What We Find

by Robyn Carr

  Sully peered at Maggie. “Bet that just drives you crazy, hearing that I’m fine.”

  “I’m delighted,” she said.

  “You don’t have to stay to take care of me anymore,” he said.

  “Can I stay if I want to?” she asked a bit sarcastically.

  “Long as you want, Maggie. But, don’t you miss the hustle and bustle of the operating room?”

  In fact, she did. The cases, especially the most challenging—she missed them. The related complications, not so much. She was keeping up with the emails and snippets of news she got during regular calls with Jaycee, not to mention being in touch with her lawyer. He said she’d be deposed in a couple of weeks and she’d have to go back to Denver for that. “The excitement of Trauma 1 calls to me,” she confessed to Jaycee, the only one of her friends she kept up to date on her legal issues. “But lawsuits, complex insurance disputes and the politics of medicine does not.”

  “Oh, I hear you there,” Jaycee said. “OBs are almost as pursued as neurosurgeons. One of our practice has stopped delivering for that reason. What were we thinking?”

  “We were thinking we could save the world, or at least a nice big chunk of it,” Maggie said.

  “I hope you think hard on this decision to hang around the store, Maggie,” Sully said. “You went to school for a lifetime to do what you do. You saved lives. I think it would be a terrible waste to spend all that training and education handing out picnic supplies.”

  “I need some time off,” she said.

  But Maggie did take advantage of Sully’s clean bill of health, the extra help around the crossing and the beautiful late-spring weather by heading into the surrounding hills for a few hours here and there. On a few quiet days Cal went with her, hiking into the hills, enjoying the beautiful views and breathtaking vistas. Instead of tents they’d carry a blanket and lunch and be back at the crossing in time for a shower and dinner.

  Maggie was happy.

  And, she had someone to sleep with at night. Not that much sleeping was involved. It seemed to her that Cal was settling in, getting comfortable. Now that there was help after four in the afternoon till closing up the store, Maggie was having dinner with Sully and Cal, most nights at their kitchen table. Maggie and Cal traded off cooking, cleaned up the dishes together, sat out on the porch at the store or by a fire near the lake. They sat at a table together checking their laptops for email and news. And Cal liked to read. He spent at least a couple of hours every afternoon reading—maybe in one of his lawn chairs, maybe in a hammock, maybe on the porch.

  He worked vigorously but he wasn’t around constantly; he certainly wasn’t underfoot. He drove out a few times a week, checking out the surrounding area, bringing home groceries and incidentals. He’d been to Leadville, Timberlake, Fairplay and a few other little specks of towns. He dropped in on Stan the Man at the Timberlake Police Department and they had a hamburger together, he reported. He met Paul Castor, the deputy Stan bragged was a computer genius. “He claims to be in his thirties,” Cal said. “He looks twelve.”

  His truck and closed pop-up camper were parked behind the cabin that had become his but even though he was helping around the store and property, he was still camping. Sometimes he got out the fishing pole, sometimes fired up the Coleman stove to make his own breakfast or fry a fish he’d caught, even though he had access to the small kitchen in the store or Sully’s kitchen in the house.

  “We lived off the grid a lot when I was a kid.”

  “As in camping?”

  “We lived in a lot of odd places. There was a commune near Big Sur. That was kind of cool—there were lots of kids to play with. There were times we camped, but it wasn’t recreational, it was lack of proper housing. Or it was part of traveling—my parents decided we should see the country so we spent a year on the road.”

  “How amazing,” Maggie said.

  “In retrospect, my father might’ve been on the run from his delusions. We were essentially homeless, living in a very old converted bus. But we did have a lot of unique and interesting experiences. And every couple of years my grandparents would snag us away from my mom and dad and keep us on the farm for a while—six months or a year.”

  “I guess it’s just in your blood,” she said.

  “In a way.”

  “If you’re interested in hiking and hate being cold, why aren’t you on the Appalachian Trail?” she asked.

  “I experienced a lot of that trail as a kid,” he said. “We spent a little over a year in Tennessee.”

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  “Not much,” he said. “In summer we picked vegetables.”

  “The whole family?” she asked.

  “The whole family. We picked up a lot of temporary work here and there. My favorite place to pick vegetables was California, around Fresno. The Central Valley. I learned some Spanish.”

  “You’ve had a remarkable life,” she said.

  “That’s a nice, positive spin,” he said.

  Maggie took that to mean it had been a hard life.

  More and more packages arrived, indicating hikers were on the trails. A few straggled in here and there, but none of them had traveled great distances—it was still too early in the spring. One couple had been hiking for six weeks, having started in Wyoming, planning to head farther south through the Rockies if the snow had melted enough. Two guys came over the Rockies from the south and reported it was passable—they had picked up the trail on the north rim of New Mexico. There were several people who’d hiked from Boulder and planned to go all the way to Durango.

  On the weekends there were hiking groups who were out for the day or maybe one overnight on the trail. Cal wanted to visit with each one of them, asking about what had motivated them and how their experience had been.

  Then it happened, right at the end of April.

