“It’s not like I set my sights on you or turned it into some weird obsession,” I said. “It’s just that whenever I met someone and tried to l...ke him—and I did try—it never seemed right because he wasn’t… you.” That last word came out sounding more frustrated than I’d intended. My breathing turned harsh and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. “Lucy, stop for a second.” Owen walked away from me to slip off his jacket and drape it over the back of one of the couches. He tugged at the knot on. Seven miles later, we rolled into Camp Navarro. A village of planned and impromptu shelters nestled into the forest and down to the river south of the highway. Accommodations ranged from large military-style tents, to plastic tarps strung over ropes between the trees, to rusty truck-camper shells set on the ground, to dugout redwood logs. Backhoe trenches in a grove just north of the highway were used as latrines. — I pitched my pop-up tent near the main Madhouse tent. Dark lithe Tahoe and pale. More

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