The Devil You Know (14 page)

“It's just—yesterday, the psychic's premonition—she saw a tattoo and a gun.”

“What kind of tattoo?”

“Not one of yours,” I say. “But—”

“Look, there's no good way to say this, but do you think maybe you're overreacting a little bit? I mean, you're putting a lot of stock in the word of a woman who makes up prophecies for a living in a town founded by a man who believed he was led here by ghosts.”

I laugh, mostly at myself. “When you put it like that …”

“I swear to God, Cadie, I will not hurt you.” Noah doesn't try to kiss me, which is a huge relief considering my nerves are still a little jangled. He just touches my arm with gentle fingers and walks his way along the side of
the car to the driver's door. He looks back at me as the door hinge creaks open. “You in?”

I've never had an issue with the fact that my best friend keeps a gun for protection when he's making roadside assistance calls along I-75, so why can't two guys camping their way through a strange state do the same? Florida is full of weirdos—most of them natives. Running my hand through my hair, I look at Noah standing there looking at me. He's waiting for an answer, and I am a sucker for his face all over again.

So I get in the car.

“Cadiebug, where are you?”

Duane doesn't sound mad when I call him from the road, but he doesn't sound especially pleased with me, either. I press a finger to my ear opposite the phone to blot out the rush of the wind.

“Down around Arcadia,” I say. “We're planning to do some canoeing on the Peace River.”

“Is Lindsey Buck with you?”

“She left yesterday morning before I even woke up,” I say. “Texted that she had a family thing and needed to go home.”

“Her mom got a message saying she was with you.”

“That's weird.”

“Very,” he says. “A camper's gone missing up in
Okefenokee Swamp, Lindsey's not answering her phone, and you're off traipsing around Florida with a couple of strangers you met at a party. So you might be able to understand why your dad is a little crazy right now. Truth be told, I'm a little worried, too. You doing okay?”

I've got Molly's head resting on my thigh, and Noah looking at me in the rearview mirror as he drives. “Couldn't be better.”

“As long as we've been friends I've known you to have a stubborn streak,” Duane says. “But what's up with this little rebellion? This ain't like you.”

“I've only been gone two days,” I say. “Dad should be able to manage for two lousy days. I'm tired, Duane, and I hate being made to feel like a selfish bitch over this when I just want to feel like a regular teenage girl again. Even if it's just for a few days.”

“When you coming home?”

“Tomorrow,” I say. “We're going to paddle as far downstream as we can make it in one day, camp overnight, then head back. I promise.”

“If you want, I can come pick you up,” Duane says. “Maybe bring Daniel Boone along for the ride.”

“Maybe.” I probably should have said those things to my dad instead of unloading them on my best friend, but it's nice to get them off my chest. “I'll call you.”

“Be safe,” Duane says. “And if you hear from Lindsey, let us know, okay?”

“Okay.”

It's closing in on noon by the time we're on the water. Noah paddles solo, carrying his dog and a pared-down collection of camping gear, while Matt and I share the second canoe—him in back, me in front, and the big red cooler in the middle.

“I think we're going to get wet,” Noah says, as we head side by side up the Peace River from the landing at Gardner, a few miles north of Arcadia. The water is the same tea-stained brown as the Santa Fe back home. A little narrower. Not quite as shady, although the same kinds of trees line the bank. The current is slow and lazy this time of year so paddling upstream is not hard work. But clouds are thickening in the sky and the bright blue of this morning is working its way toward gray. I think he's right.

“There's a landing with a campground at Zolfo Springs,” Matt says. “It's about thirteen miles, and as long as we don't get lightning we can paddle in the rain.”

“Do you think you'll be able to handle that, Cadie?” Noah asks.

The extent of my experience includes my river picnic with Justin, a two-hour trip I did with my dad when I was a kid (he did all the work), and our visit to Naked Ed the
other day. But a hopeful look hangs on Noah's face, and I want to prove to him—to both of them, really—that I can do this. That I can keep up. “I guess I will.”

