Reconsidering Riley (17 page)

Oh, no
. "Wrong way?"

"Yeah. We've been trailing you for the past
hour or so. I figured we'd catch up, but not this soon." He turned
to his group, and high-fived them. "We rock!"

"We're...sightseeing," Riley told his fellow
guide. "You'd better take the middle position. We'll be right
behind you."

Mack nodded.

"Hi, Alexis," Lance said shyly.

Alexis stuck her hands in her pockets,
elbows turned out crookedly. She nodded. "Hey."

"Your, um, braces look nice and purple
today."

Alexis's brow furrowed. "Like,
huh
?"

Jayne saw an amused look pass between Riley
and Mack.

"Come on, sport," Mack said, as though that
shared look had been a signal of some kind. He slung his arm around
Lance's skinny shoulders. "No sense using up all your best lines
right away."

They hiked away, Lance casting backward
looks at Alexis. Alexis rolled her eyes and stared at the ground,
blushing.

Watching them leave, Jayne drooped. "How
long have you known?" she demanded, turning to Riley.

"That you were going the wrong way?" He
shrugged. "From the minute you mistook that gully for a butte on
the topo and veered onto the parallel trail. I knew you'd figure it
out eventually."

She goggled. "You let me lead us in circles
on purpose
?"

"You weren't doing it on purpose."

"I meant
you
! You purposely let me
screw up."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay.
You did fine. Really. This is the only way to learn."

Alexis and Kelly nodded sympathetically. "We
didn't mind," Kelly said.

"Yeah." Alexis nodded. "Once I navigated me
and Uncle Riley into a cow pasture up near Munds Park. Trust me, he
was
way
madder to step in cow doo than he is right now."

They gave her compassionate smiles.
Compassionate, she-doesn't-know-any-better smiles. Jayne felt like
crying. In fact, she
was
crying. On the inside. Her throat
tightened and her eyes watered. She had to blink like a wanna-be
mascara tester to keep from letting the tears fall.

She had to explain. Riley's "we were
sightseeing" attempt to cover for her was sweet, but Jayne couldn't
allow him to let her off the hook.

"Thanks. It's just that—" She swallowed
hard, her hand fisted on the useless (to her) topographical map.
"—there aren't any landmarks out here. Everything looks the same
without a Gap on this corner and a McDonald's on that corner and a
bunch of street signs in between. You know?"

They all nodded.

"I'm sorry, everybody," Jayne said. This
time, a few tears did fall. She brushed them away with the back of
her hand, then glanced up. "I thought I could do it. I didn't mean
to put us behind."

"It's not a race," Riley told her.

"I don't care
where
I am, so long as
I don't miss your next workshop," Alexis added. "They can't start
without you."

"I enjoyed the scenery," Kelly insisted
loyally. "Twice."

"Oh, you guys!" Gratefully, Jayne sniffed.
She waved her arms, urging everyone forward for a thank-you
hug—even Riley, with his stiff, what's-a-group-hug shoulders. "I'm
so glad we're all together! You're the best!"

They blubbered companionably for a few
minutes, being mutually empathetic and sharing "when I got lost"
stories. All except Riley, of course. He ducked out of the group
hug as soon as the initial contact ended.

When Jayne looked up, he stood near a patch
of cactus, his shoulders rigid. His lonesome profile turned
outward. He looked hard as stone, competent and strong and...alone.
Alone in a way that tugged Jayne's heart, and made her want to go
to him.

She held herself steady, knowing she was
only kidding herself to think Riley needed her.

Once upon a time he hadn't been alone. He'd
been with her, and he'd been happy—or at least Jayne had believed
he was. What, she wondered now, was the real story?

Riley slung his pack to the ground, grateful
to release its weight from his back for a while. He'd never have
allowed any of the women to carry as much as he did—not because he
believed women were any less competent, but just because he was
trained for this and they weren't. Also because his mother (ardent
environmental activist that she was) had taken the time to ensure
her son understood
cultural
concerns as well—chivalry toward
women chief among them.

Riley still opened doors for ladies. He
still held out their chairs, and he wasn't opposed to letting a
woman have the last word, either. He still watched out for the
women in his care. Even, sometimes, when they didn't want him
to...like Jayne.

He'd known damn well she wouldn't let him
help her read the topos today. He'd known it the same way he'd
known she'd catch her breath when he touched her. The same way he'd
known she'd kiss him back when he kissed her. He knew
her
.
Jayne was stubborn. Independent-minded. Proud.

In those ways, Riley figured she was a lot
like him. She needed to live her mistakes before they turned real
for her. He didn't mind a couple of extra miles of trail walking.
It was all part of being a guide. He only wished she hadn't felt so
upset about it, in the end.

But that was over with now. Now, the other
guides and adventure travelers milled around the rocky clearing
just beyond Riley's spot. Now, it was almost time for another
anti-heartbreak workshop session. Now, wind snaked down his neck
and lifted his shirt from his sweaty back. He relished the cooling
sensation.

