The Distance Between Lost and Found (9 page)

The tears eventually dry up, and then it's just ragged breath for a few minutes, and then that stops too.

Hallelujah sits up. She feels wrung out.

She meets Rachel's eyes and Rachel says, “Better?”

A shrug.

“Looks like that was a long time coming.”

A nod.

Rachel pats her own shoulder, and, surprising herself, Hallelujah leans in and drops her head.

“We're gonna get out of here,” Rachel says. “Even though we're both apparently really bad in a crisis. Brought all our baggage along.” She adds, a little hesitantly, “If you want to talk about it . . . while he's not here, I mean . . .”

Hallelujah can see Jonah sitting under a tree a short distance away. His back is a blue dot in the sea of green and brown. Despite everything, that blue dot is reassuring. He didn't leave. She didn't run him off.

“Okay,” Rachel goes on, “I'll tell you about
my
baggage. Or some of it, anyway. We can talk about the God thing later.”

“The God thing?” Hallelujah asks.

“Later,” Rachel repeats. “So my parents separated a couple months ago. They should've done it sooner, honestly; they were miserable. They hate each other. But still.”

“I'm sorry,” Hallelujah says.

“Thanks. The thing is,” Rachel goes on, her voice light but brittle, “I'm an only child. And they both wanted out so bad, they'd fight over me, too. Not who got to keep me, but who—” A gulp. “Who got to leave and start fresh. Like I didn't matter. Like I was the furniture. Let the court decide. I don't think they really meant it like that, they just couldn't see beyond—” Another gulp.

“Anyway, Mom lost and she won me—lucky her—and we moved to Bristol, where she grew up. Just after Christmas. I had to leave my school and my friends in Nashville and—and she didn't care how hard it was on me. And even once we moved, I could tell I was reminding her of Dad, all the time. I started looking for things to do over spring break. To get away. Give her some time alone. This girl I used to go to church with posted about this trip online, and I checked out the website and it looked cool. So I signed up. Of course, she ended up not coming, but I'd already paid my deposit when she bailed, so here I am. And I thought—I thought maybe after a week alone, Mom would miss me. Maybe things would get better.”

Hallelujah keeps her head still on Rachel's shoulder. She listens.

“I know lots of people's parents get divorced. No big deal. But it sucks, and I just want it to stop sucking. I thought maybe this week wouldn't suck.” A laugh, sharp and bitter. “So much for that. Your parents still together?”

Hallelujah nods. “Yeah. Almost thirty years.”

“Do they fight?”

“Sometimes. But they always talk it out. ‘Don't let the sun go down on your anger,' and all that stuff.”

“My parents' motto was ‘Don't let the sun go down until you have the last word.'” Now Rachel's laugh is more genuine.

Hallelujah sits up. She wipes the tear crust from under her eyes.

“Okay,” Rachel says. “Your turn.”

“I'm just not used to—”
Talking about it. Wanting to talk. Having someone to talk to
. “—talking,” Hallelujah finishes lamely. Understatement of the year.

“No kidding. I mean, when I first saw you, I thought you looked a little lonely. But the more I talked to you, I was like, this is either the saddest girl on the planet or the lamest. No offense.”

Hallelujah feels embarrassment wash over her. “I wasn't always like this,” she murmurs. “I used to be normal.”

Rachel waves a hand, like,
Whatever
. “No such thing,” she says. “Honestly, it made me want to figure you out, what was making you tick. And I think—I think we're gonna get along. Some people talk too much. I talk too much. But you know how to listen. I can tell.” Hesitantly, she adds, “I think Jonah listens too.”

Hallelujah doesn't answer.

“I think he's really torn up about . . . whatever happened with you and Luke,” Rachel goes on. “You didn't see his face when you were crying. . . .”

“Because he made me cry,” Hallelujah points out. It's a low blow, but she doesn't want to think of him as a nice guy who has feelings. Not yet.

“We agreed that that was a built-up cry,” Rachel shoots back. “About more than Jonah.”

Hallelujah nods. She could argue, but Rachel is right. She would never have cried if it weren't for the storm, the lightning-struck limb, the night on hard ground, her empty stomach, Luke's dropping her in the creek yesterday. Never mind the past six months.

