The Middle of Somewhere

by Sonja Yoerg

  “Wait a second,” he said, taking a branch from her hand. He examined the Y-shaped piece. “We have a spare bungee cord, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing. You’re about to see some real wilderness shit now.”

  Within ten minutes he had fashioned a slingshot. He scoured the campsite and creek bed for ammunition and rejoined her at the fire. Selecting a golf ball–sized rock, he pointed at the roll of toilet paper he’d placed on a log fifteen feet away.

  “I am no doubt—how do you say?—rusty.”

  He cupped the rock in the sling made from a bandanna, raised it to eye level, squinted like an archer and released the rock. It hit the toilet roll with a soft thud.

  “You nailed it!” she said. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “From the same uncle who was crazy for birds. He photographed them at the feeder. My job was to scare the squirrels away.”

  “Did you kill them?” She couldn’t imagine Dante killing anything.

  He shrugged. “A few. I tried not to. Most of them ran away as soon as they saw me.”

  They entertained themselves for a while setting up more difficult shots. Dante hit nearly everything.

  “The fire’s hot,” he said, carefully adding another log. “We should eat.”

  She boiled water and rehydrated the lentil soup. They ate quickly. Dante moved to pick up the dishes, but sat again when Liz spoke into the fire.

  “I never understood why Gabriel changed the way he did. He was so in love with me, so into me, and then he—” Her hand mimicked the flames disappearing into air. “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I.” He hesitated. “Something was going on with him.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Did you ever think he might have been depressed?”

  “Only long after it was too late. My go-to response—especially back then—was it’s me, not the other guy.”

  “It must have been so terrible to not understand what was happening.”

  “Yeah, but Dante, if you’re me, it almost always feels that way. And everyone called us the perfect couple. I loved Gabriel, but as for the rest, I had to take their word for it. Relationships were this big intricate mystery. Are.”

  He poked the embers, and a flame awoke and licked a charred log. “I can see why you think that, because you spent too much time alone when you were small. And you never saw your parents together, being a couple. Living together, being happy, being angry, being bored.”

  “Even an evil stepparent would have been more informative.”

  “Exactly. You’re the same as someone who learns to ski when they’re already an adult. It’s hard to be natural at it. You’ve got no snow sense.”

  “Well, that’s very encouraging.”

  He put his hand on the nape of her neck. She turned to him. “But we are not skiing. We are loving, and it’s not as difficult.”

  “It’s not? Remember I’m a shitty skier, too.”

  “I think it’s actually very simple. I don’t know what happened between you and Gabriel. Maybe you were too young—both of you. But don’t blame it on love. There’s nothing wrong with love.”

  • • •

  It was dusk when they returned from filtering water at the stream. Linda and Paul were coming down the trail and eyeing the campsite next door. They spotted Liz and Dante.

  Linda approached. “Are you going to think we’re stalking you if we camp here?”

  Liz laughed. “Better you than anyone else.”

  “Brensen’s right behind us.”

  Liz pointed out the third site near the bridge. “It’s tight, but it’ll give him something to complain about.”

  The McCartneys lowered their packs with a shared groan. They both looked as if they could use a stiff drink.

  Dante said, “Our fire is still pretty hot if you want to use it.”

  Paul glanced at Linda, who nodded consent. “Fantastic. I’ll put up the tent, darling, if you want to get dinner started.”

  Liz observed the McCartneys unloading their packs in the near darkness. She couldn’t recall when they’d ever hiked this late into the evening. Whenever she saw them late in the day, they were already kicking back, clean and organized. Linda approached with a pot, two bowls and two sporks.

  “Pull up a log,” Liz said.

  Linda nestled the pot in the embers. “I dislike cooking over fires. Makes such a mess of Harold.” She noted their quizzical looks. “Harold’s the pot.”

  Dante told her about the fuel.

  “That was resourceful of you. Thanks.” She peered over Liz’s head at the trail. “I want to tell you about Brensen before he shows up. Last night, in all that wind, one of his guy lines got loose. The fly was flapping wildly, so he went outside to secure it. He forgot about a huge branch hanging over the tent and smacked his head on it.”

  “Ouch,” Liz said. “How bad was it?”

  “That’s the thing. He says it was nothing, but he’s got a lump on his forehead you wouldn’t believe.” She lifted the lid off the pot and stirred. “Not only that, but he’s acting strangely.”

  “Brensen’s normal is already strange.”

  “I know what you mean, but we think he might have a concussion. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet and twice he couldn’t find where he was on the map.”

  “Sounds like me,” Dante said.

  Liz smiled at him indulgently.

  Linda sighed. “We followed him all day because we were afraid he’d fall, or get lost.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Paul got fed up. I can’t blame him. Brensen wouldn’t admit there was anything wrong. He kept yelling at us to stop babysitting him. Said we were ruining his preparation for his role.” Her eyebrows flashed upward in disbelief. She peered into the pot again. “Harold has completed his work. Paul! In two minutes I’m eating yours!”

  They all ate dinner, cleaned up and headed off to bed. Liz and Dante were in their sleeping bags, drifting off, when a light swept across their tent. Someone swore under his breath. Light beams broke the darkness several more times, accompanied by the rustle of nylon and the clatter of gear falling to the ground.

