Miss Adventure (2 page)

But I can see that he’s looking at me again.

“Jack,” I say, with a little more control, “I chased you up this mountain because when I woke up in the hospital, it was clear to me like never before that I have a
life
, a life I almost lost. So I need to get a backbone and do something with this life. Make my life
count
.”

When I finally shut up, the woods are quiet. I look at Jack. He looks surprised and confused, and something more, but I can’t place it. He looks me over then, from head to toe. He must see the one thigh-high that’s come loose from its garter and fallen around my ankle. The stocking sags there, irrevocably stretched out by my gargantuan thigh.

“What?” I ask, not able to stand him looking at me for one second longer.

“You have good legs.”

I tip my head, as might Benji in a similar situation.
Good legs
?

But Jack backpedals so fast I think he leaves skid marks. “Not
good
good,” he splutters. “Not sexy good. I just meant, they look strong.”

Oh, God, he’s actually talking about how thunderous my thighs are. I mean, God forbid he was saying I could possibly look tempting with RoboCop’s quadriceps. After all, for my whole life, guys and my mother have commented on my big thighs. Like in high school, when Billy’s best friend Sean got his car stuck in the snow in our driveway. Their efforts to push the car out were fruitless, so Sean said, “Let’s wait for Lisa to get home. She has big legs.” How do I know this if I wasn’t even home yet? My mom told me. Then she laughed.

And yes, we got the damn car out.

“Thanks,” I say dryly.

He’s still looking me up and down, checking out my torn-up half-a-business-suit. At least I had the sense to leave the jacket in the trunk.

“Did you just decide on this plan of yours today?”

I sigh. “I heard you telling someone you were going into the mountains after class, so I seized the opportunity to spring it on you.”

“Why didn’t you just catch me at USC?”

“Just catch you?” I kind of laugh. “I tried. It took me this long to catch
up
.”

Jack nods, as if considering something. “Sorry about your suit,” he finally says.

That’s it? That’s all I’m going to get for my sweltering effort? I suddenly feel very tired. “No worries.” I sigh again. “I have lots at home.”

And I do. All because I didn’t want to feel like a complete fraud on my first day of business school. I mean, I had to walk into MBA classes when I barely even know what the NASDAQ is. So, I decided to wear a chic power suit to look the part of the business maven I purported to be. Donna Karan, black, subtle, sensational. I couldn’t miss.

Actually, I missed by a lot. Nobody else looked so polished. They all dressed anywhere from business casual to downright grunge, and I stuck out like a kangaroo in a Twinkies warehouse. But I held my head high and acted as if they were all
under
dressed. After that, I had to wear a posh suit to every class. It was either that or lose face.

So now, I have a closet full of poseur designer business suits with matching shirts and heels. And everyone thinks I’m weird. But I look so svelte they stay away, almost as if with respectful distance. But I don’t think they really respect me.

Not yet, anyway. Not like they respect Jack Hawkins.

“Well,” Jack says, standing up, “you’re clearly no hiker.”

I blink at him. “What gave it away?”

His gaze remains steady. “But you kept up with me.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
You kept up with me
.

“Come on,” he says. “You won’t find your way off this mountain without me. But I’ve got more to do, so you better keep keeping up.”

I feel a beam of sunshine blast through me, swear to God. “You’ll let me go with you? And do stuff?” Everything is going to be all right!

“It’s better than leaving you here and worrying that a bear’ll get you.”

“So, there are bears?” I try to keep my voice as unshaky as possible.

“Lisa, we’re in the woods. What did you expect?”

* * * * *

I didn’t expect this. And I bet he didn’t either.

I’m standing at the base of a rock wall—this one really
is
steep—and I’ve got bleeding hands. I’m holding a shoe that isn’t mine. And yes, a pair of pants.

Windbreakery pants.

And I’m getting blood all over them, but I can’t help it. My hands don’t hurt as much when I clench them into fists. When I clench them into Jack’s pants.

I look up at the twelve-foot cliff I just rappelled down. Is that even the right word? Have they come up with a word for what I just did?

Jack’s still up there, splayed against the rocks like Spider-Man. Only his superhero costume is a windbreaker, a magic pack around his waist, and boxers. Blue plaid.

