The Middle of Somewhere

by Sonja Yoerg

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?”

  He shook his head. “I’m taking a break from making a mess of things.”

  “What a coincidence. So am I.” She winced, embarrassed to have revealed herself. His candor had caught her off guard. Maybe this was how actors were: open about their inner worlds, and perceptive about those of others. Or maybe it was Brensen’s beer talking.

  The waitress brought her food. A hiker came over to their table and recited several roles Brensen had been in, as if he were delivering news. When he finally left, Brensen said, “For what it’s worth, we’re each the common denominator in our own lives. It always seems as if it’s us.”

  And sometimes it really is. But she nodded in agreement to stop the discussion. She was too tired to talk about failed relationships. She concentrated on her burger, which she knew was mediocre but nevertheless tasted like heaven.

  Later, at the campsite, Liz turned her attention to the bucket.

  She sliced through the layers of packing tape Dante had applied around the rim, broke the seal on the lid and transferred the contents to the picnic table. Oatmeal, hard salami, cheese, energy bars, granola, muesli (which made her miss her cat), dry milk, a half dozen dinners, Starburst (her obsession), M&M’s (Dante’s), more sunscreen, toothpaste and biodegradable soap. Twice as much as she needed, much of it packaged in two-serving bags. It would take a while to sort it out.

  The bottom layer of the bucket consisted of several bags of trail mix. Under them she spied something blue. She lifted the bags aside and pulled out an envelope with her name on it in Dante’s slanted handwriting. She slit it open with her knife.

  Mi carina,

  We made it to Red’s Meadow! Congratulations to you (and me)! I’ve never walked 56 miles. Well, perhaps over the course of my life, but never so quickly.

  I wanted to tell you how much it means to me that you’ve let me accompany you on your trip. It is your trip, the same way it is your life. I want to share both with you. As you know, I’m not a big fan of adventure (except in films) but I hope to learn why you want to do this crazy trip.

  We haven’t been so close recently. I can’t understand why, because I love you the same. Maybe by now we are better.

  Happy trails to us!

  Dante

  P.S. I must be nearby, so kiss me and tell me you’re glad I’m there.

  Liz folded one leg underneath her and sat on the bench. She pictured Dante writing the note at the kitchen table in their condo, cautiously optimistic that his actions and determination would right their ship. His brow would have been furrowed in concentration and with worry, but he would not have doubted he was doing the right thing, both for him and for her. Confidence was one thing he’d never been short of.

  They’d met at work. She’d been on her way to the mail room to retrieve a set of circuits she’d ordered when Dante had come flying around a corner. She’d had to jump aside to avoid a collision.

  “Sorry!” He stopped and considered her. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “Any chance you’re in IT?”

  She shook her head. “R & D. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a big presentation in five minutes and the projector’s on the brink.”

  “You mean ‘on the blink’? It’s not talking to your laptop?”

  “Yes! Can you fix it?”

  She followed him to the conference room. A few dozen keystrokes later, the opening slide of his presentation appeared on the screen, with his name and title in the lower corner.

  Liz stood. “There you are, Dante Espinoza.”

  “Fantastic!” He smiled broadly and stepped closer. His eyes were the darkest chocolate brown she’d ever seen. “I could kiss you!”

  She shoved her hands in her pockets.

  He backed up. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. That’s workplace harassment.”

  “It’s fine. I mean, what you said is fine. I knew what you meant and it was okay. Maybe not that way, but I didn’t take it that way.” She felt blood rush to her cheeks. If only he would stop smiling at her.

  “You have an unfair advantage.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. You know my name.”

  “Oh.” She stared at him dumbly, her brain operating with an abacus instead of neurons. “I’m Liz.”

  “You saved my life, Liz. Thank you.”

  “It was simple.”

  He laughed, an easy sound. “Only for you.” He gestured at the people filing into the room. “Time for my performance. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to thank you more properly after work. Perhaps a drink?”

  “Today?”

  “Or a more convenient time. And only if it suits you.”

  She hadn’t gone out with a man in three years. Not that this was a date. She’d done him a favor and he was being polite. Colleagues often had drinks after work with no romantic intentions.

  “Today works.”

  “Great. Six at Freddie’s?”

  “Six at Freddie’s.”

  “See you then. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck.”

  She slid out of the room, wiping her sweaty palms on her trousers. She hurried down the corridor, Dante’s smile in her mind, forgetting entirely about the package waiting in the mail room.

  Now tears stung her eyes as she read his note again. She set the paper down and watched a jay alighting from branch to branch. It squawked loudly, raised its black crest in excitement and flew out of sight. Dante would have known what sort of jay it was—and probably the Latin name, too. He had a thing for birds.

  And he had a thing for her. She felt sorry for him. She regretted moving in with him and getting caught up in his version of her. To him, she was someone who could return his love wholeheartedly. She doubted she could. He assumed the force of his love would erase the tragedy of the death of her husband, her first love. That tragedy followed her like a hungry, mangy dog, but Dante believed he could free her from it, set her life on a different path, one leading to a happy ending. Kiss me! As if he were her frog prince. She wanted it to be true, but wishing didn’t make it so.

  She’d deluded herself into thinking she could escape her past by submerging it, and had kept one secret from Dante, then another, and another. If he knew the truth, if he knew what the real tragedy was, he wouldn’t love her at all. He’d regret inviting her for a drink at Freddie’s and everything that followed. But now they were caught, and it was her fault.

  Liz stared at the letter and felt herself collapsing away from Dante, in shame and in fear. Her breath snagged in her chest and she rocked back and forth, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. He deserved someone better than her. At the very least, he deserved the truth.

  If she came clean, she would break his heart, and her own. She might endure that, but she was dead certain she could not bear to see his face when he found out his beloved widow had blood on her hands.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When 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 su
pplied 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.