The Distance Between Lost and Found (18 page)

“Neither did I!” He lunges sideways with a loud whoop, misses his footing, and sits down in the water. He's up again in a second, shaking himself off like a dog. “But I'm not going to stop until the fish get smart enough to figure out what I'm doing and—” Lunge. Splash. Up. Shake. “—run away!”

“Run?”

“Whatever!”

Hallelujah can't stop smiling. Jonah puts another fish in her bag, and another, and another. The bag's getting heavy. It jerks and lurches, trying to escape her grip. She loops her arms through the shoulder straps, keeps her hand by the zipper. At the ready.

Jonah's hair sprays water each time he flips around, in search of another fish. Droplets shimmer on his skin. He's really cute. And Hallelujah can't help but think about last night. About him liking her. He flashes her a smile, and something inside her swoons.

The thrashing fish bring her back to reality. When she opens the bag to let Jonah put one more in, a fish escapes. It flops around on the ground by her feet, and she squeals. Jonah drops the fish he's holding into the bag and grabs at the one on the ground. It slips from his grip once, twice, but the third time he gets it.

“Bag bag bag bag bag!” he says, and she's right there.

When that fish is secure, Jonah sits down beside her. Both of them are panting a little, excitement and effort mingling. Hallelujah's heart is beating fast. She tells herself it has nothing to do with Jonah sitting next to her. Nothing at all.

Jonah catches his breath and then stands up, using her shoulder to ease himself back down into the creek. He wades out to the middle, looking around. “I don't see any more,” he says. “How many did I get?”

“Six. I think.” She's not opening up the bag to count.

“That's plenty. For now.” He wades back over to the bank. He shakes himself off again. Says, “Brrrr!” Squeezes some water from his hair. Hoists the writhing backpack onto his back, and then extends his hand to Hallelujah to pull her up. He wraps an arm around her waist to help her back to their campsite. She can feel the backpack jerking back and forth beside her.

The fish, fighting to live. The prospect of eating an actual meal. Jonah's arm around her. The ease between them.

All little miracles.

J
ONAH PEELS OFF HIS WET SHIRT AND SPREADS IT OUT ON
the ground in the sun. For a second, all Hallelujah can see is his bare skin. She blushes and looks away, not turning back until she hears the zip of his jacket closing. Now he's looking at her. She doesn't know if he caught her staring.

“That's better.” He shivers a little, rubbing his hands on his arms. “I can't believe you two were in that cold water so long yesterday! At least it's getting warmer out.” He jumps up and down in place like he's prepping for a run. “So I'll get more wood for the fire,” he says, “if you figure out how to cook the fish. Chef Calhoun.” He grins and heads into the woods.

Hallelujah smiles too, riding the high of fish, food, Jonah. She looks at the backpack. It rolls over onto one side, all on its own. That's when she remembers that she's never actually butchered a fish, much less killed one.

“Do you think they'll just . . . die?” she asks Rachel. “Or do we have to do it?”

Rachel still has one arm slung across her face, blocking the sun's light. “No idea,” she says.

“And then, do you think I should cook them whole, or try and make fillets?”

“Don't ask me. You're the cook.”

“Well, do you want to help? You like biology. Want to do some dissecting?”

“No.”

Hallelujah's high drops, just a little. “Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not,” Rachel snaps. “I'm starving and exhausted and I know Jonah said it's warming up but I still feel cold. Also, my legs itch and the blisters are going to pop and it's
disgusting
. And last night was really, really scary and I had awful dreams and—” Her voice catches. “And I just want to go home.”

Hallelujah is quiet for a moment. Then, she hands over her jacket. “Put this on,” she says. “I bet a hot breakfast will help. It'll help all of us. You just rest. Okay?”

A grunt from Rachel as she pulls the extra layer over herself like a blanket.

Jonah comes out of the woods with a huge pile of sticks. “Well, chef?” he asks.

“Um,” Hallelujah says. “I didn't get very far.” But she eyes a few of the long, sturdy sticks and gets an idea. “What if we sharpen some of those on one end and spike the fish? We can roast them? Like marshmallows?”

Jonah nods. “That should work.”