I knew climbing down the rocks with him was a bad idea. I knew it. Feeling
that
scared has to mean
something
, right?

But I want to get brave, so I did it. I started my descent just after Jack, and everything seemed to be okay for the first second or so. Then Jack yelled up at me—I think he was telling me to do something with the metal hook thing, but I must have done it wrong. Way wrong. Because in a flash, gravity pulled the rug out, and I was spiraling down fast. I remember seeing my running shoes glance off the rock wall in front of me as I worked to find traction.

See? I actually tried to stop myself and control my descent.

Initially.

But then I just panicked and screamed—a lot—and down I went, the rope sliding through my hands at blistering speed. It really hurt, so I screamed more, and more loudly. I tore at Jack as I slid over him, trying to grab hold of something to slow me down.

That’s how I ended up with those windbreakery pants, not to mention his shoe. In my own defense, though, his pants wouldn’t have come off if he’d been wearing jeans. And I did slow down enough to land safely on my butt.

I look down at my bleeding hands, then back up to Jack. He’s descending the rest of the way, as quietly as a tarantula, one shoe and all. I do not say anything. He does not say anything. The forest is so still I don’t even hear branches rustle or varmints chirp. The silence of damp earth and fallen leaves is almost creepy. Jack touches ground, so he’s standing next to me, wearing his windbreaker and boxers. One socked foot, one shoed foot.

“Here,” I say suddenly, thrusting the crumpled pants at him and dropping the shoe. “At least they’re dark green, so the blood stains won’t show so badly.”

“Thanks.” He takes the pants, steps into them.

I’m surprised he can get them on over his one remaining shoe, until I see the reason. A long rip along the outside seam. So, there Jack stands in a pair of pants slit all the way up one leg, making him look like some sort of lame-ass trying to be a harem princess for Halloween.

He picks up his other shoe and slips it on. “Let me see your hands,” he says, holding out his hands to take mine.

I place the backs of my hands in his palms, and then slowly unclench the fists.
Owww
.

He makes a noise like an extended
oh
then I notice a deep cleft form between his brows. He pulls his hands away, reaches into his pack, and rips open two more wipes.

“This,” he says, and looks right into my eyes, “is going to kill.” He lays an unfolded wipe lightly across each of my palms.

I breathe. “It’s not so bad.”

“Now make a fist with each hand.”

I look to him in panic, but I see that he’s not kidding. Holding his gaze—I don’t dare look down at my hands—I clench both sets of fingers into tight fists, squeezing the medicated wipes. I do not break eye contact with him, but I swallow hard about a million times.

“Okay,” he says, gently tapping at my fingers so I’ll unclench my fists. He takes away the bloody wipes, then squeezes a mound of hypericum cream into my palm and tells me to rub my hands together. He turns away from me to retrieve his gossamer-thin rope, now red in some places.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About everything.”

Jack stops what he’s doing to look out into the woods, as if contemplating how exactly to tell his teenage son the facts of life. Not that he has a son. That I know of.

“Lisa, I can’t do this. We’re done.”

He puts the rope back into his pack then strides off. “Let’s go,” he calls back to me.

I run to get slightly ahead of him, backpedaling so I can face him. “Done?” I say. “For good? That’s it? But I can do better. Try harder.”

“Lisa.” Jack stops so suddenly that I tumble backwards as though someone’s pulled a chair out from under me. He stands over me as I sit in a bush, my legs sprawled like Bambi’s. “Lisa.” He looks around, then back at me. “You’re totally inexperienced.”

I scramble up. “I never said any different!”

“You can’t tag along with me,” he says with iron-clad decision. “You don’t know what you’re doing. On top of that, you didn’t even listen to me.”

“I tried. It all happened so much faster than I expected!”

“Gravity is like that.” Deadpan. Calm. He’s not changing his mind.

“I’ll replace your pants,” I say, showing him how contrite I am.

“Fuck the pants! If you’d let go of that rope, you could be dead now. Don’t you get it? That’s the trouble with beginners. You just don’t get it!”

“Then why did you let me try in the first place?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Well, Jack?”

“We have to get off this mountain before it gets dark,” he says as he pushes past me.

I scramble to get in front of him again.

