The Rules of Regret (13 page)

“
I made this for you last night when
you were sleeping, hogging that bag all to yourself.
”
Torin dug his hand into his front
pocket and pulled out a bracelet made of thick thread, woven into an intricate
pattern with a charm dangling from its middle.

He
thrust it toward me and I clumsily wrapped my fingers around it.
“
Thank you,
”
I muttered, rolling it over in my
palm.
“
You
made me a
…
um
…
friendship bracelet? How very endearing in an elementary school sort of way.
Does this mean you
like
-like me or
something?
”

“
It
’
s a survival bracelet,
”
he explained with a laugh, fingering
a similar one bound around his wrist. I flipped it onto its side to examine the
copper-colored charm.
Quarry Summit
was written in raised, hollowed-out lettering, pressed deep into the metal.
“
It
’
s made of 500 pound paracord
—
basically fourteen
feet of rope that you can unravel within seconds if you
’
re ever in a situation that you might
need it.
”

I
unclipped the clasp and fit it onto my wrist.

“
I made yours red since you go to
Stanford. That
’
s
your school color, right?
”
I nodded and twisted the bracelet in circles, rotating it against my skin.
“
And your swimsuit is red, and your
hair
—
supposedly
—
is red, too.
”

“
I
’
m Irish, I've had the same boyfriend
for six years, and I like the color red.
”
I hooked my thumbs under my backpack straps and slid them up and down.
“
Yep, that pretty much sums me up.
”

“
You forgot the part about buildings
and concrete.
”
Torin sidestepped around me and I fell in line behind him as we started our
decent down the mountain trails. He really did enjoy being the leader of the
pack.
“
I
know that about you, too. But not much more.
”

“
Reminds me of those games I used to
play back when I was a kid.
”
I spoke over his shoulder as he kept just two feet ahead of me on the path.
Bits of light stretched through the rows of tree trunks that rose out of the
ground at our periphery. I could see the dust that our boots kicked up
shimmering in the morning air like speckles of golden glitter.
“
Remember?
”
I continued, trying to jog his
memory.
“
I
think it was called MASH or something.
”

Torin
only acknowledged me with the shake of his head, still facing forward.
“
I
’
m nineteen, remember? Not thirteen,
sorry.
”

“
Oh come on, you remember. Same era as
the cootie catcher?
”
I prodded, moving my hands in the motions of the game, opening and closing the
imaginary, paper origami between my fingers even though he couldn't see me.

“
Not a clue.
”

“
That
’
s unfortunate, because MASH was this
game where you predicted who you were going to marry, where you would live, and
other amazing stuff like that,
”
I explained, making cootie catcher motions with my hands. Open, close. Open,
close.
“
Anyway,
that
’
s
what your little summary reminded me of: I
’
ll
be married to a guy named Lance and will live in a red, concrete house in
Ireland.
”

“
Sounds like an incredibly riveting
game, and an equally riveting future for you.
”

“
It
’
s just something we did for fun,
Torin,
”
I justified, probably a little too quickly. So what if I ended up in Ireland
with Lance in a concrete house? What would be so wrong with that future? At
least it was a future. Not everyone got to have one.
“
What did you do for fun, mountain
man?
”

He
didn
’
t
fire back to deflect my name calling, and instead just said,
“
We played Over the Edge.
”

“
And what was that? Like some game
where you tried to push someone to their limit by getting on their nerves or
something?
”
If it was, then that definitely explained the overnight success he
’
d had in forcing me dangerously close
to my own metaphoric edge.

“
No.
”
A laugh caught in Torin
’
s throat.
“
We cliff jumped. Like dove off of
cliffs into the water.
”

“
Oh.
”
Torin totally confused me. One
minute he was deep
—
reciting
the famous words of philosophers of old
—
the
next he was talking about leaping off hillsides. I just didn
’
t get him, how he could have so many
layers. Even I only had two: my thirteen-year-old version and the
nineteen-year-old update. And even those versions weren't entirely my own.

But
it was like Torin embodied the sensitive, emotional side that all women
inherently desired, yet at the same time he was wholly masculine, to the point
of cliff jumping and killing and cooking his own food. He was a complete
conundrum.

