn to say what you know about me? Any mind-blowing observations you'd like to point out?"

Mark said seriously, "I know that when you say you don't need or want anyone's protection, I think you mean it."

"Mmm." I licked my lips, adding, "So you have been paying attention."

Mark turned to me and said pointedly, "Has there ever been a time where you haven't been able to fend for yourself? Have you've ever been dependent on anyone for anything in your entire life?"

"Can't say I have."

"I think that's your hang-up."

"I'm sorry?"

"You've been so busy taking care of everyone else, including your father, you've never stopped to wonder if someone would go out of their way to take care of you without expecting anything in return."

"I carry my own weight. All of it, actually. I don't need someone trying to do it for me."

"I think you and your father might have the same problem." Mark contemplated aloud, taking the marshmallow off the fork for his own and adding a new one to the prongs.

I raised an eyebrow: "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're afraid to relinquish control to anyone else because you're afraid they won't give it back." He stated plainly. "What you don't realize is that you've done it once already."

"When have I ever done that?"

"The night I cuffed your wrists to the headboard and tied your ankles to the bed."

My face burned with the realization that Mark was right. I had never felt so helpless yet so free to just be in the moment; I'd given him the reins to do whatever he wanted with me and it was…exhilaratingly peaceful.

"You don't need anyone to take care of you, materialistically at least." He confirmed as he roasted another marshmallow on the open fire. "Your father thinks you need protecting from the law itself, but I think you'd be more than capable in prison. I've seen what you can do with a tire iron."

"Thanks for that."

"You're just too proud and too stubborn to admit that what you want is someone who isn't afraid to save you from your own chaos."

"So, what do you want if I'm what you're attracted to, huh? A little anarchy to cleanse your palette?"

Mark said softly, "We're all just searching for someone whose demons play well with ours."

I shifted shyly in my position, not certain what to say or how to take the spotlight off myself.

Mark tilted the fork closer to the fire, the soft flames licking at the edges of the marshmallow, surveying its progress with a pensive expression as if he were thinking something over, deciding.

He gave me a cursory glance before he said inherently, "Last week, I arrested a husband for killing his wife and their two children."

I crossed my ankles. "That's unfortunate."

"You're telling me. There were plenty of secrets kept between them."

"Such as?"

"The daughter had an expensive drug habit. The wife was cheating. And the husband gambled his paycheck all in a single week."

"What a pleasant family. So, what was the last straw?"

"His wife didn't tell him about the late mortgage payments."

"Why did she keep that from him?"

"According to her sister, she was looking out for the family's best interest, trying to lighten his burden."

"If she wanted to lighten his burden, taking the kid to rehab and reconnecting with her husband probably would have been a better step in the right direction than hiding the overdue bills from him."

"Corrective actions aside," Mark said cynically, "I've continued to question whether the outcome would have been the same if he'd known about the late payments. Whether he'd have just worked it out with her and made financial restitutions—"

"—Or if he'd have turned into a murderer anyway?" I finished knowingly.

"It's something to consider."

"Well, murderer or not, he sounds like a real asshole."

"Trust me. He is."

"I'd say three life sentences should do him some good."

"He'll be out in 25 for good behavior."

"Let's just hope he continues to be an asshole in prison, and that he takes a few in his own before then."

"You and me both." He took the marshmallow off and popped it in his mouth, handing the fork to me.

"Oh, is it my turn to burn one?" I asked comically as he handed the bag over. "Let's see…Where are the real fluffy ones?"

"I'd say they're at the bottom."

I reached down in the bag as he suggested. "So, I'm guessing you had a point to make in telling me the details about one of your cases that I had no business knowing?"

"My point is precisely that: I told you something that you had no business knowing." Mark's gaze subtly changed from observation to one of fondness.

"Alright. So, if that was the point, what are you trying to tell me exactly?"

"I'm saying I won't keep anything from you."

"What, for the time being or just in general?"

"Personally, I was hoping it'd be for the rest of your life."

My heart fluttered unexpectedly. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say that sounded like a marriage proposal."

"Intuitive as ever."

Just as he said it, my hand found something that did not feel like a fluffy marshmallow at all. I held onto the velvet square box, pulling it out of the bag.

He said furtively, "I'm not sure if that's going to fit on a fork."

"Well, maybe what's inside will."

I opened the box. Inside was a single gold band with eight diamonds fused together into a small heart.

I tittered, "Well, that'll fit on a fork, but I reckon it's going to taste just terrible."

