The Long Way Back, page 15
Maybe that’s why she fell so hard. To be wanted—maybe even loved—for who she was, totally detached from social media fame, was something Eva hadn’t experienced in a really long time.
Still, the house in the woods is small and boring, and their getaway feels off. Eva doesn’t know what to do with herself in this oddly liminal space.
“We could hike,” she suggests, but she only has her Birkenstock’s along. They wouldn’t make it far. “Play a game?” There’s a faded checkerboard on a small table beside the chair.
“I have to chop some wood,” Zach tells her, catching her chin for a quick kiss. “It’s going to be cold again tonight, and we’ll want to start a fire.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Nah. It’s dull work. Stay here.”
But when he disappears behind the detached garage, Eva slides on her sandals (which Zach placed neatly beside the front bench) and opens the door. She releases a shallow, pent-up breath when it swings wide, though she doesn’t realize until it’s open that she was afraid it might be locked.
The porch is creaky and Eva steps lightly, sticking to the edges where the boards are still nailed flat. She’s not sure why she’s trying to avoid detection, but her heart is fluttering in her chest and her senses ablaze. There’s a cardinal trilling in the trees, and beneath his song the warble of several fat robins. The world is lush with springtime. But circled by the thick forest, the small yard is shadowed and almost gloomy.
Wishing she had socks and tennis shoes, Eva picks her way across the dewy grass to the gravel drive. It curves away from the house, cutting a path through the trees to where it connects with the highway. Even from a distance she can see it’s an old road, streaked with cracks that have been filled and refilled with sticky tar, and crumbling to dust at the rim where it meets the forest floor.
Zach had said Little Moose was an old mining town. Iron ore? Copper? Eva doesn’t know much about Minnesota’s natural resources, beyond the origin of the infamous Black Beach where taconite—waste rock dumped for years by iron mining companies—washed ashore and turned the sand obsidian. She wishes she would have researched this mysterious town a bit more before agreeing to Zach’s plan.
At the place where the hidden driveway meets the road, Eva steps onto the split concrete and spins a slow circle. In one direction, the hamlet of Little Moose clusters around the highway like grapes on the vine. The houses are compact, close together, and seem deserted. There are a few old cars parked on the grass, but it’s hard to tell if they’re in working order or not. In the other direction, a cement ribbon cleaves the forest in two before disappearing over a small rise.
This is the true north, rugged and unspoiled, fresh and exhilarating. It’s also just a tiny bit terrifying. Because Eva is a mere speck out here, a bit of nothing on a planet so fierce and wild it’s a wonder she’s allowed to exist at all.
She loves it.
This is the high she and Charlie chased on the road, the feeling that they were insignificant and yet somehow belonged. There are at least a dozen places that feel like home to Eva’s soul, and she decides that this is definitely one of them—even if it is kind of eerie.
Eva extends her arms high above her head, interlacing her fingers and stretching out the muscles in her arms and back. Which way should she go? Toward Little Moose or the trees? She won’t be gone long, she just needs to walk the ache out of her legs, take a few minutes to clear her head. It’s not like she could get lost out here—there’s exactly one road and one way back.
But Eva takes just a couple steps in the direction of the houses when a sharp whistle shatters the quiet morning. Adrenaline punches her heart into her throat, but when she whips around there’s nothing to see. No cars, no people. When it happens again, she spins toward the cabin she’s sharing with Zach, and realizes that he’s standing in the middle of the drive. His feet are planted firmly apart and he’s clutching an axe in one hand. His face is a mask of fury even at this distance. Zach doesn’t say anything, but he lifts his hand and motions for her to come. Now.
Eva’s not the kind of girl who’s used to getting bossed around (for all her flaws and foibles, Charlie is a rather open-minded mom), but her blood runs cold at the power radiating off the man she loves. A part of her wants to run, but what choice does she have? Where could she possibly go? Eva glances around one last time, looking maybe for a car, for someone to see her and know that she’s here. She wants someone to know where she is. But the highway is silent. Eva steps off the road and makes her way slowly down the lane toward the place where Zach waits.
And in the house on the corner, a curtain falls closed. The man has what he wants: a photo of a girl with long, dark curls. She’s lithe and lovely, a sprite maybe, or a changeling who has emerged fully formed from the trees.
COLLEGE APPLICATION ESSAY #23
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
They used to call me the Little Mermaid, but honestly, I’m more of a cross between Daniel Boone, Cheryl Strayed, and Katniss Everdeen. No, I’m not a folk hero, American icon, or master archer—though I love to wax poetic about my views on trailblazing and colonialism, self-discovery, and societal inequality—I draw these comparisons for purely superficial reasons. What do Daniel, Cheryl, Katniss, and I have in common? We’re survivors.
It’s true. I can read a compass, tie a homemade tourniquet, and douse for water (but only with a forked hazelnut branch and only west of the Mississippi—you can take that one up with God). I’ve also mastered the impossible knot (it’s actually a very simple double fisherman’s knot—easy to tie, incredibly difficult to untie), can identify dozens of edible mushrooms and plants that grow across the continental US, and make a roaring fire with nothing but a bit of flint, a stone, and some dry moss. But while these self-taught (and Google-enhanced) survival skills are helpful to be sure, the kind of surviving I’m talking about is a little less corporeal.
