Chapter 2

William had pivoted to watch her sudden departure. Bizarre. He absently rubbed his bare knee, to discover that Joan had put a couple of scratches on it. No, that wasn’t her name, was it? Maybe it was Joanna? He was sure he’d heard it used in the last day or two. He picked up the silver flask from the wall, careful not to spill any of its contents. Was this what had made her go so wild? Wiggling the flask a little to gauge how full it was, he brought it to his nose. An aroma of anise greeted him; ouzo or sambuca, most likely. Strong, but enough to provoke the reaction he had seen? He held it thoughtfully for another few seconds. It wasn’t his, and he hadn’t been invited ... but the earth was eventually going to spin down and become a burned out cinder anyway, and what would it matter then? He brought the flask to his mouth, and after a few more seconds hesitation, and with a world-weary shrug, he took a mouthful and swished it around on his tongue. At first, he was getting no sense of the flavor; even water would have had more body.

As he recapped the flask and prepared to spit it out, an invasion hit him without warning; a sharp tang, a spiciness like ... like peppers, like jalapenos without the heat; and without conscious decision, he swallowed it, closing his eyes against the onrush of sensation. Almost instantly his nasal cavity was flooded with a change in temperature, although whether hot or cold he couldn’t have said. He made the mistake of trying to breathe through his mouth, only to have it register the same feeling. Sweat broke out on his temples and forehead; as he opened his eyes and looked up at the night sky, at the dusting of lights that seemed to be just beyond his reach, her name was suddenly there in the front of his mind, almost as if someone had spoken it: Joanne.

A torrent of images demanded his attention; Joanne picking apples, Joanne riding a roan horse, Joanne dipping an oar into the lake as she propelled her canoe toward the shore, Joanne with her chin on her knees as she sat gazing into a campfire ... Joanne. A few minutes ago she had been a distraction, a presence to be tolerated ... a few minutes ago; or was that a lifetime that had gone rushing so savagely past? What had she ... where was ... was she Julie’s bunkmate? A fellow counselor? He remembered now that he had seen her during the orientation ... but she had been in a different group than Julie ... at the thought of Julie, he deliberately tried to refocus, to bring Julie’s smile into view ... but it wasn’t Julie’s smile that his mind’s eye came to rest on, it was Joanne’s ... Joanne’s half-smile ... no, not even a half-smile ... it was a wistful gaze as she contemplated the valley, brushing her hair behind her ear ... her delicate ear ... William looked over his shoulder at the kitchen cabin, searching for her; nothing. As he twisted on the wall to face the cabin, a scraping sensation caught at his awareness.

He looked down to discover that he still held the flask in his hand. Her flask ... he brought it to his cheek and savored the cool sensation. He had her flask, he should at least return it to her ... wherever she was ... with a paradoxical sense of hope long fled and hope reborn, he got down from the wall and started moving slowly toward the kitchen cabin.

Halfway there, a cluster of campers came traipsing out of one of the forest trails; judging from the direction they were heading, apparently on their way to the lake. The counselor with them was a fresh-faced young woman, smiling and laughing despite the lingering heat of the day just finished. With a sudden jolt that caused him to miss a step and stumble before catching himself, William realized the counselor was Julie. A mingled feeling of hope and despair threatened to overwhelm him at the sight of her face; then it was breaking up and dispersing like clouds on a wind-swept sky, leaving a vague sense of disturbance and a renewed awareness of needing to find Joanne so he could give her ... give her his ... no, wait, he wasn’t going to give her anything of his ... was he?

“Oh! William!” Julie’s exclamation at meeting him heading in the opposite direction was tinged with recognition and a flutter of surprise.

“Where are your campers? Aren’t you going to the bonfire on the beach?” He had to think about her question for a second; thoughts flowed in his awareness like curling eddies in a stream, splitting up and coming back together.

“Ahhh ... no, no, Bob and Ray are taking them tonight,” he finally said, “maybe I’ll go down in a little bit.” He held up the flask to show her.

“Right now I’m looking for Joanne, to return this to her.”

“Oh, okay, well, maybe we’ll see you down there then,” she said with a lyrical wave of her hand. She resumed her ramble but caught herself up suddenly two or three steps later.

“Wait a minute,” she said slowly, her head turning to take a closer look at the flask in William’s hand.

