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Authors: Sarah Wendell
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breath formed a faint cloud above her that blew
away in the wind.
“ So
these guys, they ’ re all still alive. ”
“ Yup. They ’ re alive, watching us. Like pervs. ”
Jeremy laughed, and the sound rolled away from them
across the rippled snow, bouncing off the trees beyond and
multiplying for a moment before going silent.
“ Do
you miss Iceland? ”
Gen stilled, looking
up at the North Star and the glowing clusters she could only see
with her peripheral vision. “ Sort of. A little,
because it was …” She paused. Her time away was all mixed in grief and
adventure and research and discovery, and it was difficult to
describe.
“ It
was amazing in many ways, good and bad, but I
couldn ’ t live there. I like living here. ”
“ Here? At camp? ” They both moved away from the fence
at the same time, Jeremy ’ s hands dropping to
his sides when she stepped back.
“ Ha,
I wish. ” They began their awkward trek through the snow toward the
outdoor adventure area where Jeremy planned to hide more items for
the hunt.
She did wish she could live at camp, really. Camp
was home in a way that nothing else was, and she wished she could
live there, that it could be summer all year long, that she could
have the friendships that only existed here become permanent parts
of her life everywhere.
Gen kept her eyes on
the snow in front of her, making sure to step in
Jeremy ’ s tracks to keep their trail as small as possible. If they
did get the expected amount of snow, their footprints would be
mostly filled in, and it wouldn ’ t be obvious where
things had been hidden.
“ I
wish this were my home, too. Sometimes, ” Jeremy said, pulling
himself up onto a low branch and hanging a black leather cord on a
loose piece of bark. Gen recorded the GPS coordinates, then looked
up at him.
“ Not
a lot of business here, though, ” she replied. “ Unless you do animal
funerals. ”
“ I ’ ve done a few, ” he said, surprising
her.
“ Really? ”
“ Yeah, mostly dogs, a few cats. ”
Gen stared at him. He
jumped down from the tree branch and shrugged, looking a little
embarrassed, but he didn ’ t start
walking.
“ We
have sample caskets in smaller sizes. Dad doesn ’ t like it, but for
most people, pets are part of the family. ”
Gen nodded.
“ But
you ’ re right, I couldn ’ t do wildlife.
Business would be very slow if I lived here. Not that many Jewish
families. ”
He opened his mouth,
like he was about to say something, but then turned and started
walking, leaving his unsaid thought behind him. Gen wanted to drag
him back and make him keep talking, but she
couldn ’ t. It was rare he had something to say that she
didn ’ t want to hear, but she ’ d never been able to
make him talk when he didn ’ t want to.
With a shock, she
realized that this was one of the very few times
they ’ d ever talked about the real world at camp, that
he ’ d
mentioned what he did during the time he wasn ’ t at Meira. She
looked at his back and ran a few steps to catch up, wishing she
could ask him to say more. Did he want to go into his
family ’ s business? Did he live in the apartment above the funeral
home? Was he happy there? The way he spoke, the twist of his voice,
made her think he was talking about more than funerals.
But she was afraid to
ask. And unwilling. She hated people asking her questions about her
future, what her plans were. Too many people just asked because
they wanted to tell Gen what they thought of her answer, especially
now, because everyone who was older than her seemed to think they
were some kind of expert on grief. They didn ’ t want to listen.
Asking was their way of giving themselves an invitation to talk and
deliver their opinion of what she was doing. She ’ d told him about her
frustrations once, and since then, he ’ d never asked her
about anything she was doing unless she brought it up.
But maybe Jeremy
didn ’ t mind if she asked. Very few people asked him
away in the wind.
“ So
these guys, they ’ re all still alive. ”
“ Yup. They ’ re alive, watching us. Like pervs. ”
Jeremy laughed, and the sound rolled away from them
across the rippled snow, bouncing off the trees beyond and
multiplying for a moment before going silent.
“ Do
you miss Iceland? ”
Gen stilled, looking
up at the North Star and the glowing clusters she could only see
with her peripheral vision. “ Sort of. A little,
because it was …” She paused. Her time away was all mixed in grief and
adventure and research and discovery, and it was difficult to
describe.
“ It
was amazing in many ways, good and bad, but I
couldn ’ t live there. I like living here. ”
“ Here? At camp? ” They both moved away from the fence
at the same time, Jeremy ’ s hands dropping to
his sides when she stepped back.
“ Ha,
I wish. ” They began their awkward trek through the snow toward the
outdoor adventure area where Jeremy planned to hide more items for
the hunt.
She did wish she could live at camp, really. Camp
was home in a way that nothing else was, and she wished she could
live there, that it could be summer all year long, that she could
have the friendships that only existed here become permanent parts
of her life everywhere.
Gen kept her eyes on
the snow in front of her, making sure to step in
Jeremy ’ s tracks to keep their trail as small as possible. If they
did get the expected amount of snow, their footprints would be
mostly filled in, and it wouldn ’ t be obvious where
things had been hidden.
“ I
wish this were my home, too. Sometimes, ” Jeremy said, pulling
himself up onto a low branch and hanging a black leather cord on a
loose piece of bark. Gen recorded the GPS coordinates, then looked
up at him.
“ Not
a lot of business here, though, ” she replied. “ Unless you do animal
funerals. ”
“ I ’ ve done a few, ” he said, surprising
her.
“ Really? ”
“ Yeah, mostly dogs, a few cats. ”
Gen stared at him. He
jumped down from the tree branch and shrugged, looking a little
embarrassed, but he didn ’ t start
walking.
“ We
have sample caskets in smaller sizes. Dad doesn ’ t like it, but for
most people, pets are part of the family. ”
Gen nodded.
“ But
you ’ re right, I couldn ’ t do wildlife.
Business would be very slow if I lived here. Not that many Jewish
families. ”
He opened his mouth,
like he was about to say something, but then turned and started
walking, leaving his unsaid thought behind him. Gen wanted to drag
him back and make him keep talking, but she
couldn ’ t. It was rare he had something to say that she
didn ’ t want to hear, but she ’ d never been able to
make him talk when he didn ’ t want to.
With a shock, she
realized that this was one of the very few times
they ’ d ever talked about the real world at camp, that
he ’ d
mentioned what he did during the time he wasn ’ t at Meira. She
looked at his back and ran a few steps to catch up, wishing she
could ask him to say more. Did he want to go into his
family ’ s business? Did he live in the apartment above the funeral
home? Was he happy there? The way he spoke, the twist of his voice,
made her think he was talking about more than funerals.
But she was afraid to
ask. And unwilling. She hated people asking her questions about her
future, what her plans were. Too many people just asked because
they wanted to tell Gen what they thought of her answer, especially
now, because everyone who was older than her seemed to think they
were some kind of expert on grief. They didn ’ t want to listen.
Asking was their way of giving themselves an invitation to talk and
deliver their opinion of what she was doing. She ’ d told him about her
frustrations once, and since then, he ’ d never asked her
about anything she was doing unless she brought it up.
But maybe Jeremy
didn ’ t mind if she asked. Very few people asked him
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