  “Maggie, your dad is doing great. He must be the poster child for bypass recovery. I saw him hauling flour sacks for Enid, patching the rain drain on the outside of the store, putting a little WeatherAll on the porch rail and throwing the ball for Beau. He’s been cleaning out grills, hosing down your back porch and garden and I caught him doing a little maintenance on his truck. Nothing too serious, the truck is running fine.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t push it,” she said.

  “He’s not, according to him. He said the doctor gave him the go-ahead. Normal activities. And if he feels any discomfort, he’s supposed to rest. But he seems to be fine. You seem to be fine. Any thoughts of going back to work? Going back to your house in Denver?”

  “I’m going back next week for a day to be deposed for that lawsuit, but to practice?” She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m thinking of staying through summer. Poor Sully. I can tell he wishes I’d go. My mother has been calling a lot—she’s appalled by my defection. Not just that I’m not practicing at the moment, but even worse for her—I’m spending my time here. I’ve been here seven weeks and by the texts and emails, people are surprised I’ve stretched it out this long. For now, I’m staying. Do you think I’m crazy, too? Because neurosurgeons just don’t do this?”

  Cal laughed and shook his head. “Listen, life’s too short to choose unhappiness. Until you figure out how to live on your own terms, you do whatever you have to do. When I figure out what that means, I’ll be happy to share. For me, for now, I have a little exploring to do. Many times growing up we didn’t have a house anywhere and you’ve got two. I think you’ll be okay. You won’t get any judgment from me.”

  “Well, this is Sully’s place, really. At some point I’ll have to work. I can’t expect my father to support me forever.”

  He took a deep breath. He took her hands in his. “Maggie, I’m going to go away for a little while,” he said. “The time is perfect. I’m acclimated to the altitude, the forecast is good and I want s
ome of that trail experience.”

  “Why don’t you just make this your base camp and go out for a day here and there, like we’ve been doing?” she asked hopefully.

  “I want to go north from here, camp along the way, watch summer hit Colorado, maybe go through Wyoming...”

  “That’s a long hike,” she said.

  “Not nearly as long as some. It’s what I came here to do. I have thinking to do—like where I’m going to settle, what I’m going to do for work. I’m thirty-seven and at loose ends. I had this crazy idea the Continental Divide would level me out, give me a sense of balance, make the answers come easier. I think the solitude on the trail might be good for me.”

  She felt a panic in her gut. “I’m never going to see you again, am I.” She did not state it as a question.

  “I’ll come back, Maggie. I don’t know that I’ll stay here, but I’ll come back.”

  “When?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t know if I’ll get enough of that trail in three days or three months. It will do me good. I think you need time to think, too.”

  “You’re leaving your truck and camper?”

  He shook his head. “There’s a place to park it in Leadville and I’ll get on the trail from there. Leadville’s not too far away and I don’t want it to be in your way here.”

  “It wouldn’t be in the way. Sully offered...”

  “I’m leaving it in Leadville. In the morning.”

  “Crap,” she said, getting misty-eyed. Her nose immediately plugged up. “Can’t you leave in a few days? Give a girl a little time to get used to the idea?”

  “This is better, honey. I told you from the day we met—I want to do this. I need to get out on the trail alone, just me and the inside of my head.”

  “You’re leaving your truck in Leadville so you won’t have to come back here to get it in case you decide you’re done with this place. With me.”

  “Not true. I will come back, I will see you again, but I don’t want you hanging on to a piece of me with expectations. I don’t want you looking at the truck and being reminded every day. I want you to be free to get on with your life. If you go back to Denver, I can find you there.”

  “What in the world do you have to think about?” she demanded. “You’re almost the most normal man I’ve ever known! You are not even slightly fucked-up! There’s nothing you can’t think about right here. In fact, I’ll promise not to talk to you for three months so you can work through whatever it is and then we can work out anything else...” She stopped herself. “I’m close to begging,” she said. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “You know how you said you had a pileup in Denver? Everything crashed down on you at once? Well, I went through a rough patch myself. Not something I’m ready to talk about just yet. Maybe someday. That’s why I need some time alone. Alone against the challenge of the hike over the mountains and through some wild country. Alone with no one in sight, where I have to rely on myself. Sometimes that’s what it takes. You know, you get a little tired, depleted, deprived, you have to push yourself, then things start to fall into place. I’m counting on that. I promise I’ll get in touch when I’ve had all I can take of the trail. Okay?”

  “Whatever,” she said. She tried to hide the fact that tears were leaking out of her eyes. For just a second she thought, I can tell him I’m coming up on a trial! That I need him! That I need the support! But she couldn’t.

  “Come here,” he said. “Close to me. We’ll hold on to each other. It’s hard for me to leave, you know. But I should do this even if it’s hard. I have to look around the inside of my head and sort things out. You only think I’m the most normal guy in town—I have a gnarly mess in there. Now come on, kiss me. You’re like buried treasure, you know that? I hobbled into this camp with no idea I’d have you for a while. Maggie, Maggie, you’re so wonderful...”

  * * *

  Just after dawn, Cal got dressed and ready to get in his truck and on the road. Maggie pulled on her clothes and joined him outside beside the truck.

