The Middle of Somewhere (7 page)

W
hen she returned to the café the next morning, the last person she expected to see was Dante. But there he was, sitting at a picnic table, leaning on his elbows and fiddling with his phone. She scanned the area for his pack but didn't see it anywhere. He looked both bored and anxious. And of course he was there to see her.

Her first impulse was to avoid him. What would another confrontation accomplish, other than more pain? Nothing had changed since they'd parted three days before, despite his note and the feelings it had provoked. She was well rested, fully supplied and poised to continue her southward journey. All she needed to do before rejoining the trail was eat breakfast and turn in the bucket for recycling. Neither was imperative. She could duck behind the store to the footpath that led across the road to the JMT. He'd be left thinking he'd missed her and she'd be gone, hiking alone as she'd intended. That was, after all, why she was here.

She hesitated. Avoiding him was childish. She approached the store, leaned her pack against a post and began transferring the extra food from the bucket into the trash.

“Liz.”

She tossed a handful of energy bars into the can.

“Liz.” He put his hand on her arm. “How are you? How was your hike?”

A bag of trail mix, the extra sunscreen, into the can. She held a packet of M&M's in her palm.

He moved in front of her and tilted his head to better see her face. She focused on the bucket. His voice was soft with concern. “Two nights ago, did you have a thunderstorm? I was worrying about you so much.”

That night. Her heel digging into the mud. The driving rain. The waves of fear cascading through her body as the thunder rumbled. The world exploding in light, the silhouetted figure appearing between the trees.

A shiver slid down her spine. She chewed her lip to control her emotions and handed him the M&M's.

He smiled as if nothing had happened. “Let me buy you breakfast.”

The café had just opened but was already half full. They took a small table next to the counter. As the waitress poured coffee, Paul and Linda came in and sat near the door. Linda caught her eye and waved cheerfully. When Linda's gaze fell on Dante, a bemused expression took over her face. Oh, the predictably topsy-turvy lives of young couples! Liz gave Linda a weak smile and picked up her menu.

They ordered. She asked Dante what he'd been doing since Lyell Canyon, which was not quite the same as asking why he was here.

“I took the shuttle from Tuolumne, then a taxi.” Before she could ask why he didn't drive, he went on. “I've been thinking. And walking. Eating. Mostly thinking.”

“You didn't go home?”

His face drooped. “I couldn't.”

“So you've been hanging around? Like a trail groupie?” She meant it lightly, but it came out a little harsh.

“I was waiting for you.”

The plates arrived, and they ate in silence except for Liz nervously tapping the tip of her knife on the table. Dante stole glances at her as if she might do something unexpected, such as run out the door or spontaneously combust. They'd almost finished eating when she noticed him watching the McCartneys. Paul whispered something in Linda's ear that made her laugh. She kissed him on the mouth and stole a strip of bacon off his plate. He pantomimed shock.

“I want to be like them,” Dante said.

“Old?”

“Happy. Easily happy.”

She almost made a sarcastic comment about how the McCartneys probably had screaming matches twice a week or were actually married to other people, but was weary of her own cynicism. She gave honesty a shot. “Me, too. But I haven't got a clue how to get there.”

“Neither do I.”

“Let's interview them.”

Dante shrugged as if to say there were worse ideas. “
Mi carina,
I want to tell you again how sorry I am I wasn't a very good hiking partner.”

“It's okay. It's not for everyone. Notice the wilderness is mostly empty.”

He chewed his toast and nodded. “I've been thinking about it for three days, and I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“I get that you need to have this journey, and you don't want to cut corners or have to talk to me all the time, or take care of me. I should have been prepared to do the trip your way, the right way. And—I think this is important—you don't want to have to work on whatever's going on with us while you're doing it. You must have your reasons, and I hope you will share them with me eventually. But even if you never do, I should respect them.”

“Thanks, Dante.” She sipped her coffee and wondered what else to say. He didn't have to intercept her at Red's to deliver his message. It would've kept until she finished the hike. Still, he had come to find her, and his speech was touching, despite sounding rehearsed and stilted. She reached her hand across to his, and as she did, looked up and saw the Root brothers settling into the adjoining table. Startled, she yanked back her hand and knocked over her coffee.

“Shit!”

She jumped from her seat, but the damage was done. Her pant leg was soaked. Dante handed her his napkin. She blotted her leg, then stopped and told him she'd take care of it in the restroom. The waitress arrived and began mopping up the spill with a cloth.

“Sorry,” Liz said, as she threaded her way through the tables. She pushed open the door, and looked over her shoulder. Half the café was staring at her. Dante's face betrayed concern and confusion. Probably he was wondering why she was so skittish. Payton Root caught her eye—he'd been waiting for it—and winked.

She jogged past the store to the bathrooms. She'd left her jacket behind and rubbed her arms as she ran. The single-stall room wasn't heated. The chipped sink (cold water only) stood under a crooked mirror with failed backing. It was borderline Third World, but at least there were paper towels. She wetted one and rubbed the stain.

Why did Payton Root rattle her? He hadn't done anything. She'd seen him only twice, maybe three times, if she counted the split second during the storm, which she couldn't honestly do, as it might have been anyone—or no one. During their first encounter on Day One of the hike, had he really acted strangely enough to justify her reaction? She tried to recall exactly what he'd said, and how he'd said it. Something about this hike being a lot of quality time for a couple, and a possible ethnic slur directed at Dante. But Dante hadn't picked up on it. Instead, the Roots were his fast friends. Unlike her, he had spent an entire evening with them in a drunken bocce tournament. And Dante was the people person. She was the geek and should defer to him in interpersonal gray areas.

