We get back to my campsite just before sunset, returning a different way than we left. We pass the massive truck Preston must have driven out here in. The bed is piled high with supplies. I really want to poke around, but the mood between us is strange. He’s grown silent, and even though he stalks my steps, he’s careful not to get too close.

“Wait,” he calls.

I hang out while he rummages in a crate on the tailgate.

“Dinner?” He holds up two cans.

“What’s that?”

“Stew.”

He spins it to check out the label. “Beef.”

My stomach does the gurgle it does now when it’s not sure...