Noah's blue-ribbon smile makes me feel as if I've won a contest, and I wish we were together in one canoe, but Matt's been like a third wheel since Lindsey bailed. It doesn't seem fair to make him do everything alone. It's not his fault she's gone.

“Hey, Cadie.” I turn around at the sound of Matt's voice. He takes off his Red Sox baseball cap and leans forward in the canoe to drop it on my head. “This'll help keep the rain off your face if it comes to that, and I have a spare rain jacket in my pack.”

“Will you be okay without it?” The cap is warm and damp with sweat around the band, but the bill throws shade across my face. He knots a blue bandanna around his dark hair. With a day's worth of stubble along his jaw and his hair off his forehead, his resemblance to Noah is profound. They could be brothers.

“I'm good.” Matt winks, and I spin back forward, heat crawling up my neck. He laughs softly, but I don't turn around.

The river is quiet. There are no other boats on the water, so ours are the only voices we hear. We use them sparingly, comparing our progress to the landmarks we pass or asking for another bottle of water from the cooler.
We snack on trail mix and point out deer, herons, or the alligators that stare at us with cold eyes. But mostly we just listen to the creak of the trees, the rolling rattle of gopher frogs, and the rustling of wild turkeys that pay us no mind at all as they forage the riverbank for bugs and seeds.

Matt gives a low whistle as we pass a large tom. “Man, what I wouldn't give for a shotgun right now.”

“Right?” Noah agrees. “Turkey dinner over an open fire.”

The mention of a shotgun calls to mind the handgun in the trunk, and I wonder if Noah is wishing he'd brought it along. Maybe he did. I study the contours of his back, wondering if the gun is stashed in the waist of his shorts under his T-shirt like they do in the movies. Or maybe it's buried in his duffel. Can you even shoot a turkey with a handgun? “Did you bring—”

“I brought a pack rod.” Noah interrupts before I can finish the question, but I get the feeling he knows what I was going to ask. “Maybe we can catch some fish for dinner.”

“That sounds really good.” I don't know whether I'm relieved to change the subject or bothered that he didn't answer my question, but I don't ask again. Maybe I'd rather not know if he has the gun. “If you'll clean them, I'll cook them.”

“Deal.” He grins, and I wish for the millionth time that we were in the same canoe. The distance between us isn't that much—a few yards, maybe—but all I want to do is touch him. Which is both exciting and scary. I don't remember feeling like this with Justin. Not even at the beginning when we were all secret smiles in classes and stolen kisses at my locker. Noah has discovered things about me that Justin will never know. That I didn't even know until last night.

We've paddled for several hours, and the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, when we reach a stretch of riverbank where the forest thins to grazing pastures dotted with cattle. A handful of cows drink along the river's edge and a pair of gangly-legged babies—their nubby horns peeking from behind tan-colored ears—frolic along the bank, following us.

Molly's bark rings sharp and clear, startling me. “She's been so quiet that I completely forgot she was here.”

“She's like that sometimes,” Noah says. “But it's about time for her to have a run. Once we get away from the cows, we'll take a break.”

“We've got to be getting close to town.” Matt speaks for the first time in a while. “Why don't we just head there so if it starts raining we won't be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

The canoes drift along together, bumping gently
against each other, as Noah consults the map from the canoe outpost. “Zolfo Springs is still a ways off. We'll just stop for a couple of minutes to let Molly blow off some steam.”

My butt is sore from sitting all afternoon and I've had to pee for the past hour, so the prospect of stopping sooner rather than later is appealing. “I wouldn't mind a break.”

Matt doesn't look happy about the decision but he doesn't say anything. He simply digs his paddle into the water and our canoe pulls ahead.

We haul the boats onto a sand-and-grass island in the middle of the river. Molly leaps out of Noah's canoe but she doesn't just run. She goes crazy, zooming around the island in wide circles. Splashing into the water. Rolling in the sand. Noah gets out an orange Frisbee with chew marks around the edge and sends it sailing. Molly leaps high off the ground, snatching it right out of the air. Over and over he throws the Frisbee for her and never once does she miss, even when Noah flies it out over the river.