“Did you say you’re going to give that to Joanne? Let me see that.” William held it out again, turning it slowly for her perusal. A galloping horse could be seen on the side of it, a delicate etching that stood out on the gleaming surface.

“Are you sure that’s Joanne’s? Because it looks like Walter’s,” she said with a tone of finality.

“Walter?” he asked uncertainly, “you mean the cook?” He shook his head; then, remembering the odd little encounter he had just had, examined the flask for anything that definitely identified it’s owner. Joanne had said Walter’s name, he remembered that now, and with the memory came a surge of negativity that caught him off-balance; suddenly unsure of himself, uncomfortable and not liking the feeling. What was Joanne doing with Walter’s flask? Then again, it wasn’t his business ... was it? No, of course not; but at the same time, he was now ill-at-ease holding it. He offered it to Julie, who reached for it, then withdrew her hand as if she didn’t want to touch it.

He shook it a little at her by way of repeating the offer.

“Maybe you’re right,” he mused, “here, you take it to him, don’t you know him from before the season, anyway? Go on, it’s only right, you’re the one that recognized it.” Julie looked down and stammered, “N-no, I don’t need to take it to him, I hardly know him, th-that’s okay.” William’s reluctance to hold onto the flask was growing slowly heavier and more distinct, when a sudden flash of insight blazed its way onto his awareness. Stepping forward, he took Julie by the elbow and pulled her into the meadow, far enough away from her charges that he could speak softly to her without fear of being heard by anyone but her.

“Listen, Julie,” he began in a rush, hoping to get the words out before common sense proved him wrong, “you like him, don’t you?”

Her stricken look was all the confirmation he needed.

“I’ve suspected it for some time now ... no, don’t worry, I haven’t been talking to anyone and I don’t think anyone else has any idea. I haven’t been spying on you, I just had a sense of it.”

He paused; had he had a sense of it? Yes, he was certain of it now, but why did he have a sense of it? It was almost as if he had been paying more attention to Julie than he should have. Why should he care if she liked Walter anyway? It was almost a relief to be saying these words to her, as if he were absolving himself of something. He turned his attention once more outward; he could tell that Julie was caught between trying to recover her elbow from his grip, and close to miserably not even caring.

“Here,” he urged, once again presenting the flask to her, “take this. Take a drink. Liquid courage. Go on, the kids aren’t looking at you; don’t you want to see what Walter was carrying around?”

The last statement appeared to hit Julie with some force. Slowly she reached out and closed her hand around the flask, and feeling freed of some burden that he hadn’t asked for, he relinquished it with a sense of accomplishment.

“There now, hurry up and have a snort so you can get to the bonfire, you’ll feel better.”

Julie looked back at the kids she had in tow; they were talking and joking with each other, amusing themselves and paying scant attention to William and Julie’s exchange. She slipped the cap off and sniffed it; a deeply fruity aroma seized her, and she lifted it to her lips and took a furtive mouthful. William smiled at the sight; it warmed him to see her with alcohol in her mouth.

“Don’t you worry,” he whispered, “just enjoy. Now, I’ve got to find Joanne, but I’ll see you around, kiddo.”

He squeezed her arm and then was off, loping across the grass like a man with a mission. Julie watched his retreating form as she swished the mouthful around; now that she had the flask, he no longer needed to return it to Joanne, and it wasn’t even Joanne’s anyway, so why did he have to find her? The full, rich feeling of harvested grapes was a soothing sensation that rolled over and around her tongue. Another few seconds and she slid it down her throat, savoring the feeling. It was getting stronger on the way down, she realized, and by the time it had left her throat on its journey south, it had morphed into a cold blast that was spreading its icy fingers through her chest and down her arms. A heavy feeling made itself known in her midsection, roiling and turning like a hurricane threatening to come ashore. For an instant it was almost nausea; then like swells breaking as they approached the land, the feeling dissipated, leaving behind a feeling of ennui, a tired and lethargic sense that she was going in the wrong direction. She took a few steps toward the lake, motioning the campers to come along. As she walked her steps became slower and slower, as if reluctant to approach the bonfire. She was missing something, but what? The kids gathered around her as she ground to a halt, their chatter falling silent. Julie glanced at them, then turned to look at the beach, where she spied Blaine’s mohawk. She gestured in that direction, and the campers turned to follow her motion.