bin further down the row. Then we get back to work. My legs are sore from climbing three four-thousand footers in as many days. And I’m weary to the bone from lack of sleep.
Last night I got eight hours in the farmhouse behind a locked door. But it barely made a dent in my exhaustion. The AMC huts were—as I’d remembered—the perfect aversion therapy setup for someone who’s unable to fall asleep near others. Aversion therapy forces you to confront the things that freak you out. It’s supposed to prove to your psyche that there’s no reason to be afraid.
It’s controversial, because patients hate it. And many therapists hate it too. Who wants to make their patients cry or have a crisis?
On the other hand, it works. For example, teens who experience social anxiety often respond very quickly to aversion therapies that force them to engage with strangers in an otherwise safe environment.
That’s the idea, anyway. And it’s true that my nights in the various mountaintop huts forced me to confront my phobias. I felt twitchy even walking into that room to put my pack down on the bed before supper. There were eight beds—four sets of bunk beds built into the walls of the place.
Just looking at those bunks gave me a creepy feeling. “Can I take the top?” I’d asked as Dylan removed his pack.
“Sure,” he’d said easily.
I’d put my pack onto the top bunk and walked right out of there again. But a few hours later I’d found myself climbing onto that damn bed, dread pooling in my stomach. Even the creak of the wooden ladder made me edgy.
It didn’t make a lick of sense, either. The other hikers were chipper twenty-somethings like us, full of smiles and good manners. The bed was comfortable enough. And there was a cool mountain breeze blowing through the open windows.
But it didn’t matter. I lay awake for hours, listening to other people snore peacefully. They got their much needed rest, while all I got was angry.
Up until last week, I’d believed that all my troubles were the result of a physical injury. I’d felt stupid knowing that my own recklessness had upended my life. But it still felt like something that could happen to anybody. Just a dose of stupidity compounded by some bad luck.
Now I didn’t know what to think. What kind of trauma was so awful that I could have forgotten it just to protect myself? That’s ridiculous, especially when all I really want is to remember.
It was just a bump on the head, I’d insisted to myself at three or four in the morning.
But why then couldn’t I sleep? And what’s with the panic attacks?
There aren’t any answers for me in the orchard today. I take another dropped apple in hand and hurl it at the compost bin with such force that it bounces right back out again and hits Dylan in the ass.
He whips around. “What the hell was that?”
“Sorry,” I clip. “Bad bounce.”
He squints at me. And I must look half deranged, because he looks concerned instead of angry. “Are you okay today? You seem off.”
“I’m just tired,” I growl. “The whole sleeping near strangers thing didn’t really work for me.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry. It was a bad idea.”
“It was my idea to try it,” I insist. “And I’ll live.”
After a beat, Dylan decides not to worry about it. He turns around and picks up another apple.
God bless the Shipleys. Dylan is as solid as they come. Like his whole family.
I never should have gotten myself involved with Daphne. What a dumb idea that was. Who’d want a piece of this?
Bending over for the four hundredth time, I find myself thinking about her at work in Burlington. What's she doing right now? Plotting to take over the world, probably.
I smile like a fool. But then I remember the look on her face this morning when Dylan told her I wasn’t going to Burlington today. Disappointment.
That bothered me. I’m basically famous for disappointing her by now. Let's review—first I stood her up. Then I came on strong and freaked out in bed. It’s going to be a while before I can think about that afternoon without wanting to slink off somewhere and hide.
“Hey, Rick?” Dylan interrupts my self-recriminations.
“Yeah?” I stand up and face him.
“I gotta ask—are we still looking at a pretty low monthly rent in Burlington for this coming year?”
“Yeah, of course. Nothing's changed. I’m just asking you guys to help me cover the