If We Make It Home

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  Vicky squeezes me in a side hug. “I figured you might end up needing me somewhere down the line.” Her words are so confident, but her eyes remind me of the ones I see in the mirror. Doubtful. Scared. There’s something different about the Vicky that chased us up this deer trail in the woods. She’s not the girl I roomed with at Emery anymore, and she’s not the woman I’ve seen on television.

  “Now that we’ve got that worked out,” Glenda says, “let’s get moving. We need to find a place to camp before the sun dips.”

  We trudge on, my own imagination my only respite from the pain. I try to replay an episode of I Love Lucy, but the pictures won’t come. Not even Andy Griffith will step foot in these woods to save me. The only thing that comes to mind is a memory from Emery House.

  It was spring term, and I was in the tiny room that held the only private phone, like an indoor phone booth. Through the long windows in the accordion-style door, I could see Hope, Ireland, and Vicky, their arms linked, Ireland’s eyes closed as she silently prayed.

  I lifted the phone to my ear and dialed my dad’s number. When he answered, my breath caught. In the months since I’d left home, he’d become harder and harder to reach.

  But getting him on the phone turned out to be the least of my problems. By the time I hung up, my spirit was broken. I’d never be carefree again. No amount of cheerleader spunk could ever erase the words I’d just heard.

  I stood there with only a thin layer of glass and wood separating me from my crumbling future. Hope was the one to push it open. She didn’t wait for me to step out into the hall. Instead, she reached in and pulled me into her arms where I broke down and sobbed.

  We were back in our room before I could calm myself enough to speak.

  “What did he say?” Vicky gripped my hand. “Why hasn’t he paid your tuition bill?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s not fair.” Sliding onto the floor, I sat with my best friends in the whole world flanking me. “He spent my college money on a trip to Belize.”

  “He’s going on a mission trip with your college money?” Ireland squeezed my knee.

  “Nope.” I tipped my head up and made eye contact with Ireland. “He’s been writing to a woman down there. I don’t know how they got connected, but he’s decided to move there and live with her.”

  “Marry her?” Vicky asked.

  “Just move in. That’s that. He says it’s his life, and I have no business telling him what to do with it. He’s got to put himself first.”

  Hope’s body deflated. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s not April Fool’s Day, and my father is not funny. I’ll have to leave college.”

  Tears sting my eyes now just like they did that day. Even the memory is hard to take. I had nowhere to go. No home. No family. My mother had died during my senior year of high school. And I had no idea her death would take my father too.

  When I voiced my grief at this realization it was Vicky who leapt up. “That’s a bunch of garbage. You have a family. You have us. And there’s no way in this world I’m going to let you leave here. Do you understand me?” Her words were like commands, and I nodded, still knowing there was really no hope.

  Two days later, I put my last sweater in a box and sealed it with packing tape. My car was parked in the loading zone in front of the house, half-packed. My future was a job in a diner back home, a guilt offering from one of my mother’s old friends. And all I could think of was how could I possibly return to the place my father, the good pastor, had left behind. And the humiliation that waited for me there.

  That’s when Vicky threw the door open, making my heart leap into my throat. “This just came for you.” She slid a thick letter across the desk. “Open it.”

  “It’s probably a bill.”

  “You haven’t even looked at the return address.”

  “Connecticut? I don’t know anyone in Connecticut.”

  “You don’t, but I do.”

  I pulled my finger through the seal, slicing into my flesh. It was that kind of day, week. Sucking my stinging finger, I poured the papers out of the envelope with the other hand and unfolded them.

  The pain vanished with the surge of adrenaline. “How did you do this?”

  “That’s not important. You’ll have to work to pay for housing and books, but you can do that. You’re paid up for the school year already, and we have a lot of the same classes. We can share books until you have funds available. What do you think?”

  “I think a company I’ve never heard of is offering me tuition after my father took off with my college savings. I think the world is tipped upside down. And I think I love you so much.” I stepped around the desk and grabbed Vicky in a hug. “Thank you.”