“And then we can peel off the skin once they're cooked. Pick out the bones.”

“Sounds good.” Jonah looks at Rachel. “No comments from the peanut gallery?”

“She's not feeling great,” Hallelujah says, before Rachel can snap at him, too.

“Well. Food will help.”

“That's what I said.”

“Great minds.” Jonah flashes Hallelujah another quick smile, and then he hands her his pocketknife and three sticks. “Here. Whittle these into skewers. Make a point, and peel off the bark. We should put the fish on clean wood. Ever use a pocketknife?”

She shakes her head no.

“Okay. Always push the blade out, away from you. Like this.” He makes a slicing motion. “And keep your other hand out of the way. Think you can handle it?”

Now she sticks her tongue out at him. It just happens, and it clearly surprises him, because he laughs.

They get to work. Jonah rebuilds last night's embers into a new fire. Hallelujah whittles. And a few minutes later, she realizes she's humming. “Amazing Grace,” of all things. She's timing the strokes of her knife to the song's 6/8 beat.

She's humming
out loud
. Sending notes into the air. She can hear herself.

Her chest constricts. She stops. “Sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Jonah says.

“What's with all the flirting?” Rachel grumbles from the ground.

Hallelujah and Jonah swing around to look at her. Embarrassment fills the air. Jonah clears his throat and keeps fanning the little flames he's created. Hallelujah finishes one skewer, sets it in her lap, and begins another. She notices that the backpack is still.

When the fire is crackling and the skewers are done, Hallelujah unzips it. The fish lie in a heap. Hallelujah is surprised that there's not a fishy smell. Not even a little. The backpack smells like the creek, like mud and grass and fresh air.

“You do it,” she blurts, handing Jonah one of her sharpened sticks. “I can't.”

“Okay.” He picks up a fish. Holds the stick in the other hand. Frowns. Nods. And then he skewers the fish from the tail to just below the head, longways. The stick makes a squishing sound when it goes in, and both of them wince. But he shakes the stick a little, and the fish stays on. “Here,” he says, handing it to Hallelujah. She holds it over the fire.

He skewers two more fish. Starts roasting them. And they wait.

The fish droop on their sticks. Their skins brown. Juice drips into the fire, and it sizzles and smokes.

The scent is amazing. Maybe it's that they haven't had anything other than energy bars and dandelions and a banana and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich since Monday, but it's possibly the best smell Hallelujah has ever smelled. Her mouth is watering. Her stomach growls, loudly.

“Me too,” Jonah answers, without taking his eyes off the fish.

Rachel finally sits up. “That smells good,” she says, a little begrudgingly.

When the skins are almost black, Hallelujah pulls her fish back out of the fire. Jonah does the same. They set them down on a large leaf. Pull the skewers out. Hallelujah sucks her smarting fingers. They taste like food, and she almost can't stand it. Almost rips into the fish right then and there. Despite the bones. Despite the sizzling.

Jonah skewers the other three fish and hands one to Rachel. “Keep it turning,” he says. “Hallie, you ready?”

“Yeah. Just letting them cool a little.”

She washes her hands in the creek, and then she breaks the fish apart. She pulls flaky, white meat out, removes slender white bones, and scrapes the oily skin with her fingers. It's not pretty. But it's food.

When she's pulled out all the meat she can, she separates it into three equal piles on plates made from energy bar wrappers. Three deconstructed fish fillets.

“I think these are done,” Jonah says, examining his fish. “How's yours?” he asks Rachel.

“Done.” She's staring at the fish with raw desire.

“Great. We'll put them down over here and Hallie can—”

“Let's eat,” Hallelujah interrupts. “While those cool. Please.” She doesn't wait for an answer. She hands out the little piles.

They dig in. Fingers scooping up fish, tongues licking lips. The fish has no seasoning except the smoke from the fire, but it's warm and it's solid and it's delicious. Hallelujah barely stops to breathe before her pile is gone. She gasps. She licks each finger, slowly, savoring. She closes her eyes. Inhales the smell of burnt fish. Relishes the feeling of food in her belly.

Rachel burps. Loudly. It startles Hallelujah's eyes open. “Nice,” she says.

