Grace yanked off her pack and threw it in the back seat before hopping in behind it.
The passenger stuck out his hand. “I’m Marlowe and this is Alphonse. We’re heading back to LA after a week in Palm Springs.”
Grace took in the manicured fingernails as she shook the firm warm hand with her grimy own. “I’m worried I’m going to stain this seat with my sweaty shorts.”
Marlowe giggled. “Never mind. It’s a rental. And you’re so much more interesting than the audio book we were listening to. Alphonse, we got ourselves a real live hiker.”
Marlowe twisted farther in his seat to get a better look at her. “Why don’t you drive if you want to go to Canada? Or how about the train?”
Their questions only stopped when she got out at the grocery store. Twenty minutes later, when she emerged swinging Fairway Foods shopping bags stuffed with snacks and half gallons of chocolate ice cream, she found the two men still seated on the hood of their car.
“We changed our plans, honey.” Alphonse opened the trunk. “We called a local B&B. We’re spending the night here so we can escort you back to the trail tomorrow morning. You’re too cute to be trying to get rides at the side of the road. You never know what might happen.”
Grace hoisted her bags in next to the leather luggage. “I’m unlikely to appeal given my stinking condition.”
“You obviously don’t get around too much.” Marlowe nudged Alphonse in the ribs. “There’s a whole seedy underworld in this country. Man or woman. Stinky or dirty. You might be just what they’re looking for.”
“If you’re right, then that’s an underworld I can do without.” Grace sniffed hesitantly in the direction of her armpit. “Phew. Anyone who likes the way I smell right now needs their head examined.”
“So where to next? Shower?”
“If you don’t mind, I want to stop by the post office first. They’ve got a hiker register. I’m kind of eager to see if there’s a message for me.”
“Ah, a woman of mystery. We love it.” The three climbed into the Camaro. “Post office it is.”
The next day, Grace watched the white car disappear over the horizon at the Pines-to-Palms Highway trailhead. Bright sunshine warmed her arms as she waved. As the smell of exhaust faded, she inhaled deeply.
Then she turned on her phone and took a hundredth look at the photo of Lone Star’s note.
Darling Just Grace,
I turn around whenever someone comes up behind me, hoping it’s you. Do you forgive me for leaving you behind? This is just a temporary separation, I promise. Something we’ll look back on fondly someday. Because you’ve already dug your way deep into my heart. I think of you ever so much. I’ve even begun composing a poem for you.
The leaves that rustle in the breeze
Remind me of your hair.
Your lips were parched, your skin so fair,
Your stride had lost its ease.
That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’ll continue in the next note.
Picture me giving you a long hug. And more.
Missing you,
Lone Star
I’ve dug into his heart.
The idea tickled a mysterious spot in Grace’s belly and a quick laugh burst from her, as it had every time she’d read the note.
The company in town was terrific. The food was filling. But I’m so glad to be back on the PCT with Lone Star ahead of me.
She left the road and climbed the right-hand side of a long approach valley.
Hiking isn’t as difficult as I expected. The next segment’s twenty-six miles across the San Jacinto Mountains to the San Gorgonio Valley. My first substantial elevation gains and drops. I’m not worried.
At first, the sun burned her arms and she was thankful for the frequent shade offered by lichen-splotched boulders, prickly pear cacti, and tall brush. But an hour later when she stopped for lunch, a thick fog descended from the heights ahead and enveloped her. Before she finished eating, cold drizzle forced her into jacket and rain pants. A mile later, the once bright day degenerated into nasty gusts and raindrops the temperature of ice water. Another mile in, the sky was the color of slate. The path before her rose steeply onto the Desert Divide crest and into the unexpected storm.
By evening, the gale whipped hail and snow. Grace humped along, bent low like the wind-distorted firs around her. The narrow ridge afforded little protection. All she could do was lurch forward, one step at a time, into the maelstrom.
Hours earlier, a solo hiker had passed her, but he was nowhere in sight.
