Stork (14 page)

We started hiking, skirting meadowlands for the first ten or fifteen minutes. The dirt path was wide and hard-packed, a good sign as far as I was concerned. Many had gone before us, and returned, presumably. We walked two by two, in the newly formed couples’ groupings. Tina and Matthew took the lead, both long-limbed, though hers was the more athletic of the two builds, his teetering to a gangly or spindly classification. Penny and Pedro followed second. The four of them chatted easily. Jack and I, pulling up the rear, were quiet, which, at that moment, I preferred. I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers, and greens in every lush shade imaginable, offset by the autumnal flashes of red and yellow. I couldn’t imagine a smell more invigorating than the wafts of earthy pine carried along the cool currents of air. OK, so Minnesota had its perks.

The trail then became rockier with trees, mostly evergreens, lining the path. And ever so gradually we started to ascend. If the air was this cool at nearly midday, I would certainly need my parka later.

Once again I looked at Jack. We were keeping up a fairly brisk pace, but still, I wondered about his lack of warm clothing. He was definitely in good shape, owing to football practices, I imagined. Though I supposed farm chores alone would be a workout. My thighs and butt were starting to sing a little. I regretted not having a fall sport and made a mental note to look into both volleyball and track for the winter and spring. At least my boots weren’t giving me any problems.

The others were still talking in muted voices. An occasional giggle from Penny floated back, and it filled the air with so much light and joy, I couldn’t help but think that she had no regrets about the pairings. It did make me wonder why Jack and I were so stubborn in our silence. I was normally a filler, someone who instinctually grouted the social cracks. A dozen little starts of conversation came to mind: books, music, travel, movies. Still I resisted, enjoying the tension heightened by our lack of communication. I wondered if he was always this way. Or was it something I brought out in him, as he did in me?

We were soon enveloped in thick trees and the path became narrow, forcing us to continue single file. Jack simply urged me into the second-to-last spot with a sweep of his arm, and then took the back of the line. I noticed that Pedro helped Penny over a few treacherous rocks that blocked the path. I could sense how close Jack got to me at these impasses, and I could hear his labored breathing, but he didn’t offer me his hand. And then suddenly, around a bend in the path, we came to a small clearing and the lake. It was smoky gray, with a rocky shoreline and bordered by thick trees all around.

“Wow. Beautiful,” Tina said.

We all agreed and paused to enjoy our first glimpse of Fletcher Lake. Penny reminded us to drink water. I perched on a large rock and pulled a bottle of Evian from my backpack. Jack looked long and hard at my choice of water, and I waited for him to make some comment. I was sure he’d have something to say about water coming all the way from Europe. Evian tasted better. That was fact. My friend Mindy did a science fair project in eighth grade. It won the taste test hands down. So what if tap tested the same for purity? Jack shrugged, pulled a large, refillable metal bottle from his backpack, and drank. It had been decided we’d eat lunch once we reached the observation tower, which, by Pedro’s accounts, was only another twenty minutes up the path, but we’d all certainly made quick work of our breakfasts. Jack pulled a bag of apples from his pack and tossed each of us a shiny red ball. I wasn’t sure if it was the apple or the source, but it was delicious, and a different variety from the pippins Afi stocked.

I looked over the lake. Something large and graceful soared into my field of vision. Even stories high above our heads, the size and power of the bird was impressive. As a newly discovered member of a Stork Society, a real bird society — not some binocular-sporting, Audubon-card-carrying bird watcher — I felt a connection to the majestic creature.

“That’s a bald eagle,” Pedro said.

It ducked and dodged above us in a show of speed and agility.

“Wow,” I said. “It’s so graceful.”

We sat in silence for many minutes watching the impromptu air show until the bird dipped his wings and soared, effortlessly, out of view.

Matthew looked out at the lake. “Who’s up for that cold plunge?”

“Not me,” Tina said.

“I dare you,” Pedro said.

“I will if you will,” Matthew replied. He looked at Jack. “How about it, Jack?”

“No.” Jack’s response was so abrupt, I was startled. Everything about him seemed suddenly tense and even angry, though at what I couldn’t imagine.

Tina gave Matthew a nudge in the side, and he returned the prompt with a sheepish shrug. “I forgot,” he whispered to Tina. I was seriously confused.

Just then a wind shear blasted us from above. It was cold and menacing, and I quickly untied the sweater from around my waist and pulled it over my head. The wind’s timing couldn’t have been any worse; an odd chill had already settled around our little group.

“Let’s keep walking,” Pedro said. I could tell he was trying to defuse the situation, but everybody got quiet and even the air seemed pressurized as we gathered our things and set back along the path. Even my boots stiffened to the mood. From behind, I watched Penny’s white running shoes bend pliantly over rocks and roots and whatever else lay in our path. Sneakers, especially white sneakers, and jeans was a look I abhorred. Athletic footwear should pair with athletic apparel, period. But at this juncture, and as much as I hated to admit it, I envied Penny. My boots had about as much give as the Grinch, and I had definitely started to limp.

Much to my chafed ankles’ relief, we finally made it to the observation tower. As the area was accessible only to hikers, not much had been done to develop the site. There were a few scattered picnic tables, a small wooden building housing restrooms, a large outdoor map-board, and the wooden platform observational tower itself. It was a wonder that such a gem was so off the beaten track. In California, there’d be a restaurant, gift shop, and scenic tram up to the area, and, needless to say, an admission. I had to admit that the view was already worth the hike. And we hadn’t even climbed the platform yet.

By unanimous vote, we decided to eat first. Penny and Tina unpacked a selection of sandwiches, Pedro threw out two large bags of chips, Matthew produced a container of homemade chocolate chip cookies, and Jack dumped another six apples onto the pile. We sat at one of the picnic tables, closest to the tower, chatting casually.