“We should go get him,” Rachel says.

“Why?” Hallelujah still feels raw. Not ready.

“Because he's upset, and we have to be a team.” Rachel is matter-of-fact. “And because he's the one who knows how to make a fire and keep our food away from bears.”

“Okay.” Hallelujah checks her backpack, eases her way out of the dugout, and gets to her feet. She takes a few steps away from their burrow, testing her pins-and-needles legs. She's surprised to find how sore her muscles are; the soreness didn't register this morning, during their frantic climb. Her upper back aches where she slammed into the ground after her tumble downhill. She itches, too. Mostly on her hands. Too much nature.

As Rachel crawls out from under the tree, her backpack hits the root-and-dirt ceiling. Clumps of dirt drop. Large clumps, head-size clumps. The roots sink where the earth has fallen away. Hallelujah sees the tree trunk tilting, its bulk no longer supported. Their dugout is getting smaller by the second.

Rachel sees it happening too, and jumps aside. The tree doesn't crash to the ground, but stops at a crazy diagonal, thick roots touching the ground where they were just sitting. The roots still in the earth bend and twist, but don't snap.

“So much for that hiding place,” Rachel says with a shaky smile.

Hallelujah nods, staring at the roots that are holding the tree in the ground. They're deep and thick, but flexible. Bent, but not broken. Because of them, the tree will survive.

J
ONAH IS WAITING FOR THEM
. H
E
'
S SITTING ON A ROCK
, watching them walk toward him. When they're close enough to speak without shouting, he says, “How'd you pull that off?” He nods toward the diagonal tree.

Hallelujah stays quiet.

Rachel pipes up, “My fault. I shouldn't be allowed to touch anything.”

The rain has dropped to a gentle drizzle. The sun is peeking out from behind a cloud. The world is misty and surreal, soft-focus. Once again, Hallelujah is overwhelmed by how beautiful it is. All of it. Away from the trail, away from any sign of other people, it's overgrown and wild and lovely.

But that wild beauty is a double-edged sword. Because they're still lost.

“What do we do now?” she asks. Her voice sounds harsh, wrong over the birds chirping and drizzle hitting leaves, like she doesn't belong. But maybe that feeling's because of Jonah. Because of what he did to her, after Luke. Because of what she said to him, just now.

She did see his face. Rachel was right. He's really upset.

God only knows why.

“Well, we finally got a break.” Jonah's voice is wry. “It's
almost
not raining.”

The clouds are moving fast overhead, but they're white now, rather than the dull, dangerous gray of this morning.

This morning. Now, judging by the sun, it's midafternoon. Hallelujah's stomach is a gaping hole.

“So we move?” Rachel asks.

“Yep.” Jonah doesn't elaborate.

And so Hallelujah asks him, “Where?” She doesn't bring up her earlier plan to stay in one place. She doesn't feel like arguing anymore. And she trusts Jonah's judgment. In this, if nothing else.

“Up,” Jonah says. “I want to find somewhere we can see a long way. Make a fire. Try to send a smoke signal.” He stands, slings his backpack on, turns, and walks, without waiting to see if Hallelujah and Rachel are following him.

They climb. Feet more sure on sun-drying ground. Legs wobbly and aching. With hunger and fear gnawing around the edges.

Hallelujah is third again. She doesn't mind. She climbs, watching Jonah's and Rachel's backs. She fixes her eyes on each of them in turn. Lets the scenery around her blur. Doesn't want to fall behind.

She focuses on small details. Jonah's muscular legs are scratched up, probably from his race down the hill after them earlier. His hiking socks don't match—different cuffs. The mud on Rachel's legs is smeared around, like she tried to wipe herself clean but only made it worse. There are a few streaks where she scratched, white skin peeking through. She looks like she had a self-tanning accident. And on her butt: two muddy circles, drying and crusting.

Hallelujah bets her own butt looks the same. And while the warmth of the sun is drying her top half, Hallelujah's jeans remain stubbornly damp. They're rubbing her inner thighs raw. Her feet are still damp, too. She can feel a blister forming on her heel.

She hikes. Up and over and around and under, a winding path between trees and bushes. A path to nowhere. Except that Jonah seems to have a plan.