  “You’ll be okay, Maggie. You’re strong and you have good sense. Don’t get talked into anything—do what feels right.”

  “You shouldn’t say that. What feels right is following you.”

  “You wouldn’t like it.”

  “I’m a great, experienced hiker!”

  “No, you wouldn’t like watching me think. It’s like watching paint dry.”

  “You’re a miserable tease,” she said. “I don’t even know your real name!”

  He grinned. “I loved you trying to guess, though. It was fun hearing what you’d come up with next. You’re very creative.” He sighed. “It’s California. I’m California Cesar Jones.”

  She was struck silent for a moment. “You have got to be kidding!”

  “I wouldn’t kid about that. It’s on my driver’s license and everything. But don’t make me go through all that now. Just please kiss me goodbye.”

  “You promise you’ll get in touch when this pilgrimage is over?”

  “Yes, I promise. Thank you for everything you did for me.”

  She kissed him deeply, held him tightly, damned fate for this. Just when she started to feel she was with a man who could carry his weight, he confessed that he was nuts and had to work on his issues by trotting over the mountains. Boy, could she pick ’em. Whatever saint was in charge of her love life was terrible at it.

  He slapped her on the ass. “Take care of Sully. Take care of you.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “You bet I will.”

  He climbed in the truck and pulled away. He drove slowly down the dirt drive to the road and without even thinking she followed, walking along behind him.

  Beau was barking and running to her as Cal pulled out of sight through the trees. She turned to see Sully approaching.

  “Gone, is he?” Sully said.

  She nodded. “Did you know he was going?”

  “He said so a couple a times this week. That the weather was just about mild enough for him, that he’d planned it all along. And he thanked me several times for the hospitality and for letting him lend a hand. Damn fool thing to do—thank me. Might as well a thanked me for having a damn heart attack.”

  “We’re never going to see him again, Dad,” she said. “And that’s a shame.”

  Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.

  —Henry David Thoreau

  Chapter 8

  On the fourth day out on the trail, west of Boulder and north of Vail in the mountains, just north of Rocky Mountain National Park where the air was pristine and the sky a beautiful blue, where he could see for miles and great, magnificent mountains rose and fell all along the horizon, Cal set up his little tent and dug a trench around a small fire. It was the end of the day. The sun was descending behind the Rockies. “This looks like as good a place as any. What do you think?” he said, aloud.

  Of course there was no answer.

  It was two years and two months since Lynne Aimee Baxter Jones had taken her last breath. It was approximately the same time of day, but on the first of March it had been so cold and dark. They had talked about the end for a long time, for months.

  In the beginning they’d been so happy, so oblivious to the things that could go wrong. Cal had started out by working in the public defender’s office, passed the bar and got a lot of great job offers. Then Lynne passed the bar, gathered a few like-minded friends, wrote grants and within a couple of years she was operating a storefront legal clinic for the underprivileged. She won an award from the city of Detroit and was appointed to a legal oversight committee by the governor, a watchdog team running herd on lawyers with intent to mislead and gouge an unsuspecting public, particularly those of low income.

  Meanwhile, Califor
nia Jones was becoming famous in his own right, a white knight in the criminal law community. He was actually becoming rich, kid lawyer that he was. Cal had some gifts that he’d acquired from his off-balance, crazy family. One was an incredible memory. His father had taught the kids how to memorize and since they rarely attended school, it became imperative. Otherwise, when they did have a chance to go to school, they’d be humiliated by how little they knew. Or, given what their mother taught them, they might know all the wrong things. Cal could recite almost the entire novel To Kill a Mockingbird. He grew up wanting to be Atticus Finch. While Lynne took great pride in accepting very little compensation, Cal was enjoying a terrific income for the first time in his life.

  They married and bought a sprawling house in Grosse Pointe. Lynne thought it was so funny, Cal and his solid house, big enough for an army. “You just don’t know how much trouble a big house can be!” she lectured.

  “That’s right,” he said. “And I want to know.”

  They talked about the children they would have because they both wanted at least two. Cal still wasn’t sure if things would be better or worse if they’d gotten right on that and had a child or two. Like Atticus Finch, he’d be a solemn widower lawyer, bringing up his children alone, filling them with pride and accountability. But they hadn’t done it and now he was completely alone.

  As soon as they started trying for a baby, the nightmare of scleroderma invaded their lives. The painful disease of the connective tissue presents as a hardness and inflexibility of the skin and, in Lynne’s case, internal organs. At first they were optimistic and researched the disease, hoping that she’d be one of the lucky ones and get twenty years or even a cure.

  It was not to be. The disease worsened rapidly and she was admitted into a research program. Again, she was not one of the lucky ones. The disease progressed quickly and Lynne spent two years battling the pain and immobility, not to mention disfigurement of her face and arms. That’s when she asked him. “I know we’re on the same page here, Cal. If my kidneys shut down or my heart gives out, so be it. No resuscitation. But if it takes too long, please, don’t let me suffer in pain. I wouldn’t let you, I swear to God. It’s not like there’s any hope.”