It’s crazy cold.
Grace swallowed her fear.
The storm attacked first from one direction and then another, trying to knock her off her feet. Winds whistled eerily through the firs. Grace picked up her pace. In the increasing whiteout, even cacti became unrecognizable as their shapes morphed in the storm’s deadly grip.
Icy roots pulled at her feet, threatening her balance.
“Okay, that does it. I’ll set up my tent here. It’s got to be safer than going on through this mess.”
She pulled the nylon shelter from her pack. The tent poles whipped and beat her legs as she fitted them into the appropriate holes. The normally two-minute job defeated her numb, gloveless hands. With only one end of the tent standing, Grace thumped her ten fingers against her thighs.
Then a sudden gust seized the flapping material. She blinked. Her orange shelter whipsawed into a fir, billowed like a forgotten sail, and flew into the sky. The raging white closed around it.
My tent. Gone.
Grace’s heart beat against her jacket.
What do I do now? I can’t stay here. I’ll freeze.
She tried to run. But all she could do was stumble through the punishing snow along the exposed ridge.
Keep going.
The trail ahead forked. One branch continued straight. Another dove into the relative shelter of a grove. Grace descended, head bowed. The trees were plastered glassy white. Her feet slid on the thin coating of ice.
She shivered uncontrollably.
Make a shelter. Where’s my knife?
She clutched the one-inch blade between her palms and sliced at the nylon rope of her bear bag. After several attempts, she succeeded in tying the four corners of her ground cloth to surrounding trees, creating a protected area for her head. She laid out her waterproof bivy sack and stuffed her pad and sleeping bag inside. With the wind raging through the sparse trees, Grace zipped herself into her makeshift refuge.
Night fell. The storm’s intensity increased.
How did I get myself into another Texas-sized mess? Without Lone Star.
The wind howled. Grace lay trembling in the mud, sleet, and hail.
Chapter 8
Grace pulled the sleeping bag over her head, trying to dampen the storm’s screeching.
What kind of disaster magnet am I? What was I thinking last year when I came up with the brilliant idea of hiking the PCT alone?
***
“Who’s that?” Celine’s disheveled head appeared above the brown sofa when Grace entered Kenji’s apartment six weeks after his death.
“Oh, Christ.” Grace dropped her purse in surprise.
Celine tumbled off the couch. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I scared you just as much.” Grace caught her breath. “What are you doing here? I thought the apartment was totally empty. I expected it to smell like a science experiment. Food rotting in the refrigerator. I was ready for the worst. Have you been here this whole time?”
Celine looked at the floor.
“Come on.” Grace pointed to the sofa. “Let’s park ourselves. I think you’re about to tell me a long story.”
Celine and Grace faced each other on the soft leather. Grace shifted uneasily when Celine didn’t speak. “I have to apologize, Celine. We exchanged numbers at the funeral. But I never called you like I said I would.”
“Child, please. I have a finger to dial. I wasn’t exactly leaving you a lo
ad of messages either.” Celine paused.
Grace’s eyes took her in.
She looks nothing like when I saw her then. Her cheeks are sunken. Her skin looks sickly without makeup. She’s aged about ten years.
“Do you come here to think about Kenji?”
“I guess.” Celine’s hands played with the hem of her tank top. “You know…” She smoothed the legs of her jeans. “It’s like he’s still here when I’m here. Like he went to the store or something. Sometimes I lie here on the sofa all night, pretending he’s going to come home.” She sniffled.
“I know how you feel.” Grace’s fingers rubbed hard at an old coffee stain on the couch. “Say, I don’t mean to change the subject, but what the heck is that music? Is it the same song over and over again, or am I imagining it?”
“No.” Celine rubbed her nose with her sleeve. Her face wore a tender expression. “You’re not. It’s the same one. I played it for Kenji when we were getting dressed that afternoon. I always put songs on repeat. It used to drive him crazy.” Celine stood to get a tissue.