  “You’re worth it.”

  For a little while, I marched on in the haze of things long forgotten, times that should have remained fresh. I take another puff on my inhaler and blink at the emotion that blurs my vision.

  After another hour, we come out of the woods into a clearing where the sun beats down on us and makes me feel like a loaf of over-kneaded bread in the oven.

  The back of my right heel has hurt since the first hill. Now the pain is stabbing and my sock feels wet. I’m afraid to stop. Afraid to look. My stomach sways with the thought of what I’ll find there. This is a great diet plan.

  When Vicky steps up beside me, I look at her eyes. She catches me and throws back an icy glare.

  Glenda tosses her pack at her feet and starts to pull out a canvas tarp. “You all look pretty done in. We’ll set up here for the night then take off again at first light. This will serve as our shelter. Anyone want to take a stab at setting it up?” Her eyes are hard on Vicky, who doesn’t even blink in response.

  “I’ve got it.” Vicky throws her bag to the ground beside Glenda’s.

  “I’m sure you do. Here’s what you have to work with.” Glenda’s grin is a little too cat-like for my comfort, but all I want is a shelter and somewhere to lay my head. After that hike, I’m not picky.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Vicky cocks her hip. “You expect me to produce a tent with a tarp, a hatchet, and a bit of twine?” She holds the rope out like a snake for added emphasis.

  “Can’t you do it?” Glenda crosses her arms.

  Oh, a challenge. Ireland stands beside me. I think we’re both eager to see how this episode plays out.

  Vicky lifts her chin. There’s no super-sweet Texas Christian smile on her lips now. “I most certainly can.” She turns her back to Glenda and stares down at her supplies.

  Easing myself onto a rock, I start to unlace my shoes and take a deep breath. Vicky’s stubbornness has saved me again.

  IRELAND

  I need to keep moving, keep busy. My mind goes to broken places whenever I stop. It’s a product of the fatigue. But when I move, my thighs burn with skin long past the point of blisters.

  At the edge of the field I find a clump of mushrooms. Their tops flair out. Chanterelles. I’ve had them before. I’m not a huge mushroom fan, but this trip isn’t about feeding my desires, it’s about, I don’t know. I need to find my meaning, purpose. A reason the universe keeps me alive.

  I try to breathe in nature like I used to, but as my lungs fill I hear Vicky’s frustrated howl behind me. I’m more shaken up now than ever. When we were all together at Emery House, it was the best time of my life. I never felt off-balance. Scared of the future maybe, but never hopeless.

  Without hope. How ironic is that? It would almost make me laugh, but Hope’s daughter comes to mind and instead, I feel the grief in her. My arms are heavy as I pick the mushrooms Hope is gone, and so is the life I dreamed of.

  I can still feel his arm around my waist, his wide palm pulling me closer. For most of my adult life, between earning advanced degrees, publishing articles, and lecturing, I gave Skye my entire heart. We were a perfect pair, not designed to grow in one place but to move around, making a difference, exploring cooperat
ive communities, and learning from the people we met along the way. Skye and I always found each other on the path of life, until that final fork when I left the trail to travel on alone. Is that when I started to change? If we’d worked out our issues, could my life be whole and complete? Would I be like Jenna, with a family who loves her and a marriage that will last forever?

  Gathering the mushrooms, I head back to the others, passing Vicky. I duck my head to the side, keeping my voice soft. “You need to cut longer poles and knock some sticks into the ground with the back of the hatchet to tie the rope to. It will hold the tarp tight that way.”

  She looks up at me, a thankful smile on her face. See, even the earthy heathen can be useful in some circumstances.

  Glenda scratches at the skin on the back of her neck. “One of you is going to need to get that hatchet from city-girl and chop up some wood. We’ll get to making a fire and start some grub.”

  Jenna sets her bare foot down on the ground and rubs her stomach. I wonder what she’s been putting into her body for the last twenty-some years. Her complexion is sallow, and she’s rounder than a beach ball. What if she has a heart attack up here?

