Chapter 12 - A hammer
He turns off the radio. He turns his ear. His chewing comes to a stop.
He woke up this morning and made himself breakfast he hasn't had … well, since he can't remember. Eggs, the last of the bacon, and even bread with some cubes of butter he begrudgingly found in the bag.
He finishes chewing. His shoulders hunch over a little more. A sigh pushes out of him.
He doesn't have to look. He can hear the stampede coming in hot.
She's back.
This worry in him. The pit of his stomach opens up and tears at him. This won't stop, will it?
He waits it out. Maybe if he's quiet enough, she'll leave.
When he turns to look, he was right. She's not there, but another white bag is.
He guesses he'll go look and see what's for lunch and supper today. Hell, he might even like it.
The next day it rains. It pelts. He sees and feels the signs. This summer won't be like any other. It won't burn as hot, and he won't be … as alone as he thought.
She doesn't come. He's glad. He wishes it would rain and thunder every day. It's when he does his best break-ins. The pit in his stomach eases, at least for the day.
He eats the last of the eggs and leaves the chicken salad with greens for lunch. The packaged steak with a frozen bag of vegetables he found in the second bag he'll leave for supper.
He turns the radio up in his earphones and prays the fat drops would flood the place up for any coming intruders.
He doesn't know Bella is getting the hang of this. Every time she makes the trip up the secret path she finds another way around it. She knows she has to be careful.
Before anyone is up, she gets the bag and slides into her shoes. The anticipation has kept her from sleep since the day they got back.
She hasn't even seen the girls around the camp yet. She willingly came early with Dad, telling him she just wanted a head start on summer school readings she has to do. He bought it. He sleeps in, and she has all the time for these mischievous things.
All year she worried and fretted over this. She wasn't calm. Her schoolwork suffered. She stared far too long out of windows or at walls. On the coldest day in winter, she was the most distracted.
What must he be doing? How does he keep warm? Where does he sleep on nights like this?
The year is long, so eventually she adjusted, but that painful pang in her gut stopped her enough to think and think again. She began to make plans.
This was the start of her conquest. No matter how aggressive he seemed, she'd find ways around him. What was he going to do, kick her out of a free, open, public space? He couldn't. She could set camp right by him, and he couldn't protest.
So the next day, she heads back, white bag in hand, her sneakers well laced. Even if her stomach twists she would brave another trip, and this time, stay … for a little while.
The boulder becomes her entrance. She wanted to create a habit. She'd only come in through the cracks to announce her arrival. And she noticed his back flexing, his shoulders tensing knowing she's there without even looking.
He turns an eye, and to his surprise, she stayed. Bella sits on a rock staring at the ground, and she waits. For something to happen. She figures patience is a virtue for a specific guy like him.
He turns off the radio, makes his bed, takes his time doing that. She stares. He washes up what he used; a pan, utensils, one plate. He takes out the trash, a hole in the ground far beyond the tent.
Bella leans over to get a glimpse. The soft ground turned over, so many old gas tanks for grilling are buried. She wonders. He never returns a thing. She nods to herself. It makes sense.
Her eyes wander. Up above. She follows the tree lines, the branches. He tied the tent and tools to trees; everything has its place, nothing wasted. But she sees, she squints. Some things have been tied so long they fused to the tree branches.
Her lips part. She glances, but he's still out of sight. She goes to take a closer look. Her fingers run over the bark. Like slow molasses has rolled over the edges, the hammer is fused. It ironically needs a hammer to be dug out.
This is insane. This is … she can't put it into words. If legend is true, and these camps have been plagued by theft all these years, then it's true—he's been here.
But how long?
Oh, she itches to ask. To ask everything. She takes a breath instead and the bag she brought. Guts and bravery. She gets closer.
Slowly, she sets it on a crate by the small gas stove people use for camping. It feels so homey, cozy. The tongs, the metal spoons hang from a rope just above. A barrel is tied high to keep things away from animals. A molded, but sunk-in bin is his chair when he cooks the long meals. She can just picture him.
She glances behind her, and there's the pit of darkness where the bed is in the tent. She blinks. He has a box spring and railings, too? A double take. Crisp white sheets hang neatly and tucked in, a blanket is folded and spread on the foot of the bed.
Oh, how she itches to go in. She takes another step, and it's like her body moves without her consent. Her breath is caught. She's yanked back.
"I have food," he exclaims. Bella is looking up. She gets lost. Her wide eyes take in a pair she remembers so clear and blue, even as they look elsewhere. His neck is exposed above his crew neck thermal that might be a size too small. She guesses he takes what he can get, because it hugs him.
"Your … beard," she says dumbly. It's long, puffy, and groomed. It intrigues her.
He pulls her. He leads her toward … out. She needs to be out.
Bella can barely keep her feet from dragging.
"Hey!" she shouts.
He stops. That was far too loud for his comfort.
"In here, just like out there, it's rude, and it hurts." She argues. She tugs to get her hand back.
He lets go.
He charges past her, and he roughly digs into a patched up hole like a maniac. He shows her. Arm fulls. Packages and boxes of brightly colored typography on graphics alike.
"I have food!" He growls.
She stares. Her brows knit. "Junk is what you've got."
He gets so angry. He slaps the cartons on the ground and walks away to pace. Bella just takes the chance to look. She could stand in the hole, and she'd fit. It goes deep with all sorts of chemically made, dyes added, saturated fat foods full of sugar. Not so bad that a few aren't in her own pantry. She does sneak a snack or two every day. But there are no greens or anything fresh. Why would there be? They're not options he'd find. She hasn't seen animals for hunting anywhere. And the guy has one hammer that could possibly do harm, and look where that's wedged.
Bella sighs. She grabs her bag and pulls out what she brought. One Tupperware at a time is placed on a bin she guesses is his countertop. She even brought frozen bricks to keep what needs to keep cold, and thermal bags to keep what should be warm.
"I made stew. It was cold yesterday. I'm sure you could use something warm. So …" she trails off. She wanders to the opposite side of the camp, where he's not. She scratches her head, let's her arms flail at her sides. "I'll pick up the bowls tomorrow."
Quickly, Edward catches up to her. She feels his advance, and she braces herself, but she won't run. He simply leads the way. No words. So eager. Anything to get her out.
She observes him as he weaves through a different path. She learns and mimics all his footsteps. The muscles in his back, his hair in neat chaos. How is it that a man living in the woods looks and smells so clean? She doesn't know. It boggles her. But then again, she's sure she'll witness the mystery of how that's done.
She can hardly wait.
….