Page 17 of Lost With My Enemy

"I'm locking them anyway."

She disappears into the bedroom with her suitcase, and I set up the pull-out couch. The mattress is thin but serviceable. My sleeping bag goes on top. Phone on the floor. Camera bag beside it.

Through the door, I can hear Elise on the phone. Fragments of a call with Sloane.

"... the canoe flipped, Sloane. In a lake. In northern Ontario."

A pause. Then: "No, I don't want to talk about why I got in the canoe."

Another pause, longer. Then, quieter: "Because he asked. And I said yes. And I don't know when I started saying yes to things."

My chest does the thing again. The tightening. The warmth that spreads through my ribs when she says something unguarded, something the version of Elise who laminated an itinerary would never admit out loud.

Kenzie's number glows on my phone screen. We haven't talked in four days, which is a long stretch for us.

Hey Kenz. driving through superior country. it's gorgeous up here

omg are you actually enjoying Canada instead of just photographing it

Funny

mom would be proud. she always said you needed to stop looking through the lens and start looking with your eyes. her actual words btw

I know

so who's the girl

Three dots. Delete. Three dots again.

What girl

Jax you've texted me about the scenery three times this week. you NEVER text about scenery. you just post it. something's different. who is she

she's a passenger. friend of a friend. I’m driving her to Calgary

And?

and nothing. she's organized and opinionated and she reviewed me on socials before she agreed to get in my truck

I love her already

you don't know her

I know she made you notice the scenery instead of just shooting it. that's enough. call me when you figure out what's scaring you

nothing's scaring me

sure bro. love you. say hi to the moose

My phone goes dark. The basement suite is quiet except for the water heater clicking somewhere behind the wall. Through the bedroom door, Elise has gone quiet too. Probably writing in her planner, colour-coding tomorrow's schedule. Probably filing the moose under M and the canoe under C and whatever she's feeling under a tab she hasn't labelled yet.

Kenzie's wrong. Nothing's scaring me.

Except the possibility that in nine more days, this truck is going to pull into Calgary, and Elise Boyd is going to get out, and I'm going to have to figure out what my life looks like without the woman who brings order to my chaos and fights a soggy tomato with the intensity of a litigator.

Except that.

The dream catcher swings gently on the rearview mirror when the wind comes through the window. Blue and white threads. Mom's favourite colours.