  Vicky joins the group, a look of superiority on her face. “There you go.” She looks down at Glenda then tosses her head the way of our shelter for the night. It’s sloped to the side and the top sinks in. And there’s a root right through the middle of our sleeping area, but she presents it like she just invented the Internet.

  Glenda saunters over. “Don’t take this the wrong way, girlie. You did better than I thought you would.” Then she taps the bottom of one of the poles with her boot, and the structure tumbles down in front of Vicky. “Try over there, close to the fire. We don’t need to make ourselves dinner for the wildlife on our first night. And I’m too old to sleep on a root.”

  Glenda walks away from the mess, leaving Vicky with an open mouth that looks ready to spill a few words that would ruin her picture-perfect career.

  “Now, ladies,” Glenda hollers. “We need to get a move on if you’re going to learn anything and be able to make a decent meal out here. Tonight, and tomorrow morning, we have some nourishment I’ve brought in, but it won’t last long, and you’ll need to be able to provide your own grub within twenty-four hours. More importantly, you’ll need to be able to boil water—or you could die.”

  Jenna grins. “You wouldn’t let that happen, though.”

  “Huh. You signed a waiver, kid.” Glenda’s eyes twinkle as Jenna’s grin slides down.

  I set the mushrooms next to the area where Jenna is piling wood.

  Glenda nods, but doesn’t give me a compliment outright. I already got the crazy-vegan lecture from her when I made the call to register and told her my needs. But I can show her. Mother Earth will feed us with her natural bounty as long as we do our part to protect her. I intend to hold to my values.

  This time Vicky has the shelter righted in minutes, and while it’s still not straight, as tired as my aching body is, I think it will serve its purpose just fine.

  “Gather over here and I’ll give you the fire lesson. This is an important one, and if you don’t get it, you could die.”

  Again with the threat of death.

  Vicky pulls a lighter from her back pocket. “Or we could use one of these.”

  Glenda holds her hand out and Vicky drops the blue Zippo into her palm. “No need to depend on things that can be lost or broken. You have to be able to take care of yourself out here. It’s just you, God, and nature. Forget all these man-made trappings that make you feel like you’re safe. It’s a sham.” She presses the lighter into her own back pocket. “Okay, gather close. I’ll do this for you only once. After tonight, you make your fire, or you freeze.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean you’d freeze right along with us?” Vicky’s words are as sassy as a teenage girl’s.

  “Nothing doing, city-girl. I’ve got enough calluses on this old body to protect me in subzero weather. You keep to worrying about your hairdo.”

  VICKY

  I want to scream, cry, kick, and just throw this woman over the nearest cliff. It’s not like I couldn’t turn myself around and march right back down this hill. The truck is waiting. I could leave her up here to live out old age in her precious wilderness.

  “You paying attention, city-girl?”

  If she calls me that one more time … My face is hot enough to light our fire right up. I can’t imagine any chance of my freezing to death. “Yes, but my book had some different instructions.”

  “That book of yours is good for only a couple things: fire starter and toilet paper. Here’s the way I prefer.” She pulls a wad from the leather pouch that hangs from her belt. Dried pine needles and moss she’d collected on the walk in. She forms a ball with them, then sets it aside and pulls a pocket knife from another pouch.

  I sneer. “Isn’t that cheating, using a knife?”

  Ireland slaps a hand over her mouth and Jenna’s eyes go wild.

  But Glenda doesn’t even flinch. She carves a notch out of a flat piece of wood and stacks it on top of a hunk of bark, then puts the needle moss clump over the hole she’s made. We watch her organize the fire pit with rocks around in a circle and a teepee of cut branches in its center. So much time has gone by, I wonder if it will be dark before the fire gets started, if it does.