It's easier to think about hiking
to
somewhere. Because
to
eventually leads home.

Hallelujah wants to ask Jonah for more information. But Jonah hasn't said a word to her since they started climbing, and Hallelujah doesn't want to make things worse by opening her mouth. Not again.

She and Jonah were sharing something. Something tentative, something new and familiar at the same time. And she had to go and—

But she
had
to. Jonah can't just decide to be her friend again. Not now. Not after everything. She can't just let him in. She can't.

Can she?

Hallelujah runs directly into Rachel's back.

“Hey,” Rachel says softly, putting out a hand to steady herself on a tree. “Careful.” It's not a warning, not an admonishment, just a statement of fact. They both know what careless means out here.

“What's he doing?” Hallelujah asks, just as softly. Jonah has gone ahead, but for some reason Rachel isn't following.

“He thought he saw something. An animal. Told me to wait here. To be still.”

Be still
. Hallelujah freezes midfidget, as if the command came from above. Was it a bear? A deer? She's seen both in Cades Cove, and that's the tourist part of the park.

“Side note,” Rachel says, scratching the back of one leg with the front of the other foot. “I think I'm allergic to something out here. My legs totally itch.”

Hallelujah wants to shush Rachel. This is her idea of still and quiet? Surely whatever Jonah saw can hear them. Is watching them. Is waiting for the right moment.

But then Jonah reappears. “All clear,” he says. “It's gone.”

“What was it?” Hallelujah asks.

“Bear. A cub.”

“Are you sure they're gone?” Hallelujah says “they” intentionally. A cub isn't dangerous, but it means the mother's nearby. And she is dangerous.

“I'm sure. And anyway, we are on their turf.” Jonah looks over his shoulder, up the hill. “C'mon. We're almost at the top.” He glances back at Hallelujah, and their eyes meet for the first time since their confrontation in the dugout. He holds her gaze for a second, and then nods, turns, and starts walking.

T
HE VIEW IS INCREDIBLE
. A 360
PANORAMA
. I
F THIS WERE A
movie, the camera would sweep around and around, taking in their wide eyes along with the mountains rolling into the distance. There would be a swell of strings, a breathless final swoop before the dialogue, soft and awestruck.

It's not the tallest peak. Not by a long shot. They're at the top of what can't even really be called a mountain, not with everything else around. There are mountains visible behind other mountains, rising up behind valleys, peeking out, hills upon hills upon hills. The green mounds look so much softer and gentler from a distance. Almost like a blanket that someone left rumpled. Or that someone's still sleeping under.

And there are so many trees. So many shades of green. Sunlit green and shadowed green. Grass green and moss green and pine green and the greens of every variety of leaf.

Hallelujah turns in a circle. Mountain. Mountain. Valley. Mountain. Mountain. “What are we looking for?” she asks Jonah.

“Anything. A trail. Campfire smoke. People. The color orange—the rescue squads and dogs wear orange jackets. Usually. I think.”

“Right.” She starts scanning.

Rachel joins her, eyes trailing Hallelujah's. “Should we shout or something?”

“Yeah, probably.” Hallelujah feels a little silly that they didn't think of that before. “Hello!” she calls. “Up here!”

Rachel starts yelling too. “Anyone out there? Hello!”

As they call out, Hallelujah keeps turning in slow circles. Twice she thinks she sees something. A wisp of smoke. A flash of bright orange. Far away. But she blinks and they're gone, vanished into the sea of green. Twice she almost says something. But she can't find them again. She's not even sure they were ever there.

Eventually, Rachel sits down and begins using her backpack to try to wipe the dried mud off her legs. Hallelujah sits beside her, elbows on knees, scratching idly at her palms. Her eyes are tired. Her voice is tired. But she doesn't want to stop looking. Or stop shouting. They can't have gone so far from civilization that there's
nothing
out there.

“We'll try again later,” Rachel says, patting Hallelujah on the shoulder.

Behind them, Jonah paces. Like an animal. Caged by all this openness.

Then he starts gathering wood. Scuffing away the grass from a clear area. Setting up the sticks in the dirt, careful to stay well away from the few bare trees that stick straight up from the hilltop. “It's okay that it's wet, actually,” he says, kind of to himself.