The Middle of Somewhere(17)

CHAPTER SIX





As soon as she left the tent in the morning, she searched the vicinity for other hikers. She found no one, and began to question whether she had seen anything at all. In the dark, in the rain, while freaking out over the storm, it could have been anything. Or nothing. It’s not as though she had seen the figure move. Now the storm had passed, the sun was out and, more to the point, she was unharmed. It wasn’t much, but after a harrowing night, she’d take it.

While she drank her coffee, she studied the map and got more good news. Red’s Meadow was a little over ten miles away, mostly downhill. A piece of cake. She’d arrive there a full day ahead of schedule. The thought of what awaited her at Red’s cheered her. Not only would she be reunited with her bucket but, compared to camping, Red’s was a Marriott. It had a store, a restaurant and showers.

She packed the tent wet and hit the trail.

A half mile along the older couple were storing gear in their backpacks. Liz called good morning to them, and they waved her over. Closer now, she judged they were in their fifties. Their names were Paul and Linda. “Like the McCartneys,” Linda said proudly. They chatted with Liz about the storm (“We were hoping you were all right”) and their previous long hikes (in Chile and the Pyrenees). Linda was talkative and perky. Paul, a Brit, was tall and slim and more reticent, with a self-deprecating sense of humor. Liz enjoyed them both. She left them to finish their packing.

“See you at Red’s!” Linda called after her.

“If you beat us there, don’t drink all the beer!” Paul added.

She arrived at two thirty, dropped her pack and entered the store to claim her bucket. The man behind the counter accepted her receipt with a heavy sigh and brought the bucket out from the store room. She paid him five dollars for a shower, two dollars for a towel and two more for a small bottle of shampoo. If Dante had been there, she’d have bought a razor for her legs, but he wasn’t, so why bother? She carried everything outside, and returned for a H?agen-Daz chocolate-chocolate ice cream bar. Carpe diem.

Humping both her backpack and the twenty-five-pound bucket the half mile to the campground was harder than the ten miles she’d covered that day. Last night had caught up to her. Too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Her shoulders ached and her feet felt as if they’d been run over by studded tires. She put her sodden clothing and gear in the sun to dry, then dragged herself along the footpath again to grab a shower and a burger.

She let the hot water pour over her for an ecologically incorrect amount of time, and had to agree that cleanliness was right up there with godliness.

The café, like the store, was decorated Western style with knotty pine paneling, deer and bear trophies mounted behind the counter and an ancient upright piano in the corner. There was a short counter with red stools and six tables covered with plastic red-checkered tablecloths. Brensen sat near the piano and waved her over. Tanner and thinner than when she’d last seen him, he was working his way through a six-pack of Sierra Nevada.

“Sit here if you want.” He pulled out a chair. “You look surprised to see me.”

“Well, the last time I saw you, you weren’t exactly in the spirit of things.”

“True, true.”

The waitress delivered his burger. The smell of it made Liz realize she was starving. She ordered one.

Brensen opened a beer and handed it to her. “I got up that morning with my ass frozen to the ground. But there wasn’t anyone around to complain to, so I started walking. Got to Tuolumne Meadows in time for the party and thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Of course that was before all the rain. Christ.” He paused as if remembering something. “Where’s Duncan?”

“Dante.”

“Dante. Yeah.” He glanced out the window. “Having a shower?”

She traced the pattern on the table with a finger. “His blisters were killing him. He went home.”

Brensen put down his burger and studied her. “Maybe he wasn’t exactly in the spirit of things.”

She met his gaze. “Maybe. It’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.”

“No kidding. I’m trying not to fight it. Hell, I haven’t been this alone since . . . ever.” He chuckled. “Now I know why my exes got sick of my company.”

She didn’t follow celebrity news, so she had no idea how many times he’d been divorced. He was in his forties, handsome, rich and, at least today, not a total jerk. So she guessed a few. “Are you married now?”