My mom doesn’t know that I know her mother was a raging alcoholic. She doesn’t think that I wonder about my father and what my life would be like if he was a part of it. And she hasn’t yet realized that the questions I have about my life and who I am and where I fit cannot be answered by another punishing hike that leaves us lathered in sweat and triumphant. Sometimes we treat the world as a Band-Aid and our experiences in it the salve that is meant to heal our hurts. And it helps, it really does. There’s a reason why standing beneath the moon on a cold winter’s night can change everything. But as lovely and incomprehensible as our wild world is, it can’t fix everything. Believe me, I’ve tried.
I’m a survivor because I take pieces of myself and share them with an open heart and open hands, even though there are times I want to hide. I’m a survivor because I’ve spent much of my life lonely, but I keep hoping for connection, for someone to see me as I truly am and not as just the person they believe me to be. I’m a survivor because I know the steps to take to ensure my own safety and well-being, and I’m capable and confident to carry them out—even when it might hurt the person I love the most. Even when those steps might lead me to a place I’ve never been.
My talents are varied, but they have always centered around a theme that, quite frankly, needs to be enhanced. Transformed. I know I can survive; it’s time for me to thrive. I can’t claim to know what that looks like yet, but you’d better believe I have the tenacity and capacity to find out. You’re going to want a front row seat for this.
CHAPTER 11
SUNDAY
Zach tries to contain his fury when Eva returns from her brief excursion, but she can feel anger coming off him in waves. It’s disconcerting, and a little scary, and she marches right past him and toward the house before he can confront her. She feels like a child waiting for a reprimand, and that’s not how a girlfriend—a peer—should feel. Eva hates it, and for a few panicked, confusing minutes she hates him, too.
“Why?” Zach demands. “Why did you leave? I told you to stay in the cabin.”
Eva bites her tongue, but she can feel Zach hot on her heels.
“Did anyone see you?”
“I was gone for five minutes,” Eva says tightly, hurrying up the steps to the leaning porch. “I wanted some fresh air.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“Stop it!” Eva whirls on him, losing control. She hates for Zach to see her like this—shrill and unhinged, not at all the chill girl she wants to be—but she can’t help it. “Stop acting like you can tell me what to do. This was supposed to be fun—a chance for us to get away and spend some time together. But I feel like a prisoner here!”
Her tirade extinguishes the fire in Zach’s eyes. He sighs heavily and rubs one hand over his face. The other is still clutching a rusty axe, and he stares at it for a moment as if he’s forgotten he was holding it. Very deliberately, he sets it against a porch column. “You’re not a prisoner, Eva. But I need you to listen to me: no one can know that we’re here.”
“Why?”
He reaches for her, then seems to change his mind. “You have to trust me on this one, okay?”
“I don’t think so. My phone is gone, I’m a million miles away from… everything, and you’re not talking to me! What is going on?”
Zach seems torn between rage and regret. He’s trembling, and less than twenty-four hours ago Eva would have pressed herself against him and kissed his angst away. Now, she crosses her arms over her chest to stop her own hands from shaking. They’re caught in a standoff on the narrow front porch, leaning away from each other as if this is the end of whatever it is they’ve started.
Finally, Zach says, “Go take a shower. Turn the water on and let it warm up for at least five minutes. I’ll finish up outside, and when we’re both done, we’ll talk.”
It’s not quite what she hoped to hear, but it’s better than nothing, so without another word, Eva spins on her heel and lets herself into the small house. She slams the door behind her just so Zach will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s seriously pissed off.
Eva wants to hold on to her indignation, but Zach is right—although it takes a while, the water eventually warms up. It’s amazing what a hot shower can do, and she takes her time, letting the scalding spray wash away the last twenty-four hours along with the grit on her body. Unfortunately, no amount of scrubbing can erase the decisions she’s made or the consequences she can feel crouching just out of sight. There will be a reckoning, Eva is sure of that. She feels small and so very stupid.
Pulling on leggings and an oversized flannel, Eva wraps her hair turban-style in a threadbare towel and shuffles into the living room. Zach is stacking wood next to the potbellied stove.
“Feel better?” he asks, standing up when she lingers just behind the couch. He brushes his palms self-consciously on his jeans and has a hard time meeting her gaze.
“I need socks.” Eva won’t give him the satisfaction of an affirmation, but she wiggles her bare toes at him, offering one small way to make amends.
“I’ve got you.” Zach seems relieved to have something tangible to do, and he steps carefully past her to disappear in the bedroom. A moment later he emerges, a pair of tube socks in hand.
They’re clean and white, and come halfway up her calves, but Eva doesn’t care. She scrunches them down around her ankles and then goes to sit cross-legged on the couch.
Zach stands in the middle of the room for a few minutes, apparently deciding what to do, where to go. In the end, he sinks to the edge of the couch next to Eva, his knee just touching hers. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t say anything either. She’s not going to make it easy for him.