  With both palms, Glenda twirls another stick back and forth, the end pressed into the nest of needles. I lean closer. Smoke is starting to drift up from the clump. She blows gently, cupping her hands around the bundle, then holds it out like one would a baby bird. Orange embers glow within the fuel. She blows again, and there’s a tiny flame. Glenda, knees settled into the ground, places the precious heat into the teepee and blows again. Within moments we’re all staring at a crackling fire, and I’m stunned silent.

  “Okay. Get your canteens out. Anyone have water left?”

  Only Ireland nods, but she’s got tight eyebrows. I’m guessing she doesn’t have much.

  “I’ve got a gallon in my bag.” Glenda says. “We’ll use this to soak the beans and jerky tonight so we can cook them for breakfast tomorrow.”

  My stomach sours. “We’re having beans and jerky … for breakfast. What about eggs or something?”

  “This isn’t the Hilton—”

  I hold a hand up and stop her flow of words. “The name’s Victoria.”

  She laughs. “I’ll hand it to you, you got spunk. That surprises me. I’ve seen you on the tube. It doesn’t show much there. But that’s one of the reasons people come up here with me. They’ve lost their spunk. It’d be a good idea if you all figured out why you’re here. It’ll help you when it gets tough.”

  Jenna holds her head in her hands. “This isn’t the tough part?”

  “No, ma’am.” Glenda ruffles Jenna’s hair. She pulls out a tin pan and pours in beans, then covers them with water. Opening a cloth bag, she produces some kind of homemade jerky.

  “Wait.” Ireland points at the meat. “I can’t eat that.”

  “So, you’ll pick it out.”

  “No, I don’t think you understand about being vegan. If you put the meat into the same water as the beans, I won’t be able to eat any of it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No. No kidding here. I really won’t be able to eat it.”

  Glenda rolls her eyes. “How the three of you ever got in the same place, I’ll never understand. You all figure it out. I’m headed to the john.” She tosses Jenna the sack, grabs a small shovel, and walks into the woods.

  The other two start to talk, but I’m sick with the reality of what Glenda is doing and where.

  “Vicky?” Ireland nudges my shoulder. “Is that all right with you?”

  “Sure,” I say. “What?”

  “If we don’t add the jerky and just eat it like it is tomorrow.” Jenna tears off a piece and bites it with her back molars. “There’s only one pot,” she says through the food.

  “Whatever
. It all looks disgusting anyway. We could leave. Right now, we could climb back down and head to town. I’ll pay for a resort.”

  Jenna starts to laugh and Ireland joins her.

  “I feel better,” Jenna says. “It’s been all I could do not to be the first one to crack.”

  “I’m not cracking. I just didn’t think it would be like this.”

  “Take a deep breath.” Ireland closes her eyes and lifts her hands up. The sky is darkening around us, and the air is cooling. “There’s a peace here. I don’t want to give up yet.”

  “Me neither,” says Jenna.

  And I will not be the weak link. Anyway, they need me. God bless them. I couldn’t live with myself if I went home and then found out one of them had died up here.

  Glenda emerges from the trees, still buttoning her pants. “Did I tell you all why I picked this new location?”

  Jenna shakes her head. “Why?”

  “The legend of the wild man livin’ out here. It’s a whopper.”

  I roll my eyes. Seriously? A ghost story. We’re stuck in a bad cliché.

  Chapter 9

  JENNA

  The wilderness isn’t silent at night like I thought it’d be. In fact, it’s downright loud. Not the noise you hear on television, the crickets and whatnot. The wind tosses the treetops and their branches hit together like drumsticks. Sometimes I hear something moving, but I’m too afraid to ask what it is or even to speak. The fire crackles and pops. And off in the distance there’s the sound of coyotes crying in a way that makes me wonder if their hearts are broken. Maybe that’s the sound of my own heart. And I’m starving. I wonder if the coyotes and I have that in common too. I’d make a great meal.

  Next to me, Glenda grunts, rolls over, and makes a noise I don’t want to consider. Then she starts up a snore that’s like a train barreling toward me down a long tunnel. Or like she’s bait for a hungry animal. But they’ll surely choose me first. I think that might be a blessing.