Crossroads/Borrowed Lives — 2026-03-03 (Patreon)

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Chapter 21: CHANGE NEEDED by Evan Calder

After a second night of camping, I want to say there is a vast difference between sleeping and simply getting through the night. Last night was mostly about getting through—and mostly NOT about the hard ground.

I believe the men reading this will fully relate, and the women reading it will understand. The nature by which humans were created does not disappear simply because we want it to.

So, this job has Mara and me acting like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. We pretend that we’re dating, but we’re not dating really. Or at least we’re pretending that we’re not dating. Or we are dating and pretending it’s something different by name.

Honestly, if you were to look only at the behaviors, you’d have but one conclusion.

Our first night in the tent sleeping side-by-side with only our sleeping bags, self-discipline, and moral values between us wasn’t terrible. The ground was—explaining why the owner offers air mattresses for sale. Once we got over being nervous, we talked in whispers and eventually fell asleep.

That comfort carried into the following day.

We’re saving our phone batteries and backup batteries and don’t really want to fire up a motorcycle to charge anything, so on our way here, we picked up a couple of magazines and books.

Being alone in the woods, there was no reason to pretend we were dating. No one was watching. It was just the two of us.

But I caught myself more than once touching her arm or hand with gestures that could only be seen as affectionate. She responded with smiles. She initiated similar touches, too—a gentle shoulder bump, gently straightening out my messy hair, reaching for my hand to help her get up, then holding it longer than needed.

At one point we were reading and she rolled back, holding up her foot to me. “How stained are my feet?”

It was cute. It was definitely not, by my way of thinking, something partners on a security mission would do.

“Pretty stained.”

“Should I get a wet wipe?”

“Why bother unless you plan on wearing shoes afterwards.”

“Good point.”

We’ve gone far past anything resembling the border of discomfort and are well across it into the territory where couples exist. We are so comfortable that as we were about to get into the tent, she sniffed herself and invited me to weigh in on if she smelled bad.

“You smell like the ground and the forest,” I said, then added without hesitation, “How about me?”

She nuzzled my chest from the side. “I can still smell your deodorant but the scent of dirt is winning. There’s a hint of b.o. but I’ve smelled worse.”

Following that level of comfort and closeness, we wet-wiped our faces, arms, and feet, and got into the sleeping bags. Plural. Separate.

It took every ounce of my conviction to not pull her bag over closer to mine. I did not consider anything beyond that—but I tossed and turned through most of the night.

I was not unaware of her restlessness either. Fleeting thoughts wondered if she were feeling anything remotely like what I was feeling. Or thinking, perhaps.

I cycled through dozing off and tossing and turning. I was in a doze phase when she stirred again, this time backing into me. Think of spooning, but both of us were facing different directions.

That was the first time we’d actually touched—of course, there were two layers of sleeping bags between us. And don’t forget about our self-discipline and moral values. Still there, still working.

Aware of her, though, I woke up. I sat up in the tent, and that roused her, too.

“What’s wrong?” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I need to tell you something.”

I realized that was a terrible opening line. There would be no hedging after that.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mara, I think the only way this job is going to work long term is if we’re honest and open.”

“Yeah…” She was waking up more and more. “Are you okay? You’re not going to quit are you?”

“I don’t want to quit the job. But I can’t sleep like this. It was a mistake to think we could share a tent. Not after however long we’ve been kissing goodnight and holding hands all day.”

Mara nodded. “So, let me be honest. I want to make a joke that might break the ice or it might hurt your feelings. So, I’m going to skip it.”

There was no way I was letting that go. “Oh… no… It’s a joke… I want to know.”

“I was going to pretend to be offended and say something about you being like every other typical man—one-track mind!”

“Okay,” I replied. “That could have gone either way. But people were created to keep the species going… So that one track mind sort of fits.”

That seemed to embarrass her. “Okay, but your moral compass makes you different. I respect that. And I trust you. And you trust me, too, right?”

“I do. But we really shouldn’t put ourselves in a situation where the only thing keeping us on true north is our willpower.”

“Wow…” Mara smiled. “That was so good, I want to give you a kiss.”

“Yeah… hold that thought until the sun comes up. I’m going to give up on the hard ground and walk to the latrine.”

As I was getting out of the sleeping bag and putting my shoes on, she said, “So how do we go forward from here? I don’t want to abort the job.”

“Let’s keep it simple,” I said. “We buy another tent.”

She smiled. “Okay… Plan.”

I was outside and a step away when she called out. “Evan…”

I answered from where I stood. “Yes?”

Her voice carried just a slight quiver. “If we have two tents, can you walk me to the door and kiss me goodnight?”

I smiled, though she couldn’t see it. “We can probably work that out.”

Chapter 22: GOING… HOME by Liza McDuffy

My twenty-three years of life have been one curveball after another. Starting when I was five, things were hard for my parents, and we bounced through relatives’ spare rooms and homeless shelters for about eight years.

I pieced together grants, scholarships, and work-study jobs to get my last semester in college. I made it.

And by the grace of God, I got a paid internship with a highly regarded firm.

In the last week, the curveballs changed from being problems to being—surprisingly delightful. I’ve gone from friendless to being part of a crazy community of unbelievably nice people.

And I’ve gone from homeless to feeling like I have a home.

Today ended with me at a drafting station on my division’s floor. It was time to go, but I wanted to get to the end of some notes I was taking off the computer.

The elevator opened, and Merritt came out. He had no other reason to be on that floor other than to find me.

“You about ready to go?”

“Just a minute more,” I replied.

He pulled up a chair. “No rush. I figured we could go to the train together and make sure we get on the same car.”

“Where’s Hannah?” I asked.

“She ended up somewhere on Long Island at a work site after lunch. She’ll go home directly from wherever that was.”

“I’m supposed to go out to a construction site Wednesday. It’ll be my third.” I normally wouldn’t have brought that up, but as I was saying, I feel like, for some reason, I’m free to be myself.

“Are you hungry?” Merritt asked. “If you are, we can pop into the cafe between the station and Crossroads.”

Because I lived in the shelters for two months, I actually have some money saved, so I agreed to the cafe idea, then I added, “Could we also stop in at the market? I’d like to get a few things for the rest of the week.”

Merritt agreed.

It would be a lie if I tried to tell you that his kindness isn’t having an effect on me. I’m not planning to drop to one knee and ask him to marry me, but he’s the kind of guy who could get me thinking along those lines.

Maybe some day. Maybe not him, but someone like him. Who knows?

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