"Luckily for you, I'm not asking you to eat it."

"How kind."

He said smoothly, "However, I am asking if you'd wear it."

"Why ask the question when you already know the answer?"

"With this sort of scenario, it doesn't hurt to have a visual confirmation."

I slipped the ring on my left hand, threw the fork behind me, and practically threw myself at him, knocking us to the ground as I kissed him hard.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'?"

I giggled, "You know, you're pretty intuitive yourself; you should be a detective."

"I'll start filling out my application."

"You can do it later—we still have the hot spring to contend with, remember?"

"How could I forget."

"You know you haven't stopped smiling since I knocked you down?"

"What can I say? You've made me a very happy man."

"You just like looking up at me from your back."

"It's not a bad view." He eyed me up and down to prove a point.

"I bet. The spring is a half-mile away." I stood, smiling at him. "It's a 10-to-15-minute stroll. So, if we're going to go before the drunken midnight team have free reign, we better get a move on." I offered a hand. "On your feet."

"Yes, ma'am."

When I was a kid, I jumped into the hot spring, thinking it was going to be cold. The water burned only because I wasn't expecting it; on any other day, it was about 98 degrees Fahrenheit. That had been almost 20 years ago—the climate had changed since then, but the water hadn't.

The spring was a half-mile away from the camping grounds, an easy stroll along the dirt pathway which stretched through trees and overturned logs. Once there, the moonlight made the whole area that much beautiful.

Foam floated along the surface; steam rose to the black sky. What was more appealing was that there was no one there, although there seemed to have been visitors, trace evidence marked by the empty beer cans and someone had left their boxers behind.

"Looks like they had quite the party." I muttered, kicking the cans towards the nearby trash bin.

"Feeling bad for the environment?" Mark teased.

"Nope. Just noting aloud that the rangers are going to be pissed off come tomorrow morning."

"It's a shame they didn't invite the janitor."

"Maybe they did and those are his." I gestured to the ripped boxers.

"Seems like they had the right idea."

"I don't know: Looks like some sort of wild animal got to them."

"Or a very horny girlfriend."

I raised my eyebrows. "Personal experience? Got something you want to confess?"

Mark simply bypassed that conversation with a little smirk of his own.

He walked the rest of the way to the spring, dressing down to his swimming trunks before heading to the deeper end of the hot spring and diving in.

I stood on the edge, smirking when he broke to the surface, his skin tinted pink from the clash between the air and water temperature, which was a good 40-degree difference.

"How's the water?" I asked.

"Hot."

"I'd be more surprised if it wasn't." I started dressing down to my bikini.

Unlike him, I started on the shallow end, slowly walking into the hot spring. Evidently, I looked like a fool doing so because Mark started laughing as he swam over to me.

"I hear you snickering over there." I warned.

"You just look so cute taking your sweet time."

"Hey, you did it your way. I'm going to do it my way."

"At the rate you're going, it'll be dawn before you get in, sweetheart."

"Once I get past the waist, I'll be fine." I muttered, more to myself than to him.

The foam was like a soft blanket, caressing my skin as the rest floated around in little clumps around the spring. Once any part of my body dipped below, it stung little by little until my flesh acclimated to the temperature. It took a little over five minutes before I finally felt comfortable enough to dip my upper half. When I came back to the surface, wiping my face, Mark watched me with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked knowingly.

"I'm thinking that you look really good when you're wet."

"I look good all the time."

"No argument there." He pulled me into a kiss, one that I returned wholeheartedly.

First, it was tender. When he reached down and lifted my legs around his waist, it became passionate. He kissed me with reckless abandon as if he'd had this in mind for the longest time.

The occasional spitting from the geyser some feet away peppered the land and those around it with its cooled spray and the quiet gurgling from the water's edge as bubbles rose to the surface, turning into a soft translucent foam were the only sounds around us apart from our bodies shifting in the water.

And for a moment I forgot about everything that was happening to me, as I only became focused on feeling his body close to mine. His soft words whispered in my ear. His hands on my skin, caressing my face as we kissed, talked, and kissed again.

It wasn't eventful, but that was the point. We became lost to ourselves and no one else. It was, by far, the closest I'd ever come to feeling both safe and so very much alive in another person's arms.

The only thing that broke that kind of bliss were the ravenous drunken young 20-year-olds that were stumbling and fumbling to get to the spring. And seeing as Mark and I were in no mood to trifle with the likes of idiots, we decided to pick up and go back to the camping grounds.