  Liz could hear Paul whispering nearby in his tent, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  “No, I got it!” Brensen said. “I can take care of my own tent!”

  Paul hissed, “I’m not offering to help out of charity, you pompous idiot. I just want your lights off so we can sleep.”

  “So there’s a curfew out here?”

  “Sadly, no, but perhaps wilderness permits should require mental health screening. Good night.”

  Liz stuck her face into her pillow to stifle her laughter. Dante, suppressing a laugh as well, kissed the top of her head and wished her a good night.

  She slept, then, a dreamless sleep, which lasted unbroken until dawn. She awoke, warm in her bag, and gazed at the tent ceiling, a few feet away, as it slowly changed from dark amber to yellow. Outside, a chipmunk, or a squirrel, sprinted in hesitant bouts: feet scuttling, silence, more scuttling, silence.

  Yesterday had been revelatory—twice. In the wee hours, with the howling wind as her orchestra, she had screamed her confession to Dante, and survived. She supposed she’d always known she would survive it—that was simply rational—but had feared the emotional fallout from exposing her secrets. She had been a coward. The way she had chosen to move forward, to live her life, was to push away her culpability and guilt. Until yesterday, she had chosen to be a fraud and hide behind the unassailable veneer of a tragically dead husband.

  But everything that keeps you comfortable keeps you from being known. And Dante said he wanted to know her. Finally, she wanted that, too, for better or for worse. He was struggling to understand what had happened in her marriage, as was she. He
would judge her according to whatever principles he chose to apply. She had no control over it.

  Indeed, her shame burned hotter reflected in Dante’s eyes. And the disappointment in his voice when she revealed her affair—she hadn’t figured on the pain from that. Maybe in telling the truth she had only traded one variety of emotional anguish for another. Time would tell. Or it wouldn’t.

  At least Dante still loved her enough to stay by her side on this journey. And on this September morning, at the bottom of a canyon, sunk deep in the stony wilderness, that was enough.

  The other source of revelation occurred below Muir Pass when she entered the landscape as she had entered paintings years before. The experience didn’t leave her more connected with the mountains and the sky. Their scale and impassiveness prohibited it. Rather, Liz came away more rooted in herself. These discoveries were hers, and defined her even if she couldn’t say precisely how. When she was young, naive and unbridled, she had found her love for tinkering and, later, engineering. Her upbringing may have left her in the dark about relationships, but she never shied from her instincts (what else did she have, as a child?) nor relied on others unnecessarily. To be alone, curious and calm, is to be free. Even while she ached with feelings she could not name for the socially enmeshed lives of others, she understood they came at a cost.

  Gabriel, she now suspected, had arrived at college with the hope of experiencing a modicum of the freedom she had routinely enjoyed, and suffered under. To him, she was the kite already loose in the sky, and he was enthralled. But after college, the routines of work and marriage bore down on him. Liz pursued her dreams as if she were a child building a tower of blocks on a sunny rug. He took the job he knew he should take and flailed at his dreams in the off hours. Both were employed in their chosen fields, but only Liz had had the clarity to choose wisely, with her heart. Gabriel’s family was consumed with doing for others, and doing it together, so he never found his wings, much less spread them. He might have been depressed, but more likely he was frustrated and emotionally unprepared to summon the courage to change his life.

  Liz recognized how similar she was to her mother in finding her life’s work. Claire might not have been blessed with prodigious talent, but she was committed to her art, and supported her fellow artists. While Liz could have benefitted from more attention, and a larger family life, at least her mother did nothing to discourage her from becoming who she was, which included, ironically, someone who could soothe herself in the imaginative exploration of a painting.

  The morning after Gabriel had died, Liz had been awakened from her sleep in the chair by a knock at the door. She was surprised to find her mother on the doorstep.

  “Look at you,” Claire said, laying a hand on her daughter’s cheek. “The things life does.”

  In a single stroke, Liz’s troubled marriage, her adultery and her husband’s death had been swept into a generic box. That day, she was grateful for her mother’s nonchalance.

  Claire walked past her, heading for the kitchen. “Gabriel’s mother called me, if you’re wondering.” There was no resentment in her voice for not receiving a direct call from her daughter.

  Liz found her mother pulling mugs from the cabinet. “I don’t know how your coffee works. Just start and I’ll take over while you shower.” She looked at Liz, who hadn’t moved. “Come on, now. Coffee and a shower. One foot in front of the other.” She took her daughter by the shoulders. “Talking about this sort of thing is useless. You’ll be sad no matter what.” Before she let go, she squeezed. “So, one foot in front of the other.”

  And that was how it would be with Dante on this hike. She had more to tell him, worse than what he’d already heard, but there was no way around it. It was a boulder in the middle of the trail. Where in the trail, she couldn’t say, but they would get there, one foot in front of the other. And, if they were able, they’d continue on to the other side.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After breakfast, Dante headed to the ranger station for a weather forecast. Liz picked her way through the trees to the stream to rinse the dishes. Squatting on a sandy patch, she swirled water into the cups and flung it into the bushes behind her. Breaking twigs drew her attention to the far bank, clogged with willow. The sounds proceeded upstream. She stood, slowly, in case it was an animal, and placed a foot on a half-submerged rock to improve her view. The willows shook like a cheerleader’s pompom. The branches parted and Payton Root appeared, fixing his eyes on her. Liz gasped. Her foot slid off the rock and hit the water with a splash. Wheeling her arms to keep her balance, she stumbled, knocking the metal dishes onto the rocks.

