Lighting the Flames (29 page)

That morning, the
farther he
’
d driven from camp, the more his phone had beeped as a
flood of messages arrived. The stupid thing had almost sounded
relieved, like the cellular company was finally able to unload all
the crap it had saved for him.

All day, his phone had
worked perfectly. He didn
’
t have to go
anywhere; anyone who needed to reach him found him. His phone had
vibrated in his pocket so often, he
’
d thought at first
something was wrong with it. But no, it was working, signaling that
there was yet another problem, yet another matter to be addressed,
with two funerals on the schedule for the next day, then two more
the day after that.

Jeremy changed his clothes, hanging his black suit
next to his five other black suits and his three gray ones, and
pulled on clean sweatpants. His wardrobe at home consisted of two
classes of clothing: apparel that could theoretically be destroyed
at camp and suits for the most somber of occasions, with nothing in
between.

He answered a text
from his dad and updated the funeral schedule on the website from
his phone before looking in his in-box again. Mixed in among a few
legitimately important messages were things he easily deleted, but
he looked through his trash again to make sure he
hadn
’
t deleted something from Genevieve.

No messages. Nothing
from her e-mail, no texts, and nothing online, either. He
wasn
’
t sure what time Scott had finally left, but she had to be
home by now. At camp, there were just two ways to talk to people:
in person, or over the walkie-talkies. Now that they were home,
there were sixty zillion ways to talk to someone, and he
couldn
’
t figure out which one to use, or if he should, or what he
should say.

Jeremy shook his head
at himself while he fixed himself dinner. His debate over how to to
contact Gen, and what to say, was making him tense, and angry at
himself. But he couldn
’
t tell himself
honestly that it wasn
’
t that big of a deal.

It was a big deal. For
him, anyway. The night before, he
’
d been next to
Genevieve, her head resting on his arm, her fingers wound around
his. Technically, they
’
d slept together
before, in the literal sense. But after she
’
d fallen asleep,
he
’
d
been kept awake, not by his arm going numb under her head, but by
the memory of another night in adjacent sleeping bags the year
before.

They
’
d been on a campout,
the two of them and some of the junior OA staff, plus a group of
campers whose ability to maintain their cabin in absurd levels of
neatness had earned them a special trip before the end of the first
session. They
’
d gone canoeing, then hiking through some waterfalls
before setting up camp and eating a dinner that included so much
food, the OA staff still called it the Great Feast. Nadine had
outdone herself.

With full stomachs and
a day of paddling and hiking behind them, everyone had fallen
asleep almost instantly. Jeremy had volunteered to stay up and tend
the fire until it was safe for him to go sleep. When
he
’
d
climbed into his sleeping bag next to Gen
’
s, only her curls had
been visible. She
’
d pulled her sleeping bag over her head so only the
tips of her hair showed in the firelight.

Unable to stop
himself, he
’
d leaned close to her and reached over to touch her hair,
and she
’
d pushed the edge of her sleeping bag away from her face.
He
’
d
thought he was busted, that she was going to ask him what he was
doing and he
’
d have to come up with some reason for his behavior
other than,
“
Your hair is beautiful and I really wanted to touch
it.
”

But
she
’
d been asleep. He
’
d remained still,
making sure she stayed that way, when she lifted her head slightly
and moved toward him. She
’
d found the space
beneath his outstretched arm, next to his chest, and snuggled
against him, her hair spreading out behind her on the pillow. Once
he realized she wasn
’
t waking up or moving away, he
’
d rolled onto his
side facing her, and eventually fallen asleep that way.

He
’
d woken up in nearly
the same position, with her head still nestled against his chest,
her hair across his arm, and his hand resting on her side.
He
’
d
been the first one to wake up, so no one else saw him open his eyes
and hold his breath.

He knew, in that
moment, he wanted to wake up like that for the rest of his life. He
wanted to wake up with Gen beside him
—
maybe not on the
ground outside, but with her next to him at the start of every
day.

The leaves above him
had formed a canopy in silhouette against the golden light of the
sunrise, and his eyes had stared at the outlines while his mind had
moved at the speed of sound. She was about to study abroad through
a fellowship for over a year, and her graduate studies were going
to take up the next few years of her life after that. But she knew
where she was going, what she was doing next. He had to get his
crap together, figure out his life outside of camp if he wanted her
to be part of it. He
’
d applied to a mortuary program, but
wasn
’
t able to begin coursework until the fall. His plan had
been to only take on a part-time schedule.

That morning,
he
’
d
known that he needed to take charge of his own life and make real
decisions, not half-assed plans. He needed to identify what he was
going to do, what came next for him, so he
’
d be ready for what
he was pretty sure would be the last relationship
he
’
d
have.

