The Middle of Somewhere(13)

Her stomach growled and her hands reached out for the plate before she knew she had decided to take it. “Thanks a lot. Really.”

“You got a fork?”

“Spork.” She picked it up from where she’d left it next to her bowl and cup, showed it to him, and took a bite. “Oh, boy.” The fish tasted of the river itself.

He grinned, showing teeth that hadn’t seen braces. “Go on. Finish it. I need my plate for breakfast.”

She took two more bites, then stopped in midchew and fixed her eyes on Rodell. “Did Dante ask you and your brother to look out for me?”

“Look out for you? No. Nothing like that. Can’t see why he would, to tell the truth. Any fool can see you can take care of yourself.”

She nodded and went back to her fish. Maybe Dante was right. Maybe these guys were all right after all. She quickly finished, and after she returned the plate and thanked him, he left.

? ? ?

The clouds, it turned out, gathered not for the purpose of producing rain, but for adding drama to the sunset. Liz had brushed her teeth and moved her bear can away from the campsite. Wearing all her warm clothing except her gloves, she sat on a fallen log and watched the world grow dark.

Whatever colors the landscape had lacked during the day—this time of year mostly gray granite, dark green pines and tan grasses—were painted across the mountains and sky in the twilight. Magenta clouds rippled across a lavender background, setting off the indigo peaks. The display was mirrored on the lake, twin lava lamps spilled above and below. The colors deepened with the encroaching darkness, as if an unseen hand were squeezing the last drop of beauty out of the day. She’d paid a high price to witness this, but didn’t see how it could have been otherwise. Dante had turned back, hurt and confused, in surrender to her wishes. If the choices were indeed all hers, as he had claimed, she would bear the consequences.

The mountain slopes lost all texture, but the ridgeline lay firm against the heavens. Between the clouds, a star appeared. Like a hole punched in a postcard held to a light, it shone from another world, and another time, reminding her of why she had come. Here, at the edge of this lake, on the broad flank of this mountain range, under the boundless sky in the middle of nowhere, she was small and bare and completely inconsequential, as was her past. Water, rock, air—it cared nothing for her and would judge her not. On this journey, she would travel deep into the indifferent wilderness to discover what was possible for her, and what could not be undone.

A cloud winked out the star. Liz was limp with exhaustion. The cold moved inside her, blurring her edges. She shivered and rose.

While she could still find her way, she returned to the tent and crawled in. She stripped off her outer layer, folded her jacket into a pillow and lay down, zipping her bag closed. A faint breeze luffed the tent fly. Her toes tingled as they warmed. Soon, she slept.

? ? ?

At eight the next morning, she was finally ready to go. She’d been reluctant to leave the toasty confines of her sleeping bag that morning. Once she’d braved the cold, she’d taken an hour to make breakfast and break camp. She vowed to not be such a pansy about the cold in the future. Once she got moving, she generated her own heat quickly enough.

She hoisted her pack, which should have felt lighter than yesterday, but didn’t. When preparing for the hike, she’d taken pains to pack lightly, and selected only the essentials for safety and comfort. She enjoyed the game, carefully considering each item, not only because she would have to carry it, but because the exercise of deciding what she needed mattered to her. Rain pants and fleece pants? (No, thermal leggings and rain pants would do.) Headlamp and flashlight? (Yes. They were backup systems, and if she had to work with her hands in the dark, the headlamp was indispensable.) She discovered her decisions were more about what she didn’t take than what she did, and did not carry a phone, a GPS or an iPod. She wasn’t wedded to electronics in her normal life, so unplugging wasn’t a shock. But she also brought no books, no folding chair, no pillow, no razor, no jewelry and no booze. And, as it turned out, no boyfriend.

She scanned the site to ensure she had packed everything. It looked exactly as she had found it. “Leave no trace,” the wilderness permit insisted. Well, she’d abided by the rules. No one would know she’d been there.

Within an hour she was at the pass, the first on the John Muir Trail to afford three-hundred-sixty-degree views. She snapped a couple of photographs, drank some water and started down the other side. On the trail below Liz recognized the couple who had also camped at the lake, and admonished herself for failing to get a jump on these nearly geriatric hikers. She wondered whether Rodell and Payton were ahead of or behind her, not that she wanted to race anyone. Rather, because she was hiking alone, it was prudent to have a sense of where the closest human beings were. Ranger stations were few and far between, and at this time of year more likely than not unmanned.