Leaving my clothes on the bank, I wade out into the water and sink down to my neck. A tiny part of me is embarrassed because it's obvious I'm going to the bathroom, but it's such a sweet relief to pee that I don't even care. When I'm finished, I stretch out on a patch of grass to let my bathing suit dry. My arms ache from paddling,
there's a dime-size blister at the base of my middle finger, and I'm exhausted. The sky is darker now and the clouds have closed in the gaps. And I'm praying for the rain to come down hard so I don't have to leave this spot.

“You guys go on without me,” I say, as Matt drops to the ground beside me. “I'm just going to die right here, okay?”

He shoves the ball cap down so it covers my face. “Tired?”

“You have no idea.” I don't bother pushing the cap back up because the darkness on my face feels good and it hurts to lift my arms. “I am having more fun than I've had in a really long time, but I am not a wilderness girl. You guys make it seem way more easy than it is.”

“Yeah, but we have years of experience,” Matt says. “I mean, the first time my parents took me paddling was before I could walk. And Noah eats, sleeps, and breathes wilderness. If that
Into the Wild
dude knew half the shit we do about survival … well, he might not have wound up dead in a bus.”

“You won't catch me testing that theory, though,” Noah says, and I feel the heat of his body as he sprawls out on my other side. When he lifts the cap off my face, his smile is the brightness in a cloud-dark world. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.” I smile back and my heartbeat kicks up a notch as he leans down to kiss me. His lips are warm
and salty from sweat—and he smells like wet dog from letting Molly jump up into his arms—but it doesn't stop me from bringing my own aching arms up around his neck to pull him closer. We haven't touched all day and I just want him against me.

Our mouths are a breath apart when I'm hit in the forehead by a big fat raindrop that trickles down my cheek like sweat. Lightning flashes across the sky over his shoulder, white-hot and jagged.

“Shit.” Noah falls back on the grass. The three of us lie there collecting the rain on our faces, our skin, our clothes, until the space between the drops gets smaller. Feels colder. “Looks like we're spending the night right here.”

I was looking forward to Zolfo Springs. Maybe calling Dad to see if he's still mad. Finding out if Lindsey's made it back home. And maybe talking to Danny. But I'm too tired to even groan. Beside me, Matt gets to his feet and stretches out a hand to help me up. “We need to pitch the tent before it starts pouring.”

We work as quickly as possible to unload the canoes and make camp, but by the time we dive through the tent flap, we're drenched. The rain drums relentlessly on the fabric over our heads and we sit in a soggy row—even Molly—watching millions of tiny drops dance on the surface of the river. Thunder rumbles the air around us, and
each time lightning crackles it looks like the sky is being torn in two.

“So much for fishing.” Noah peels off his T-shirt and throws it out into the rain-soaked grass since it can't really get any wetter. He leans back, propping himself on a rolled-up sleeping bag.

Matt nods. “No building a fire, either.”

“Yes, but …” Rain spatters on my head and shoulders as I dig through the cooler—just outside the tent flap—grabbing beers for Noah and Matt, Coke for me, and a plastic baggie of slightly watery cheese cubes. My hair is dripping again when I pull back inside. “If the crackers are dry, we've got ourselves dinner.”

Noah laughs a little. “Damn, Cadie, so fancy.”

“I know, right? You should see what I can do with a box of macaroni and cheese and a pound of ground beef.” I hand him an only-a-little-bit-damp cracker with a cube of Colby Jack on top, and he pops it into his mouth. “I'm practically Betty Crocker.”

“My mom used to cook the meat with a packet of taco mix and then add the mac and cheese.” Noah opens his beer and foam bubbles out, cascading down the side of the can and dripping all over his already wet shorts. He doesn't miss a beat. “If we had a jar of jalapeños, she'd throw those in, too.”

“Yep.” I nod, arranging the crackers and cheese on a
paper plate as if we are somewhere nicer than a too-crowded tent in the Middle of Nowhere, Florida. “My little brother loves it, too.”

“Well, yeah.” Noah smiles. “That shit's delicious. Of course, Matty doesn't know about the wonders of ramen noodles and boxed mac and cheese. Kid's first solid food was lobster served with a silver spoon.”