She begins to walk down the hallway. She stops at each open doorway, leaning in. She knocks at the closed doors; opens these too. Some rooms are neat, others chaotic. In all of them she detects the scent of men: their deodorant, their aftershave; beneath these trappings their sweat and shit and semen.
• • •
She’s almost finished checking the second floor when she hears the creak of someone coming up the stairs.
She tenses. She feels fearful without knowing exactly why. She trusts everyone who works at this camp. Likes most of them, too, with the exception of a couple of counselors who seem more interested in partying than doing their jobs.
“Hello?” Louise says again, and at last the word is returned to her.
“Hello,” says Lee Towson, emerging from the stairwell. “Hi.”
He’s bare-torsoed and tan. His golden hair is one-quarter damp. As always, she takes a moment to appreciate his physical form. He is the only man she’s ever looked at in this way—the way she imagines she herself is appraised by others.
“What are you doing here?” says Louise. “Isn’t it breakfast?”
“What are you doing here?”
“My camper’s gone missing,” says Louise. “We’re searching the grounds.”
“Which one? Not,” says Lee, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Barbara.”
“Shit.”
Louise nods. And then, suddenly, without notice, her face crumples, her shoulders heave. She lets out a shuddering gasp.
“Oh no,” says Lee, in genuine alarm. He comes to her, puts his arms around her. She turns her cheek, presses it into his bare chest. He is much taller than she is—most men are—and she feels engulfed by him in a way that normally makes her nervous. But this feels different: she feels safe here. Even through her tears she is aware of her body lighting up, pressing itself into him.
This is one of the few sheer pleasures Louise knows in life: the near-otherworldly feeling of touching another human’s body with your own body in a way that, for the first time, transcends mere friendliness. These are the times in her life that Louise has felt most acutely the animal nature of her humanity, and therefore they have been the most comforting. To be a human is complex, and often painful; to be an animal is comfortingly simple and good.
After a moment they each step back.
“Where’s your shirt?” says Louise, and he grins. “Maple syrup accident,” he says. He extends an arm, showing her the balled-up cotton T-shirt he’s been holding. Then he starts down the hallway, stops before a door.
“I have to keep searching,” says Louise.
“I just need a new shirt,” he says. “Then I’ll help you.”
“Don’t they need you in the kitchen?”
“Breakfast is made,” he says. “They’ll be fine.”
He opens the door to what must be his room. She follows. Lee nods toward the bed on the right—neatly made, Louise notices—and tells her to have a seat. He tosses his old shirt into a hamper. Pulls on a new one.
“How’s your fiancé today?” says Lee, without looking in her direction. She can hear a certain emphasis on the word. Laughter underneath it.
“I don’t know,” says Louise. “Haven’t talked to him.”
Lee raises an eyebrow.
“Embarrassed, I guess,” says Louise. “Probably has a shiner.”
At this, Lee grins. Looks down at the ground, mock-penitent. “Sorry about that,” he says.
“You shouldn’t be. He had it coming.”
Lee hesitates, deciding whether to say something. And then: “You know we know each other. Him and me, I mean.”
Louise did not. Lee reads this on her face. Shrugs apologetically.
“How?” says Louise.
Lee clears his throat. Looks away. “I’m afraid,” he says, “that I am unable to answer that question directly. On the grounds of client confidentiality.”
She can read him. She wants to ask: What was he buying from you? A little grass would be fine. Psychedelics are out of the question—John Paul has no interest in those. It’s cocaine she’s afraid of. This is the drug John Paul likes best, and also—after a particularly bad episode between them—one he swore to her he would never use again.
But she won’t ask Lee. It’s too humiliating.
“You been together a long time?” he says.
“Four years,” says Louise.
“You really gonna get married?”
This catches Louise off guard. “Maybe,” she says.
“You know,” says Lee, “you oughta mess around a little before you do. My advice.”
