Gray After Dark

by Noelle W. Ihli

The lodgepole pines surrounding the cabin creaked in the chilly breeze, whispering a warning. The underbrush rustled, hinting at creatures seen and unseen. Some hunters. Some prey. Some both.

The sky had settled into early dusk the color of a bruised plum. Still milky indigo at the edges, but shriveling fast. I had maybe an hour until it was fully dark. Already, the round moon peeping into view above the treeline felt like a spotlight, daring me to step into the open. Take my chances and run before they realized what was happening.

No matter how many deer or foxes or owls we came across hiking or skiing, she always got the same look on her face. Pure awe. Pure joy. Every single animal. Every single time.

Opening up your heart is messy—and risky. But keeping your heart locked is risky, too.

I learned that it didn’t actually matter whether you kept your heart open or locked. Twisted metal and broken glass sliced through it either way. So did loss.

“I’ve spent plenty of time in the woods.” “Not these woods,” Wes said solemnly, then ducked his head and turned away.

The smell of charred wood and burnt marshmallows mixed with the smell of pine needles, and I breathed in deep. This was what summer in the mountains was supposed to feel like.

And those baby blue eyes looked black as death.

you know what they say, ‘All cats look gray after dark.’

The sight of her braid swinging a few feet in front of me through the gray dawn, always out of reach. The way she flashed me a look of pure joy when the trail opened up to the frozen marsh, where a herd of deer had gathered to paw at the lilies.

Please don’t give up on me. The words spun through my mind again and again, trying to breathe life into the tiny flame of hope still keeping me going.

“Well, people can change.” Or learn how to manipulate a little better.

But spending time with her was the thing that brought me to life, made me realize that the kind of love I got at home was halfhearted and finite. Drops of water in a bucket.

Miley—and her mom, Jane—loved like the turquoise ocean I’d only seen in postcards. Warm and limitless.

The cool, crisp night air tasted like hope. I filled my lungs with as much of it as I could

I welcomed the darkness. Anymore, it was my only friend.

As long as I was still breathing, I still had another shot.

I’ve got you, Miles, I promised her, same as I did every waking hour.

Hope was one thing. Delusion was another.

daylight was already fading to gray,

Hoping that when I was Mom’s age, I’d be that full of energy. That full of life. That full of fire.

“Opening up your heart is messy—and risky. But keeping your heart spotless is risky too,” Mom insisted, and I committed the words to heart, even if I wasn’t sure I believed them. Mom had a poet’s soul.

But even that trace of tenderness buckled under the lead weight in my chest. There wasn’t room for gratitude or peace or love right now. Pain filled every crack inside me.

Despite the first surgeon’s optimistic prognosis, the ache in my shoulder never went away. Neither did the guilty ache in my chest. And unlike my shoulder, I didn’t expect it to mend.

For once, the ache in my shoulder felt almost comforting in its familiarity.

The way she told me she loved me with so much conviction that never, not once, had I doubted it the way my friends seemed to do when it came to their parents.

Five years’ worth of memories I’d shoved away so hard that I assumed I wouldn’t be able to find them all again. But as the hours dragged past in this black abyss, I realized they hadn’t faded. Instead, they’d just been waiting for me to pull them out one by one, like a hope chest.

I’m so proud of you. For all of it. I love you, Miley. I love you, Mom.

I curled into a ball and clung to the words. I love you, Miley. After a while, I realized they sounded like Brent as much as Mom.

I love you, I told the Brent in my head. I could finally admit it now, at least, after everything. I knew he’d burn the world down searching these woods, even if he thought I was dead. But Rayna had family and friends who loved her, too. And they’d never found her. Please don’t give up on me.

His hand hit just where my original injury had. The epicenter of the pain. I drew in a breath and braced for the inevitable shot of white-hot agony that would follow. It never did.

But I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to sprint into the welcoming arms of the forest and run like hell down any trail I could find.

I told her that I’d dreamed about a baby girl with my blonde hair and his green eyes and that if I didn’t get out of here, I’d lose her before she even had a chance at existing.

Instead of shoving what had just happened to the back of my mind, I fed each sliver of pain to the tiny flame of resistance in my belly. Someday, I’d let it blaze like a torch. Not yet. But soon.

“What if Annabelle did run away?” I asked quietly. “But this is her home,” Mary whimpered. “Maybe she saw what happened to the roosters,” I said. “Freddy will find her if she ran,” Mary sobbed. “He can see her through the trees. He’ll find her.” “He can’t see her through all these trees,” I said firmly, linking my arm through hers. “Look at me.” She did. “Freddy won’t find her, because he doesn’t know her. He thinks she belongs to him, but she doesn’t. She belongs to herself.”

can’t breathe, Miles. I’m going to die. I love you. I found you. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you home.

“And that’s your Brent,” she said, kneeling next to him and resting one hand lightly on the foil blanket. It moved ever so slightly beneath her hand. “The one from your dream. The one you love.” “Yes,” I told her without missing a beat. There was no controlling the wobble in my voice anymore. “He’s the one.” I had no idea if Brent could hear us right now. But I hoped so.

The lodgepole pines surrounding the cabin creaked in the chilly breeze, whispering a warning. The underbrush rustled, hinting at creatures seen and unseen. Some hunters. Some prey. Some both.

Already, the round moon peeping into view above the treeline felt like a spotlight, daring me to step into the open. Take my chances and run before they realized what was happening.

“I love you,” I told him again firmly, hoping that at least once, he’d hear me say it. I wanted to say so much more. That I couldn’t couldn’t imagine living without him. That I was sorry for the time I’d wasted holding him at arm’s length. That I was sorry my guilt over the car accident got tied up with my feelings for him. But there was no time for that.

The markers led me steadily downhill. With every step, the forest felt like less of a labyrinth and more of a final gauntlet that would lead me back to civilization, to safety, to help, if I could just last.

“He’s still breathing,” she cried out, tears streaming down her face. They were the most beautiful words I’d ever heard.

She always looked like a flower in full bloom these days.