He wanted Genevieve in
his life, and he knew that if he had the chance to be with her, not
just at camp but everywhere, that would be it for him. She was it
for him. When the message from his father arrived that a space in
the mortuary sciences summer program had opened up for him,
he
’
d
taken it as a sign and talked to Scott immediately about leaving
camp early.

His one regret was
that he
’
d chickened out before telling Gen the reason he was
leaving and that he
’
d decided what his career would be, that after so
much time feeling unsure, his decisions had felt entirely right. He
hadn
’
t been able to explain any of it easily, so he
hadn
’
t tried. But talking to Gen in the woods during Winter Camp
had been almost easy, as if he
’
d been ready to tell
her everything.

Well, almost
everything. He still wasn
’
t sure how to
say,
“
Listen, we never talked about this, but I
’
m in love with you
and
…
yeah.
”

Sitting down with his
dinner and the mail that had piled up in his absence, Jeremy
flipped through the photographs on his phone until he found the one
he
’
d
taken just after the snow-sculpture building and the scavenger hunt
had begun. He
’
d taken it by accident, trying to capture the whole
field in one frame. But instead of zooming out,
he
’
d
zoomed in and taken a picture without meaning to, capturing
Genevieve as she
’
d started to laugh. When he
’
d seen the image,
he
’
d
had that same feeling in his chest as he
’
d had that morning on
the campout last year, like his body was collapsing and expanding
at the same moment. She was still it for him.

He finished eating, sorted the mail, and checked his
phone. Still nothing new, no one looking for him, no new
messages.

He got into bed a
short while later, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. He
was alone in a very warm room, with very warm sheets on a very warm
bed
—
one that was entirely silent, too. There were no
bedsprings squealing in outrage every time he breathed, no mattress
rubbing against his sleeping bag sounding like two nylon
windbreakers getting frisky.

He liked the warmth
and the quiet, but he missed camp. He missed the sound of the
trees, the way his clothes always smelled like wood smoke, the hush
that indicated more snow had covered the ground. Each morning,
he
’
d
woken up stunned that their tracks and the paths
they
’
d shoveled had been partially or entirely filled in with
more white, like a blank slate greeting him with each muted
sunrise.

There
wasn
’
t any snow in the forecast that he knew of, but tomorrow
could be a blank slate, too.

Chapter
Nine

Tuesday, December 23,
2014
—
2 Tevet 5775

Eighth night of Hanukkah

The sidewalk beneath
Genevieve
’
s boots was clear of snow and ice. Tiny pellets of salt
crunched beneath her as she walked. She didn
’
t have to raise her
knees to step over yet another waist-high drift of hardened snow.
The path in front of her was made of precise, almost perfect slices
cut through the snow on either side of the concrete.

She still watched her
step. Despite the shoveled sidewalk and salted pavement, she
expected branches and rocks beneath the snow. She
wasn
’
t walking quickly, either, and she knew it
wasn
’
t because of imagined roots on the path. Gen looked down at
the box in her arms and tried to stop herself from checking again
and again to make sure the light was on in Jeremy
’
s
apartment.

He lived in a complex
that looked like many others around it, square and built in blocks
around courtyards with perfectly trimmed hedges now topped with
flat shelves of snow. All the apartments were lit with holiday
lights except one
—
the windows she was pretty sure were his. Jeremy was
the northeast corner of no Christmas.

She climbed the few
stairs and with her knuckle pressed the button next to the name tag
that read J-Goldy. His name tag at camp had sometimes read
“
J-Go,
” “
Jewy Goldness,
”
and for a brief moment before Scott
made him change it,
“
J-G-d.
”
“
J-Goldy
”
was tame in
comparison, but it still made her smile behind her
scarf.

When she pressed the
buzzer again, though, the door didn
’
t open. She
didn
’
t hear the lock disengage, and she looked around for a
different doorbell. Maybe she
’
d pressed the wrong
one. Or maybe he wasn
’
t home, she thought, closing her eyes.

She
’
d finally texted him
that morning, after sleeping fitfully, waking up every few hours
anxious and disoriented. She hadn
’
t bothered to get out
of bed before she grabbed her phone to text him. When she pulled up
their message history, though, she
’
d noticed the picture
was different.

She opened his contact
information. He
’
d altered it.

Where it said
Company
he
’
d typed,
“
Yours, please. Any
time.
”

Under
Title
, he
’
d typed in all caps,
“
Epic
!
”

He
’
d put in his new
address, and under
Country
he
’
d written,
“
Please visit. No passport required. I promise
it
’
s
warm here.
”

The picture was the
part that surprised her most. She
’
d been using an old
snapshot from when they were kids, of Jeremy at age ten with big
teeth and skinny arms and legs.