“
Have you always been outdoorsy?
”

“
Yeah,
”
Torin started, just as we came up on
a fork in the road. There were lots of forks in this utensil-filled forest, it
seemed. Without hesitation, he veered left, like he could do this in his sleep.
“
I
’
ve always loved the wilderness. I
’
m at home here. This is where I
’
m comfortable.
”

“
If you hadn
’
t grown up here
—
if you had the
chance to go to college and have a career
—
what
would you do?
”

“
I did have the chance to go to
college, Darby,
”
Torin corrected smugly, his blond hair glinting under the morning sun that
pierced the leafy greenery overhead.
“
And
I would have majored in Religious Studies.
”

I
hiked the straps higher on my pack and shifted the weight on my shoulders, one
to the other. Torin spied me and said,
“
Need
some help with that? I can carry it for you if you like.
”

“
I got it, thanks though.
”
I shook off his offer with my head.
“
So how come you chose to stay here
instead of get your degree? If you had the opportunity, I mean.
”

“
Because I
’
m a lot closer to God here on this
mountain than I could ever be in the confines of a college classroom.
”

Sonja
’
s parents had been missionaries, and
I remembered hearing stories about when she was little and they lived in Peru.
How they would witness to the people in remote villages, converting them at a
high rate. I wondered if Torin had that same experience
—
if some missionary
ventured out here to his corner of the wilderness and shared the gospel with
him. It felt remote enough that I wouldn
’
t
have been surprised if that were actually the case.

“
How do you even know there is a God?
”

“
Just look around, Darby.
”
Torin
’
s feet planted underneath him and he
fluttered a hand skyward.
“
The
heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
”
He was doing it again, reciting some
verse in an attempt to bolster his case. But this time it felt different, not
like the movie quotes, or even the philosophical notions he
’
d rattled off earlier. Something in
him changed when he said it; like this was his truth while the others were
maybe just things he thought about.

“
How do you know?
”
I followed his eyes toward the
hundred-year-old trees that climbed into the sky, reaching so high that they
nearly made themselves at home among the clouds.
“
How do you know that God made all of
this?
”

“
How do you know he didn
’
t?
”

“
I
’
m not saying he didn
’
t,
”
I defended, and as I look at our
surroundings, at the intricacies and beauty of it all, I was fairly certain
that, in fact, he probably did.
“
I
’
m religious, too, I guess.
”

“
There is a difference between being
religious and believing in something greater.
”

When
he said it, it all made sense. His concern over using people as a means to an
end. His interest in all of the little steps along life
’
s journey. His belief that something
bigger was at work in the details. I
’
d
thought he was an enigma
—
some
indefinable sort of person that just clung to a bunch of random beliefs and
principles. Someone like so many of the people I knew. People that were
searching to find themselves. People that pulled bits and pieces from different
ideologies, hoping they fit together in a believable, workable way. People sort
of like myself.

But
Torin was already there. He seemed to think he had it all figured out. Or maybe
this was just his truth. Maybe truth was different for everyone. I always
assumed that to be the case, because I didn
’
t know how there could be just one
path that would lead to our ultimate destination. Just like these various paths
that crisscrossed through the forest; maybe there were many options that would
take us where we needed to go. It had to be that way, right?

One
thing I was certain about was that I wished I
’
d taken a different path in making my
way to Lance.

“
I haven
’
t always believed.
”
Torin
’
s voice cut through our silence and
my reverie.
“
In
fact, for a long time I was a total atheist.
”
He turned to look at me, his green
eyes pulled tight and haunted.
“
My
brother
’
s
death changed things. I didn
’
t
understand how a supposedly righteous God would allow that to happen.
”
I swallowed and listened intently as
he spoke, but my mouth watered with that familiar acidic bitterness that I
’
d been biting back for as long as I
could remember.
“
I
was angry at God and at my parents. Because they seemed to think that God not
only existed, but allowed for what happened to Randy to actually occur.
”
He shook his head violently and
strained his brow, dragging his hand down the length of his face like he could
sweep the emotion from it into his palm and keep it there, tucked it away,
rather than vulnerably exposed for me to see. But I was glad to be able to see
it, because looking at him felt like looking into a mirror.

“
I didn
’
t want to be a part of anything that
would allow Randy to die.
”
Torin gazed into the forest like he was watching a movie played out in the
distance, a movie I felt like I
’
d
seen one too many times.
“
But
then I saw how my parents used Randy
’
s
choice to change others
’
lives
—
how
out of his death, they could somehow impact people that were in his same
situation,
”
he continued, threading his fingers together at the back of his neck and
craning his head upward.
“
It
made me realize that maybe there was something out there that could take even
the bad in our lives and somehow use it for good. I don
’
t think people are capable of doing
that on their own. Something greater has to give us the strength to do that,
right?
”