Grace’s eyes wandered. She took in the bookcase between two windows facing a neighbor’s house. Half the shelves were filled with Japanese manga, books on motorcycles, and a few physics and biology tomes. Books by Cheever and Dickens were interspersed randomly with ones by Phillis Wheately, Maya Angelou, and Jamaica Kincaid on the others.
Celine rejoined her on the couch. “That night at the party.” Grace stopped and checked Celine’s face for renewed evidence of tears. “Kenji talked about settling down with you. But you guys had already settled down, hadn’t you? This is your apartment too, right?”
Celine’s body stiffened as though she had been slapped. “I’m not trying to freeload. I know your parents are paying the rent. Kenji and I lived here together a lot of the time. But we hadn’t told you guys yet. And see? I’m getting my stuff.” She pointed to a few boxes in the corner of the room by the kitchen door. “I already started. I was going to pack up his stuff for you too. Clean this place. So you guys wouldn’t have to do anything.”
“Oh, Celine.” Grace exhaled. “That’s so hard. Too hard for you to do alone. Don’t worry about the rent. The way my parents are acting, I don’t think they’ll be over here until sometime next decade. I think they want to keep this place as a shrine. This apartment’s about as accessible to them right now as Antarctica.”
Celine shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m doing the same thing. Keeping it as a shrine. Except I’m here, like, all the time. Praying he’ll come back.” She wiped away two tears that rolled down her cheeks and took a deep breath. “I’m not breaking down again, don’t worry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t know where my head is at these days either. I put my sunglasses in the freezer and frozen pizza in the top drawer of the dresser last night. Sometimes I wonder which way is up.” She cocked her head toward the rest of the apartment. “Why don’t you give me a tour? We can both use the distraction.”
“Awesome. Well, this is the living room.” Celine swept her arm around the room. Then she furrowed her eyebrows. “Haven’t you been here before?”
“I have to admit it’s been a while. I didn’t even know you two were living together, remember?” Grace pointed at the bookshelf and some paintings. “Those are yours, right?”
“Yeah. I brought those over a few months ago.” The blush as she said it brought needed color to her cheeks. “I’ve still got my own apartment. I’ve got all my work clothes and stuff there. But on some week nights and all weekends…”
“You came here. I understand.” Grace jumped up. “Show me what else you did.”
Celine led her to the kitchen. She paused, hand on the doorknob. “Do you remember the awful wallpaper in here?”
“Oh my god, yes. It was disgusting. Peeling and hanging down in strips. I always worried it was going to fall into Kenji’s soup.”
“Me too. So we spent two weekends stripping it and repainting. Kenji looked things up online. We went to a little hardware store in town and bought the tools. The stuff’s still in the hall closet. We said we were going to paint the bathroom next.” Celine’s arm drooped.
“You can always come fix up my place.” Grace stepped past her, turned the knob, and entered. “Wow.” She checked her stride and spun around. “I’m serious. Let’s make a date. You have to come over to my place if you can pull this off.”
The walls shone in the morning light with an iridescent yellow that multiplied each sunbeam twenty-fold. The cobalt blue window casements drew the eye. A coat of eggshell matte transformed the 1970s cabinets into art deco masterpieces.
“I feel like I’m in Greece.” Grace whistled with admiration. “Sun and water all around me.” She whirled. “You work in a bank, right? You’re not a professional decorator, right?”
Celine chuckled, her features brightening. “Straight up. I work at a computer behind a desk all day, advising folks on mortgages. Super fun. A superb use of my new college education. Filling out forms all day really taxes my grey cells.”
“All this wasted talent.” Grace ran her fingers along the wall. “How did you make it shimmer like this?”
“Glitter topcoat. You put it on the base color. It’s easy.”
“For a professional, maybe. I’m into Japanese minimalist. It hides I have no style. You should see my place.”
Celine’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I’d love to see it.”