“What was your school in California like?” Tina asked.

“The biggest difference would probably be the campus,” I said. “Year-round outdoor lunch seating, open-air corridors; even our lockers were outside.”

“How far to the beach?” Matthew asked.

“Five minutes,” I said.

“Nice,” Pedro said.

I lifted my eyes up to our beautiful surroundings. “This is nice, too.”

Here in the comfort of the group, I finally felt like I fit. We talked about the dance coming up next weekend. I debated internally whether Jack would confirm our date or break it, the latter seeming more likely at this point. He had hardly spoken during lunch, and I wondered what was going on. As I looked, again, to gauge his mood, I found him returning my stare with a funny expression on his face. Had I been ogling him that openly? And for how long? For some time was the unfortunate reply to my internal question. I hadn’t a clue what anyone else had eaten, yet I could inventory — and probably calculate a fairly accurate calorie count — of Jack’s lunch consumption: three sandwiches (two turkey, and one tuna), four handfuls of Fritos, three cookies, and one apple. How embarrassing. No wonder the guy had stopped talking to me. He was most likely thinking I’d go
Fatal Attraction
on him.

I looked away, probably guiltily, up toward the tower. A young couple had been on the platform when we arrived. Our decision to eat first probably had as much to do with giving them their privacy as with our own ravenous appetites. I watched as he pulled her into a hug from behind, protectively, and they took in the scenery from the same vantage point. Something caught in my throat as I spied on their intimacy. It seemed so natural, and painless.

“Did you guys hear about Wade and Monique?” Tina asked.

I went absolutely still.

“She turned him down for the dance,” Tina continued. “He was flirting with someone else.”

I bent down to retie my bootlaces.

“Give it till Monday,” Pedro said. “They’ll be back together.”

“Except he called her some pretty nasty names,” Penny said. “Said it loud enough for half the student body to hear.”

“It’s like the Lindy Vanmeer saga all over again,” Tina said.

Again, out of nowhere, an arctic gust descended on our group, sending leaves scattering and blowing tendrils of hair into my eyes. Our trash went flying; Tina and Matthew jumped to collect our airborne empties. When the gale finally settled, I noticed that Jack had walked a few paces away.

“What is with this weather?” Penny shook a leaf from the hem of her pants. “Tina and I are going to check the maps. You wanna come?” She pointed to the large freestanding map-board posted in front of the restrooms.

“No,” I said. “I’m more interested in climbing the tower.”

Tina and Penny set off. Pedro and Matthew were scouring the area for walking sticks, which they’d at first teasingly called “bear sticks,” seemingly for my benefit. And Jack was still off on his own. Good. I was looking forward to a few moments alone with my thoughts and a bird’s-eye view of such natural beauty.

I ascended the stairs to the tower. It looked like an oversize and elevated lifeguard station. It was even painted the same familiar shade of light blue. Two stories, and two turns of rickety wooden stairs, led me up to a square open-air deck with a wooden half wall spanning its perimeter. The couple had departed, so I had the place to myself. Besides a vista onto the lapping waters of two steely-blue lakes, a dense forest of trees stretched endlessly in all directions. I marveled at the amount of open land. In LA every square inch of ground is developed into tidy, compact bundles. Even the open spaces are spare and trim. The neighborhood playground, where I’d spent hour after hour with my longtime nanny, Rosa, was called the Marine Parkette,
park
presumably too ambitious a term.

The call of a bird drew my attention to the west. The bald eagle had returned. I held my breath, amazed at the vantage point the observation tower provided. He circled two times, edging closer with each pass. His snowy white head was such a stunning contrast to the earthen brown of his body, and his wingspan was immense. The pull of his wings sounded like the wind-borne flap of a large flag. He settled onto the bough of a towering pine, not thirty feet from the railing of the platform where I stood.

“Friend of yours?” Jack asked.

I nearly jumped out of my boots, cursed things.

“We just met. And I’m not so sure
friend
would be the right word. I think he’s eyeing me for lunch.”

Jack laughed. “Nah. He wouldn’t want to have to chew through all those layers of clothes, not to mention those boots.”

I looked down at the damn things. As forgiving as concrete. My ankles were not looking forward to the balance of our hike.

“Take them off,” Jack said.

“What?”

“Take them off.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

“I’m not taking them off. My feet will get cold.”

He looked at me with exasperation. “You limped the last half hour and we’re only halfway around the lake.”

I grumbled, but bent to unlace the espresso-brown ankle-high hikers.

I handed them over to Jack, who proceeded to vandalize my property. He removed the laces in a series of efficient tugs and then twisted the leather backward in a flap, bending the high-top portion over the heel. He dropped them to the floor of the platform and continued to pummel them with his own heavy footgear. Kicking and stomping and grinding my two-hundred-dollar nubucks into a pulp. At one point he removed a large stone from his backpack and hammered on the ankles. Who carries a rock in their backpack? No one, of course, which was how I knew the assault was premeditated.

“Are you quite finished?” I asked.

“That should do it.” He dropped the boots into my arms and playfully wrapped the loose laces around my neck as if to copy the scarf I had stylishly knotted at my throat. The leather was scraped, and cracked and creased where it had been bent backward. They looked awful and would never again complete the boot-cut Lucky jeans and brown leather bomber jacket ensemble.

I grumbled again and bent to relace and then refit my boots. I stood to find Jack planted above me with his arms crossed and a huge smile on his face. “Better?”

I took a tentative step. Damn him. They were better. Much better. Had some give to the ankle, finally. “A little.”

The eagle remained at its nearby perch.

“My grandmother says it’s a good omen to be eye-to-eye with a bird,” Jack said.