13. Jensen

CHAPTER 13

JENSEN

I t’s late when we finally get back to camp. Billie carries the fish in her net, and the second we get back, she takes it into the kitchen and cuts off its head. I force myself to look as she scales it and starts filleting it. It should seem more brutal than it does, but she’s so gentle as she handles it, and I find I can’t look away.

Noticing me hovering, she says, “Why don’t you go light the fire?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” she adds, and I roll my eyes.

“Yes, actually. I’ve learned one or two things this week.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, but nods. “Go on, then. I won’t be long.”

I head outside and stack the logs exactly the way she showed me how to do it. I splash a little lighter fluid on them and stuff some tiny dry sticks in the gaps. Then I grin and throw a match into the pit, setting the whole thing ablaze.

Satisfied and more than a little proud, I smile.

Then Billie comes out of the cabin holding two big fillets of fish, some plates, and a skillet. She sits down next to me by the fire and smiles. “Good job.”

My heart swells at the compliment, and I have to stop myself from smiling too widely in case I seem weird.

Billie places the pan on top of the fire, then carefully lowers the fish into it. It hits the metal with a sizzle and starts smoking deliciously.

“Are you okay with canned vegetables?” she asks, holding the can up to show me.

With a smile, I say, “I suppose I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?”

She grins. “Yes, you are.”

The fish crackles and browns in the pan, and we lean into one another to watch it. Billie’s shoulder brushes against mine, and an electric tingle runs all the way up my arm.

Doing my best to ignore it, I ask, “Who taught you to cook?”

She shrugs. “I mostly taught myself. You pick it up quick when you live alone. It’s not like anyone else is going to cook for me.”

“How long have you lived alone?”

She bites her lip, and for a second I think that this is going to be another one of those conversations where we both ask each other things we want to know, but neither of us is quite willing to give any answers.

Then, quietly, like she’s not quite sure what the right words are, she says, “I got my first photography gig when I was sixteen. I was young and inexperienced. It was for some modeling agency, and I knew right away that I didn’t want to do that long term, so I started looking at how I could make money taking pictures of stuff I actually like. And then I fell into the scientific-research community after school, and never looked back.”

“And your family?”

“What about them?” she bristles, and I know I’ve touched a nerve.

I should stop there, but curiosity gets the better of me. “What do they think? They must be proud.”

She scoffs bitterly. “No comment. What about your family — are they proud of you?”

I take a sharp breath. This is getting dangerously close to talking about myself, which is something I don’t want to do.

“Well?” Billie says expectantly.

“My parents and I have a strained relationship at the best of times,” I say, figuring it can’t hurt for her to hear at least some of the truth. “My brother is the favorite.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she says teasingly. I let out a dark chuckle. If only she knew. “You’re not close, then?”

“Oh, no — we live together,” I say then clamp my mouth shut hard. This is getting dangerous.

“But you don’t get along?” Billie asks, her eyebrows drawing together like she’s trying to solve a mystery.

“It’s complicated,” I say, and she nods with such understanding that it compels me to keep going. “They do their best for me, and I know they care, but they don’t really understand where I’m coming from. I’m not what they want me to be, and I don’t know how to be that person. It makes it tough.”

Billie scoffs in bitter recognition. “Too true.”

“What about you?” I ask, trying desperately to get things back on a track that’s far away from me. “Parents, siblings?”

“Just me and my mom,” she says. “She lives in Philadelphia too. But I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Oh. How come?”

She takes deep breath, and for a heartbeat I really think she’s going to do it, that she’s going to spill her soul out to me so I can hold it gently in my hands and keep all her secrets. But instead, she just turns back to the fire and pokes at the fish with a fork.

“I think this is done,” she says with a forced smile.

Yes. I definitely touched a nerve here.

And I’m dying to know more. Everyone I’ve ever met has been like me in the sense of being rich and privileged. They all have their wealthy families and camera-perfect smiles. But you never know what’s really going on behind closed doors. I’m not exactly close with that many people. I don’t really have any friends.

And George isn’t exactly a good example. He loves his family, and with good reason. They’re awesome. His mother is one of the only people in the whole world who doesn’t think I’m really annoying. Or if she does, she hides it really well.

They’re all close and perfect and tell each other everything. There are no secrets in that house. The first time I met them all, it made me want to run. Everything about them was just so real, so true.

I didn’t have the first clue how to deal with any of that.

But Billie, she’s nothing like that. She’s prickly and secretive and clearly has her own demons — and I want to know about them all.

I want to feel like I’m not the only person in the world who struggles with this whole family thing. I want to stop feeling like a bad person about it.

Carefully, she takes the pan off the fire and pokes at the fish to check it’s cooked all the way through. She nods to herself as she does, then grabs the plates and serves up the food.

She offers me a plate, and I take it with a quiet thanks. Neither of us says anything as we start to eat. Instead of talking, we sit and listen to the birds, and I do my best not to stare at her.

I don’t want her to know that I’m trying to memorize every inch of her body so that when we leave, I’ll have something to remember her by.