Page 88 of Mr. B

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Mr. B?”

“Um…he took a walk, and I guess he lost track of time.”

“That doesn’t sound like him. He wouldn’t miss the last campfire.”

Cassandra patted Bailey’s hand. “Honestly, I’m a bit worried about him.”

“Maybe he’s at the cabin.” She glanced at the dark cabin. “Did you guys have a fight?”

“No.”

“Mom, we can’t just sit here and pretend like everything is okay.”

“I also can’t go look for him and leave Lester here alone.”

“Everyone is fine, Mom. Happy, singing, fine.”

When Lester walked over to them, he smiled at Bailey. “Can you give us a minute, Bailey?”

“Sure.” She got up and left.

Lester sat in the chair. “Something is up, Cassandra.”

“I know. What can we do?”

“I don’t want to worry the kids, but I don’t want to wait until ten to act. If you can keep everyone happy here, I’ll take Robby and Perry and head down the lake trail. Hell, we’ll probably run into him coming back and piss him off for panicking.”

“Okay. I’ve got this.”

“I’m going to try to sneak out of here unnoticed, but if they start asking questions, you’ll need to tell them something.”

“I'll figure it out. Just go find him.”

He nodded, then stood and walked over to Robby. They talked for a moment before making their way to Perry. Cassandra lost sight of them as they left the circle of light cast by the campfire.

After a few failed attempts to stand, Wes knew he wasn’t walking out of there on his own. He slowly and painfully scooted backward, pulling his legs out of the water. He then continued across the path to a nearby tree. He leaned against it until his breathing returned to normal, then took a moment to assess his situation. It wasn’t good. What was good was that he’d stayed on the trail, and when someone, sooner or later, came looking for him, they’d find him.

He was wet from his thighs to his boots, and the shivering started not long after the adrenaline wore off. His jacket wasn’t enough to keep him warm with just a T-shirt underneath, but he pulled the hood up, in case it might make a difference.

He thought about the trout. “I hope you don’t end up on someone's dinner plate, buddy, not after what I’m going through for saving your ass.” He rubbed his knee. It was a familiar pain. A few years ago, he’d torn his meniscus while chasing Abe and Gentry around the family paintball course. It had taken him six weeks to recover. But he could bear weight right away. This time he couldn’t.

He felt his knee. It was starting to swell, and he didn’t know whether his tight, wet jeans would help or hinder. Not much he could do about it, though. He didn’t have a knife or a handy pair of scissors.

He’d grown tired of counting stars, listening for splashes on the lake, and being serenaded by crickets. He was cold and quickly losing hope of being found. He thought about Nick, who was probably comfortably stashed in some pretentious house in Seattle, most likely making his new girlfriend miserable and trying to control Bailey’s life from six hundred miles away.

“Bastard.”

The voices were so faint at first that he didn’t quite trust he’d heard them. Then they got closer, and he knew someone had found him.

“Wes?”

“Over here! I’m here!

Lester, Robby, and Perry were a wonderful sight when they came around the corner and shone a light on him. Lester jogged to him and knelt.