“Sign of a satisfied diner,” Rachel says. “Can we eat the other ones now?”

Hallelujah stares longingly at the three cooling fish. But she says, “We should probably save them for later. Right, Jonah?”

Rachel wrinkles her nose. “Fine.” Then she grins. “Jonah, your name is Jonah, and you just fed us a bunch of fish.”

Jonah pauses before saying, “And?”

“And it's funny. Jonah was eaten by a big fish. We just ate fish caught by Jonah.”

“Because I've never heard that before. When eating fish.”

“You know what I thought when I smelled it cooking?” Now Rachel grins at Hallelujah.

Hallelujah knows what's coming. “No,” she says anyway.

“I thought, ‘Hallelujah!'” Rachel crows. “Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be here all week. Wait—I've already been here all week.”

Jonah is shaking his head. “You're nuts,” he says to Rachel.

“You know you like it,” Rachel says, voice breezy. She curls up on the ground, pulling Hallelujah's jacket tight around her. “I'm going back to sleep. So you two can get back to whatever you do while I'm not around.”

Jonah almost chokes on his last bite of fish.

Hallelujah feels her face getting hot. Again. What's changed since yesterday? And is it so obvious that Rachel can sense it without being told? Or was she listening last night? No, she was asleep. Definitely asleep.

Hallelujah, meanwhile, feels more awake than she's ever felt in her life. She's filthy and scratched up and injured and scared, but the sun is warming the ground she's sitting on, warming her face, and her stomach is full of food they caught and prepared themselves, without anyone's help. She's alive, against the odds, and they're doing okay. It's a new day. A day when anything can happen.

Anything
, she thinks, looking at Jonah.
Anything at all
.

R
ACHEL NAPS AS
J
ONAH TURNS THEIR COOKING FIRE INTO A
signal fire. She naps as Hallelujah dismantles the other three fish and puts the meat into a plastic sandwich bag that held a PB&J all those days ago. She naps as the sun rises higher in the sky.

Jonah and Hallelujah don't talk for a long time. They complete their tasks. They work with a quiet efficiency, both because they don't want to disturb the peace of this beautiful morning and because they still need to conserve energy. Even with fish for breakfast, even feeling pleasantly full for the first time in days, they're both very conscious of their bodies' weakness and exhaustion.

But eventually, there's nothing left to do. Jonah sits down next to Hallelujah. “It's weird,” he says, “but this feels normal.”

“We've been out here too long,” Hallelujah answers. “Bet our beds will feel weird when we get home.”

“Nope. No way.” Jonah shakes his head emphatically. “My bed will feel
amazing
. You never got to lie in it, but if you did, you'd—” He stops abruptly. Clamps his mouth shut. Blinks a few times.

Hallelujah looks at him, curious. And then her mind catches up to his:
He imagined me in his bedroom
.

He sees her face change and it's like it flips a switch in him. “I didn't mean it like that. I meant my bed is so soft, you have to lie on it, like a science experiment, not like—not like—”

“Not like you want me in your bed,” Hallelujah says softly. And then she feels giddy. She can't believe she just said that out loud.

“Well—I mean—I just—”

She can tell his mind's going all kinds of places. She kind of likes it. Feeling like she has this power over him. But after relishing it for a moment, she puts him out of his misery.

“I knew what you meant,” she says, “and it's fine. Really.”

He visibly exhales, all of him sagging back into his arms. And he sits there, locked elbows, shoulders pushed up. “You feel it too,” he says to the fire. “Right?”

She thinks about her answer. They might never go home. This might be it. She has to face that possibility. Every day out here is borrowed time.

“I feel it too,” she says. The thing that's changed between them. The sparks that weren't there before. At least, not for Hallelujah.

“What do you think we should do?” His voice is not much more than a whisper.

Hallelujah glances at Rachel, sound asleep. “I don't know,” she says. She can feel Jonah tense and warm beside her, the air between their arms crackling. “I don't know,” she says again.

Silence. In Hallelujah's head, the creek becomes a roaring river. The birds in the trees overhead seem to multiply; their calls drown out her thoughts.