“Answer me, Jack.”

He stops. “I don’t have to answer you. Now let’s go or you’re spending the night. And by the way, there are mountain lions up here, and they hunt after dark.”

He takes off.

I chase him, but at least it’s downhill this time. “You must have had a reason,” I call after him. “You must have thought I was worth it.”

He stomps on in stony silence. Well, silence except for the actual stomping. That part makes a lot of noise.

“Jack, you believed in me,” I shout. “I know it!” I can feel my case building strength, even as he starts to growl at me.

“Lisa…”

I’m straining to hear over the crunch and snap. “What, Jack? Tell me. I know we can make this work. You had faith in me.”

“I felt sorry for you.”

I take the direct hit. Right in the throat, apparently, because I can’t say a thing. Jack just keeps on going.

“Sorry for me?” I finally rasp. “Listen, Ace, you don’t have to feel—”

“No kidding! You’re a millionaire! The world is your Goddamned oyster and you’re whining about it!”

“I’m
trying
to change my stupid, average life!”

“By chasing a guy you don’t know up a mountain and risking your neck?”

“I think our partnering up is a good idea.”

“No,” he says, “our ‘partnering up’ is a dangerous idea.”

I stop in my tracks. “I thought you were supposed to be brave!”

He stops.

Uh-oh.

He turns.

Um…

He’s walking back toward me.

I can’t move.

He stops right in front of me. “Maybe I’m brave,” he says. “But I’m not stupid. And there’s a big difference.”

“I just wanted—”

“I
get
what you wanted.” His syllables are clipped, his tone vicious. “I get that you think people have been unfair to you, but you know what? The way to fix that isn’t by barreling through other people’s lives thinking only about yourself. Money doesn’t give you the right to act that way, no matter how much you think it does. So, if that’s what you mean by getting brave, I am
not
the man you should be talking to.”

“But—”

Jack turns, pushes forth like a steam shovel, and leaves me no choice but to follow.

“I didn't mean to barge into your life,” I call after him. “And I'm not exactly barging. This isn't your mountain and I can be here if I want.”

He stops and turns to face me. “Right,” he agrees. “See ya.” In a flash, he's through the brush and gone.

“WAIT!” I charge after him. “I'm sorry! Please!”

And there he is, a few feet ahead of me, waiting, his hand resting against the bark of some tree.

I walk up to him, catching my breath. “I never did anything like this before— just decided, just like that, to actually
do
something. Do you see why I need your help?”

He looks at me. Just looks. “Let's go.” He turns away and jogs lightly down the slope.

I feel a hot, pulsing knot of frustration surge up behind my ribcage as I follow him. I know Jack knows where he’s going and everything, but it makes me mad that I’m forced to tag along. It’s like Keith all over again. Finished with me but stuck with me. Jack dragging me down the mountain, Keith sitting by my bedside all those weeks, feeling guilty because he hadn’t dumped me before the coma.

“And I suppose I should be grateful!” I don’t even realize I’ve said this out loud until Jack answers.

“Damn straight,” he shouts, loudly enough so I can hear him over our brush stomping.

He doesn’t even sound out of breath!

“Well, thank you,” I yell, “for being so upfront and quitting on me like a pro.”

Wham!

I crash into him so hard I immediately reach up to feel the bone of my throbbing nose. He stopped and turned around so fast I didn’t have time to put on the brakes. But he doesn’t offer any salve this time. He just looks at me, and I swear he wants to pull my hair.

“I do
not
work for you,” he snarls in a low, Clubber-Lang-takin’-on-Rocky kind of voice. “But with ten million dollars, you can hire your own personal outdoor guides and make them take you wherever you want and teach you anything. Then when they see what a liability you are, they’ll quit.
Like actual pros
.”

He takes off again so fast, and he’s wearing such dark clothes that I run to keep up, genuinely afraid that I might lose him and he might not care. I don’t know why I have to be such a bitch to him. After all, he’s right. About everything. Why did I ever think someone like him would put up with someone like me?

Finally, I see street lights. More accurately, a parking lot light. Glory be! In a few minutes I’ll be able to get away from Jack. I’m beginning to sense just how embarrassed I’m going to feel when I wake up tomorrow.