  He was in front of her, unsmiling. “Good morning.” His beard had grown in since she’d last seen him three days before. Somehow, he appeared even larger.

  She glanced toward the campsites, but they lay invisible beyond the steep bank.

  He came half a step closer. “Surprised to see me?”

  She stepped back. “I thought your brother was hurt.”

  “Well, he was. And now he’s better. He’s small, but he’s tough.”

  Rodell wasn’t small. He was as tall as Dante, but Payton dwarfed them both.

  She said, “And yet a knee injury is so unlikely to heal in—what?—half a day. Must be some genetic peculiarity.”

  “You got a sharp tongue, don’t you? Like a rattlesnake.” He showed his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I prefer feisty.”

  Her stomach clenched. She wanted to leave, but picking up the dishes would make her too vulnerable. Instead, she met his eyes. “And with your charm and debonair ways, I’m sure you have your choice.”

  “Hey!” Rodell appeared from the direction of her campsite. “How’re you doing?”

  She used the distraction to scoop up her dishes. “Great.” Rodell blocked the path. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  He ignored her. “I just saw Dante on his way to the ranger’s.”

  “That’s great. Now, Rodell, I need to get going.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask about my leg?”

  “I can see it’s fine. Miraculously so.” She regretted her comment immediately.

  The younger brother, usually cheerful, jerked his shoulders into place. Pointing a finger at her, he questioned his brother. “You still fancy this one?”

  Payton narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue slowly across his lips. “More all the time.”

  She clasped the dishes against her and took a giant step onto a tall boulder, allowing the momentum to carry her to another stone farther up the bank. She caught hold of a branch and swung herself up the rest of the way. The brothers laughed.

  At the top of the bank, in sight of the McCartneys, she paused to arrange the dishes to carry them more comfortably.

  “Oh, Liz,” Payton called. “I forgot to give you this. Found it on the trail.”

  She turned and spotted a narrow object in the air as it caught the light before falling to the ground behind her.

  A red tent stake.

  They laughed again, and Rodell let out a snort.

  Dante hadn’t returned from the ranger station, but Liz was relieved to see he’d stowed his gear and would soon be ready to leave. She wanted to get the hell away from the Roots. She pulled a pair of used, but dry, socks from her pack and changed into them. There was nothing she could do about her wet boot. She packed the dishes, tucking them in with her clothes so they wouldn’t rattle, and secured the toggle closing her pack.

  Brensen’s campsite was empty, so he must have been feeling well enough. Paul and Linda seemed to be getting a late start, probably with the intention of putting distance between themselves and Brensen. She was about to walk over and tell them about her encounter with the Roots when Dante came up behind her.

  “Good news! The ranger says the weather should be fine for the next couple of days.”

  “That�
��s a relief.” She pulled the top of her pack closed. “Dante, you won’t believe it, but I just ran into Payton and Rodell at the river.”

  “I thought Rodell was injured.”

  “I know. Listen.” She told Dante about her encounters with Payton: the time at Purple Lake when she’d been trapped between him and the stream, and today. He listened without interrupting.

  “So,” she said, “I might not be a social genius, but I can’t ignore the fact that every time Payton opens his mouth I feel like I need a shower—or a bodyguard.”

  “He’s definitely strange. Both of them are. But dangerous? Maybe he just likes to get a raise out of women. Maybe he considers that kind of talk flirting.”

  “I think you mean ‘get a rise’ out of them. Provoke them.”

  “Yes. Maybe if you refused to respond, it wouldn’t be fun for him anymore.”

  So, it’s me? Liz thought. The nerd who blew her first marriage and was about to blow this relationship needed the behavioral adjustment. Well, he had a point. She hadn’t tried ignoring Payton. But her instincts—and recent events—said it wouldn’t work. “And what about the tent stakes? And the fuel? And that little present in our cabin?”

  “We can explain those in other ways.”

  “How? That we’re just incredibly careless and unlucky?”

  He shrugged.

  Liz didn’t want to press any further. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

  They applied sunscreen and lip balm, drank water and put on their packs. Liz scanned the site one last time and led the way to the trail.

  She wanted to mention the Roots’ reappearance to Paul and Linda, but although their gear was still at their campsite, the couple was nowhere to be seen. Liz figured they were upstream collecting water or perhaps had gone to a nearby clearing to take in the view.

  They crossed the bridge and continued south on a gentle descent along the Kings River. After less than a mile Dante called to Liz. She heard him stop, so she leaned on her poles and regarded him over her shoulder. He removed his sunglasses and turned to the sky, as if for guidance. Then he looked at her squarely. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand before how much the Roots bothered you. If you want to stay away from them, that’s fine. We don’t have to talk to them.”