Page 95 of Wayfarers

“Yeah,” I murmur. “More is helping.”

Knox More Lies

If we were to keep ranking lies

I think one of the next most harmless

is pretending to still be in pain

long after it’s subsided

so you can keep feeling

someone’s warmth against you,

like a cat lying in a patch of sun.

Knox

“Should we build a fire?” I ask Sylvie. “I know we don’t really need to but it would be fun to end the day sitting in front of a fire.”

“That does sound fun, doesn’t it.”

Soon it’s crackling away. I miss Sylvie’s arm being around me. The fire’s glow plays across her face, caressing it. I’ve never been jealous of light before.

“You’re going to like this place we’re going tomorrow,” Sylvie says.

“I’m starting to think you and I would have fun visiting a cement factory together.”

“A cement factory?”

“Yeah, doesn’t that sound like it would suck?”

“You know, it sure does.”

“See? Anyway, do you disagree?”

Sylvie looks into the fire with a slight smile and hugs her legs to her chest. “I don’t disagree. I think it would be fun to visit a cement factory with you.” She pauses for a few seconds. “But let’s don’t.”

“No, I certainly wasn’t suggesting we test the hypothesis.” I glance at Sylvie and our eyes meet and she’s so beautiful in the orange flicker that I want to look away but I don’t. Neither does she. “I’m really glad I met you, Sylvie.” I immediately feel myself blush.

“I’m really glad you met me too.” Sylvie switches to a cross-legged seating position and the skin of her knee touches the skin of my thigh. I don’t move and neither does she. We sit like that quietly for a long time, listening to the popping and crackling of the fire as it burns to red embers and the creak of crickets in the dark woods.

Finally, Sylvie says, “Hey tonight, do you want to sleep with—” A long pause. “Winslow?”

Sylvie

“Winslow,” he repeats.

“Yeah, because you should take the bed, and Winslow will whine if he can’t get up in there with you—he really likes being little spoon—”

Knox shakes his head, like a dog getting water out of its ears. “There is no way I’m taking your bed.”

“There is no way you’re sleeping on the ground! Are you serious? You’re already in pain. No, my prescription is one big golden retriever–sized hot-water bottle and a comfy mattress. The featherbed on that thing is great. I can sleep out here.”

“I napped in that bed! I know it’s great! You don’t need to sell it to me!”

“I’m trying to sell this to you! Let me sell it!”