In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,42

sounding slightly embarrassed. “What about you? Got anybody back home?”

“No.” It sounded abrupt, but he didn’t know what else to add. So he changed the subject, straightening up to put them at eye level again. “Thanks for offering to let me stay.”

“You’re welcome,” Hunter said.

“You’re not sick of me?” Once again, what was meant as a quip came out weirdly sincere.

“Well, you’re boring me to tears,” Hunter said, drawing him close again. “But I’ll live.”

Chapter 18: Ball & Chain

It was easy to become pensive in Hunter’s quiet company. As they headed back toward town, James thought about the day’s events and watched the now familiar scenery pass by. It occurred to him—not for the first time, but with far more clarity—that this would have all played out much differently without Hunter. Which was to say it would have been exponentially more miserable. Well, quite possibly, he’d be dead.

“I won’t forget what you’re doing,” James said, not looking at Hunter.

Hunter huffed softly. “What’s that mean?”

“Going out of your way for me. Ever since I got here.”

“I haven’t, really. It’s no big deal.”

“Maybe not to you.” James watched the trees fly by, absent-mindedly searching for glimpses of the river. “I was fucked up when I left New York. Seriously, I was…in trouble.” He thought of those nights by the window, staring at the bridge. Had it really only been days since he felt his will to live slipping away? It seemed ludicrous, now, that he’d ever felt that way. “I feel a lot better now.”

“That’s good,” Hunter murmured. There was a long silence. Elvis was playing, barely audible. ‘All Right Blues.’

“Have you ever felt your whole life just…cut?” James asked suddenly, surprising himself. “Just felt it stop, like…I don’t know, like the tape ran out?”

Hunter didn’t respond at first, but when James glanced at him, he was chewing his lip as if in deep thought. James turned to look out the window again, not minding the silence.

“When I was thirteen,” Hunter finally said, “my sister killed herself.”

James looked at him quickly. That’s why you get it, he thought with sudden understanding, and a weird new feeling opened up in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

The next mile or so was quiet. Elvis gave way to Johnny Cash, ‘Ain’t No Grave.’ Being in Hunter’s truck reminded him of that first night on River Road. At the time, he’d marveled at how comfortable he felt with Hunter. Now, it didn’t even surprise him that Hunter would share something so personal with him. Why wouldn’t he? He’d heard enough of James’s problems.

“It was rough after she died,” Hunter said, breaking the silence. “I had a hard time without her. Been about fourteen years now, and I can still get real down about it, if I’m not careful.”

“How old was she?”

“Sixteen. And three weeks.” Hunter smiled faintly. “And two days.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry.” James tried to imagine going through this kind of pain at thirteen. “That must have been hell.”

“Yeah.” Hunter’s brow was furrowed in thought, as if he was considering his words carefully. “Didn’t have many people to turn to. I was mad and miserable all the time. Took years to level out, to be honest. But I always felt better when I was here. I think it matters, where you are.”

“Yeah,” James murmured. “I think that’s true.”

“If you feel better at my place, you should be there all you want. I don’t mind. It’d make me feel good, if it helped.” He glanced over at James. “Okay?”

“Okay.” The weird new thing in James’s chest moved again. He didn’t feel like questioning Hunter’s generosity anymore. “Thank you.”

They entered Spruce, and Hunter turned onto the main road that would lead to Brooks. James examined the town as they rode through, still charmed by its anachronistic strangeness. Hunter was right. It mattered where you were. James knew that better than most people, didn’t he? He’d always been helplessly tuned into his surroundings. It was why he kept searching for a place that felt just right.

Somehow, this was the closest he’d ever gotten to finding it. So close it felt like he was almost right on top of it.

“It matters who you’re with, too,” James said quietly, keeping his gaze aimed out the window. “Don’t you think?”

“Well, everybody knows that.”

James turned to look at him, and then his attention was pulled to the stereo, where Kurt Cobain was shrieking through ‘School.’ An easy smile curved his lips as he relaxed in his seat, looking out the window again. Talk could