“Look,” he says after a few tense seconds, “no one can know that we’re here. My dad doesn’t know we’re here, and if he realizes…”
Eva has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “Then let’s leave. You’re twenty-four, Zach. Let’s rent a room somewhere. Or better yet, let’s go home. This was all a huge mistake.”
“We’re not leaving.”
“Excuse me?” Eva is halfway to her feet before Zach’s arm shoots out. He snags her by the wrist and yanks her back down. Her first (and only) boyfriend has never laid a hand on her in anger before, but the sharp tug leaves Eva’s shoulder howling. She blinks back tears, but they have nothing to do with the ache in her joint—she can’t believe that he would hurt her, even unintentionally. Eva rubs her shoulder with one hand and backs into the farthest corner of the couch. Suddenly, she doesn’t trust him.
“I’m sorry, Eva. I just need you to listen to me.” Zach’s eyes are wide and hurt as he inches closer to her, hands up to assure her he’s safe. “Just listen. Okay?”
Eva’s mind is whirling, but he’s between her and the door, and even if she got away from him, where would she go? She has no idea where she is, or how to find the nearest town. Little Moose certainly doesn’t count. And in a pair of sandals, she wouldn’t make it very far. Eva has no choice but to collar her fear and rein it in, or this thing could go sideways fast. “Fine,” she says, and is proud of herself for keeping her voice calm.
“I love you,” Zach whispers, sliding even closer. He lifts his hands to her face, slowly, as if he’s afraid she may bat them away. But Eva doesn’t move, and he cups her cheeks in his palms, then kisses her mouth so tenderly, so sweetly, that for just a second she has to remind herself that he’s acting crazy.
“You know that I love you”—Zach pulls back, searching her eyes—“right?”
Eva doesn’t dare to look away. She can’t even bring herself to breathe. Instead, she lets herself get lost in those eyes that she was sure she would love forever, and says, “I do.” She can’t tell if she’s trying to convince him or herself, but it doesn’t really matter.
Zach rubs his thumbs across her cheekbones and squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a shuddering breath. “Okay. Good. Then we can make it through anything.”
A dozen questions queue up on Eva’s tongue, but she swallows them all. She can tell that there is only one way through this, and it’s Zach’s way. For now. So she keeps her lips pressed tight and waits for him to start talking.
“I was born in this house,” Zach begins after a heartbeat or two. “Well, I was born in a hospital, but we lived here for the first two years of my life.” He gives her a sheepish grin that she simply can’t return. If he’s trying to lighten the mood, it’s not working.
“My dad worked in the mine before it was shut down.” Zach picks up the story when Eva doesn’t crack a smile. “Everyone in Little Moose did. Mining is boom or bust, you know?”
Eva doesn’t know, but this is the first information Zach has offered up about his family. He’s been frustratingly tight-lipped about his background, and although it seems like a strange time to break his silence, better late than never. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Go on,” she says.
“I’ll spare you the details, but mining in Minnesota has a tough history.” He holds up one finger, counting. “There are always groups who are concerned about the environmental impact.”
Like me, Eva wants to say, but she bites her lip instead.
Two fingers. “Then, the steel recession led to layoffs, idling… automation. Why pay a man when a machine can do it for free?” Zach’s mouth tips into a half smile as he holds up three fingers. “Low foreign steel prices.” He makes a fist, dropping his hand into his lap. “My dad’s family has been mining the Mesabi Range since the late 1800s, but our mine closed permanently when I was two.”
“So you left.”
“Sort of. My dad is… a man of many talents. An entrepreneur of sorts. He bought up most of Little Moose because the houses suddenly weren’t worth anything and he wanted the community to have a chance. Most people took the money and moved away.”
“A modern-day Robin Hood,” Eva murmurs. “So your family is the reason Little Moose is a ghost town.”
“No. The government is. Besides, it’s not a ghost town. A few remain.” Zach lifts one shoulder. “Not many.”
Eva chews on her lip for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this history lesson. “I don’t understand why it matters if your dad knows we’re here or not.”
“It’s complicated. He’s complicated.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
Zach runs a hand through his hair, mussing the blond waves. Then, in one quick exhale he says: “My dad is dangerous.”
At this, Eva laughs. “You can’t be serious.”
“Come here.” Zach puts out his arms, and after a moment of hesitation, Eva gives in. She folds herself against his chest where she can listen to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. “There are some things you need to know about my family. But for now I just need you to stay quiet and hidden and here.”
Eva thinks about the small apartment Zach rents in Duluth, and how he never, not once, took her there. “I don’t want my landlord to see us,” he claimed. But that was a feeble argument because who would even know that Eva was only seventeen? It’s not like she bore an “underage” tattoo. And even if they did know, who would care? She wasn’t some twelve-year-old Lolita—she was days away from her high school graduation and mere weeks from her eighteenth birthday.
She thinks about how after their first meeting Zach never came back to eat at Mugs. The day after Eva served him, she finished her shift and found him leaning against a fence across the street from where she’d parked the truck. He was waiting for her. And she never stopped to wonder how he knew that she would be at work that night. Or when she would get off. Or what vehicle she drove. She was too breathless at how the streetlamp grazed his cheekbones, and the way he looked at her when she raised her hand to wave.
