people out to hunt, or to camp, or just to hike for the day. There are fewer customers during the cold months, but I do take some ice-fishers out, skiers, things of that nature. But I save my money so I’m fine working less in the winter. Eventually, I’ll take some classes. But . . . oh, you didn’t ask about that. So, yes, I bring people out here for my job. To, um, enjoy the soul-filling beauty of nature,” she finished, a tilt to her lips. There was a word for that kind of lip tilt . . . what was it? Some kind of smile that was . . . she was trying to be funny in a sort of way? Was that right?
She talked a lot and moved from one subject to the next. Keeping up with her was hard. He had to go back over what she’d said in his mind in order to understand what to respond to.
“You don’t believe the beauty of nature fills a person’s soul?” he finally asked.
She gave him a surprised look. “Oh. I mean, no. I mean, yes, I do. It just sounded like a cheesy thing to say. But . . . being in the wilderness, it’s brought me peace on occasion when I needed it.” She gave him a quick look before stepping over a rock sticking out of the snow. “What about you? Does the beauty of nature fill your soul?” She smiled at him—so pretty—and all thoughts left his head. He looked away so he could think again.
He thought about the things he loved best about nature, about home . . . the long days of summer when his belly was full of fresh fish and sweet berries, and his skin was warm. The way the fireflies flashed in the wavy blue of not-yet night, the way the wolves sang love songs to their mates, their voices rising high and clear to the full yellow moon, so beautiful the whole forest stopped to listen. The way the gophers laughed with their big-toothed grins as they made trouble and played tricks on each other, and the way the birds greeted the morning light, glad and thankful for another day.
But he also thought of the cold that stabbed his bones, the loneliness that felt like a dark pit of sadness yawning wide, the wild pigs with their crazy eyes and blood-chilling shrieks, and the terrible pain of being hunger-sick. “Fill?” he finally said, his voice low and quiet. “No. But it’s saved me. And . . . punished me. If there are things that might fill my soul, I haven’t found them yet.”
Yet. A hopeful word, he thought. And it surprised him to know he still had some. Even a little.
She was silent for a long while and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him with the strangest look on her face. A new and different one he couldn’t put a word to. He’d said too much . . . in a way others did not. Maybe. But she didn’t look upset with him just . . . surprised and . . . something else that he also didn’t have a word to describe. He looked away, pretending to think about which direction to go in, even though he knew exactly where to go.
“Well, I . . . hope you find it. The thing that fills your soul.”
Or maybe most of my soul is dead. He didn’t say that, though. It was the thing he wondered about in his most private self. The thing he was afraid of. Another part that had been stolen from him that he could never get back.
“Anyway,” she went on, after he’d stayed silent, “you’re right. Nature can be beautiful, but cruel. I know that too.”
He thought maybe she did. “You look for the car then? Is that why you come here? Is that why you do your job?” I would, he thought. If my family was out here somewhere—dead or alive—I’d look for them too.
She stopped and so did he, turning to her. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was twisted in a weird shape. She looked off to the side and then back at him. “Mostly,” she said, very softly, a quick stop in the middle of the word that made it sound like she had something in her throat. He thought he saw tears in her eyes, and the speed of his heartbeat picked up. Don’t