She gave up on the coffee stain. What difference would it make when she was on the trail again? She tossed the paper towel into the overflowing trash, and leaned over the sink to examine her reflection. She organized her bangs and tucked the sticking-out wisps of her hair behind her ears. More pointless vanity. In a couple of days she could have a giant wart on her nose and wouldn't be the wiser.

She considered the hypothesis that Payton was attracted to her. She had a history of being the last to know when men were drawn to her, which undoubtedly accounted for how few men she had dated. They had to write their intentions in the sky in plain English if they wanted to get through. If Payton was interested in her, it would explain why he seemed a bit odd. He was sending signals she wasn't receiving. Hadn't he just winked at her? And the first day, when she and Dante had left the Root brothers at the stream, she'd turned to see Payton smirking. At the time she'd taken it as a sign of his satisfaction in sending them in the wrong direction, but now she considered the possibility he was checking out her ass.

It was a theory.

She went into the stall for a pee. Her thoughts turned from Payton to Dante. He was making a real effort, and she knew he believed every word he said. But she didn't get why he'd waited for three days to apologize again, then drive home. Unless he wanted reassurance. She didn't know how much she could honestly give him. He'd be waiting for her now, worrying about her reaction to his apology and her quick exit. Maybe he had more to say, like that their relationship wasn't working and he was bowing out. She wasn't the only one who could make decisions. Her throat closed, and she felt queasy. Well, if that was what was coming, she'd be spared having to break his heart in other ways.

When she came out of the bathroom, she found him sitting on a picnic table with his feet on the bench.

“I have something to show you.” He jumped off the table, unzipped a large duffel bag he'd stowed on the other bench, and pulled out a pair of hiking boots. “These are amazing. So comfortable—and light!” He handed her one. “See?”

She turned it over. The tread was unusual—protruding nubs in a circular pattern. “Interesting tread. But why . . .”

“And look at these!” He showed her a plastic bag full of small bandages. “The man who sold me the boots said they're incredible.” He pulled one out. “See? They're gel. They don't fall off either. And if they do . . .” His hand disappeared into the bag again. “I've got this!”

“Duct tape?”

“It's waterproof and slippery on the outside so it doesn't rub. And it won't come off until you rip it off. The man said all the hikers use it.”

Liz put two and two together. “You're not thinking of coming with me again, are you?”

His face was shining with hope. “If you'll have me.”

“Dante . . .”

“It'll be different.” He took her hand. “I promise.”

She looked away. It wasn't his promises that worried her, but her own. She'd vowed to try to put an end to the careening quality of her life, and was relying on the empty trail in front of her to straighten her path and align her actions with her intentions—or at least provide no impedance to whatever decisions she made, including whether she should stay with Dante, and whether she was capable of becoming anyone's wife, or mother.

This didn't require absolute solitude. She expected to meet other people on the trail—had looked forward to it, in fact—but only for a little company, and only on her terms. She wanted to walk through the mountains, her pack on her back, making the small daily decisions about when to stop, which dinner to prepare, where to pitch her tent.
Her
tent. To do all this in the silence of the wilderness, and sleep alone with only a thin sheet of nylon between her and the star-filled sky. It hadn't yet been the contemplative trip she'd planned, but neither had she given up. In fact, her hopes had been revived when Dante left in the first place.

Quashing that hope were the Root brothers, who were hiking at the same pace as she was. She wasn't privy to their plans, but whatever the distance, she expected to encounter them again, perhaps daily—or more. It wasn't logical to factor them into her decisions, but she also couldn't ignore the way she felt about them. She didn't think she could outpace them, and she couldn't afford to slow down and miss her resupply. Whoever they were and whatever they wanted (perhaps nothing), Payton and Rodell were almost certainly a lasting feature of this hike.

As were thunderstorms. She'd downplayed both their likelihood and their impact on her. Now that she'd had her first official storm-induced trauma, she'd stopped deluding herself.

Between strange men and terrifying storms, quitting was a viable option. She could leave with Dante, take the shuttle or a taxi to Yosemite and drive home. She pictured the long, quiet ride west. She saw herself unloading her pack, the piles of underused gear and uneaten food returned to the kitchen table.

She tasted the disappointment and tossed the idea aside. She wasn't ready to bail out. There wasn't reason to. She wasn't injured or sick or demoralized. Even Brensen hadn't yet quit.

Her eyes sought Dante's. His head was bowed, his eyes half closed, as if bracing for a blow. She studied the angle of his cheekbone and the curve of his ear. A wave of tenderness came over her. If she didn't let him rejoin her now, she would almost certainly lose him. She blinked back tears and breathed out slowly to steady herself.

However firm her plans and valid her reasons, on this particular morning she could not turn her back on him and walk away.

Dante let go of her hand, taking her silence as refusal. He sighed and said, “I got you something.” He scrounged in the duffel and handed her a narrow paper bag. “Your favorite wine. I was surprised they had it in Mammoth. I even took it as a sign things would work out. Pathetic, isn't it? I planned for us to share it tonight because that's when I thought I'd meet you here.”

He'd keep pouring out words until she stopped him.

“Tell you what. Let's transfer it to a Nalgene bottle. It'll go great with the beef stroganoff we're having on the trail tonight.”