Grace heard the disappointment in Celine’s voice. “I am serious. I was an idiot for not calling you before. I should have invited you over. But I was too…”
“No, girl, you don’t have to explain. We’re all…”
“I know.” The room suddenly felt too small and Grace walked over to the window and pulled the curtains aside. She tilted her head to look beyond the neighbor’s grey siding and glimpse the blue sky. “It shouldn’t be like that. My whole family’s crawled into these individual holes in the ground. I know we have to grieve in our own ways, but I don’t want to stay in a hole the rest of my life. I came here to get a little sunshine. And I’m glad I’m not alone.”
“Me too.”
The two women strolled around the apartment. Celine pointed out improvements: new faucets in the bathroom, a dimmer switch in the bedroom, paintings added to the walls. When they came to the second bedroom, Celine left her hand on the doorknob without turning it.
“I haven’t actually gone in here before.”
Grace lay her hand on the door carefully, as if she were afraid it might burn her. “Not at all? In all these weeks?”
“Nope.”
“What’s in there?”
“You’ll see.” Celine threw open the door and marched in with Grace on her heels. The bare hardwood floor was strewn with plastic tubs, each crammed with oddly-shaped contents. Cardboard boxes and clothes lay scattered in a curiously organized way. Piles of colorfully filled baggies climbed the walls. Grace recognized jars of almond butter, cans of sardines, and packs of AA lithium batteries. In a corner she noticed clothing, hats, and what looked like a huge safari knife still in its original wrapping.
“I don’t get it. Were you two selling stuff on Ebay?”
“No.” Celine’s eyes sparkled and she winked at Grace. “Guess again.”
“Donating stuff for tsunami victims?”
“Not even close.”
Grace took another look and discovered a scale similar to ones she’d seen at the post office. It occupied an honored location in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a clearing. “You were obviously weighing something. Aren’t those labels near the boxes?”
“Yeah. And look over there.” Celine pointed to a backpack hanging on a hook from the closet door. “That’s a hint.”
Grace picked her way across the room to the sack of green and black nylon. It lacked fancy zippers or straps. Her fingers felt the material. “I’ve never seen a pack like this before. Looks basically like a duffle bag. I give up.”
“It’s for hikin
g.”
A growing awareness grew in Grace’s chest. She glanced around again. “All this is for hiking? Where was he going? Nepal?”
“Nope. Canada.”
Her foot nudged a bag of dried beans. “They don’t have food in Canada?”
Celine snickered. “He wasn’t starting in Canada. That’s where the route ends. He was going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. It starts at the Mexican border and goes through California, Oregon, and Washington.”
“So which part was he going to hike?”
“All of it.”
“You’re kidding. How long does that take? Years?”
“About five months.”
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s nuts.”
“Absolutely.” Celine returned Grace’s long stare.
Without another word, they returned to the living room.
“So, Kenji was going to hike from Mexico to Canada?” Grace rolled her eyes. “That’s what he was talking about at the party?”
“That was the plan. He spent all his free time arranging things. He was in that room a lot. Always obsessing about details. Weighing everything. Scared he wasn’t taking the right stuff. Worried he’d get sick of the food he’d picked out.”
“And what about all the cardboard boxes? I don’t get that.”
“They’re drop boxes. Boxes I was going to send him.”
“Huh?” Grace pushed hair from her face. “How would he get the boxes if he was out in the middle of the wilderness?”
“He’d hitchhike or walk into towns with post offices. You send stuff there and they hold it for you until you pick it up. We printed out labels from the PCT Website.”
“PCT? You mean the Pacific Whatever Trail?”
“Crest. And I can’t believe I’m sounding like a fricking expert. I know jack. Just what Kenji told me.”
“When he said at the picnic he was going hiking, I thought he meant an overnight trip. You know, sneaking into Muir Woods to sleep under the redwoods like we did when we were kids. Maybe a week in Yosemite. But what you’re describing sounds like a full-time job.”
Wild Within (Wild at Heart #1) Page 6