He would not, Riley thought, relish the next
workshop quite as much.

Idly, he surveyed the obligatory
pre-workshop "primp!" session. It had to serve some purpose, but he
was clueless as to what it was. Was it workshop foreplay?

"Okay, ladies." When she'd finished her
lipstick, Jayne stepped to the middle of the clearing with an air
of purpose. "It's time for the Memorabilia Mash Mambo!"

Eagerly, the women put away their
leopard-print compacts. Intrigued in spite of himself, Riley
watched. The other men did, too. They drifted toward his place
gradually, their gazes fixed on the workshop group.

Jayne perched on a rock, somehow managing to
look like a leggy blonde pinup girl despite the trail dust and
rustic setting. It was in her attitude. She wore carefree glamour
cheerfully, the way other women wore new shoes. Her girly-girl ways
charmed him. They always had, even when they puzzled the hell out
of him.

"Did each of you bring a memento of the
relationship you're here to get over?" she asked. "Something
representative of your good-bye guy?"

The women nodded. They brandished various
items—a ring, a letter, a dried flower, movie ticket stubs, a music
CD.

"'Best of the Do-Wop Hits?'" Jayne raised
her eyebrows at Mitzi. "Really?"

Mitzi popped her gum. She nodded. "Me and
Rodney's 'song' was 'Shoo Doo Be Doo.' We worked in one of those
Fifties-style diners together." She gave the CD a longing look.

"Okay. A CD is just fine." Jayne patted her
hand. "Here's what we're going to do," she told the group. "The
purpose of this workshop is to remember your relationship,
celebrate your relationship, and then put it in its place. I'm
handing each of you a waterproof, rip-proof Tyvek envelope. You'll
use these later."

They each accepted their envelopes
solemnly.

"After we finish this technique, remember
that I want your feedback, okay? These are all potential chapters
in my upcoming hands-on breakup guide workbook. I need to know how
well each of the techniques work. All your opinions are important
to me."

They nodded. Even Alexis, who'd
withdrawn...a Cinnabon wrapper?...from her pack. Riley cocked his
head, curious.

"We're all set, then." Jayne stood, her
movements purposeful and her attitude professional. Riley couldn't
help being impressed. "I wanted to bring a CD player for this
particular workshop, but
somebody
—"

Her meaningful gaze pinned him as the
nefarious
somebody
.

"—wouldn't let me pack in a boom box. So I
guess we'll just have to hum some mambo music. First, I'll
demonstrate the technique. I just need a...oh, shoot! I forgot to
bring my demonstration memento."

She bit her lip, looking around—evidently
for a substitute breakup "memento." Ever willing to help, Riley
stepped forward. "Here," he called, grabbing the first thing that
came to mind and tossing it to her.

His Swiss Army knife.

Jayne caught it. She fumbled it first, like
a shortstop bobbling an infield bunt, but she caught it. Then she
peered into her cupped palms to see what it was.

That was the moment Riley remembered. He
remembered using his knife's corkscrew to open wine on a date with
Jayne. Remembered using the wood saw blade to slice French bread on
their ocean-side picnics. Remembered Jayne using the nail file to
repair her chipped manicure...remembered kissing her and then
carrying her to bed, all because she'd looked so cute while
concentrating on the repair job. Too late, he remembered that that
knife had been a part of too many damned memories of their time
together.

He remembered using the magnifying glass to
find a lost sequin from Jayne's dress. He remembered using it to
cut off clothing tags for her after she returned home all flushed
and excited after a shopping spree. He remembered using the
built-in ballpoint pen...to tell her good-bye.

Hell
. How could he have been so
stupid?

She gazed across the distance separating
them. Remembrance filled her face. That, and sadness. Riley felt
like the biggest kind of jerk. A thoughtless jerk. He stepped
forward to apologize.

Just then, Jayne tossed the folded army
knife in the air. She caught it with a jaunty gesture, a wobbly
smile on her face.

"Thanks, Riley." Above her forced smile, her
gaze flashed over him, blue and dangerous. "This will be
perfect
."

Uh-oh
. He was pretty sure his Swiss
Army knife was indestructible. But then it had never come up
against an ex-girlfriend with a point to prove, either.

He offered a carefree wave and a nod. Jayne
didn't need to know he sort of cherished that knife. Just like she
didn't need to know exactly how few possessions he owned. Riley
didn't care about
things
. He cared about experiences. About
the adrenalin rush of adventure and the reassuring familiarity of
staying on the move. She couldn't take
those
things away
from him.

He'd already proven that by leaving her,
hadn't he?
Before
she'd fully tempted him into settling
down, trusting, changing.

"First, the celebration," Jayne told her
guidance groupies, who watched avidly. "Hold your piece of
relationship memorabilia, and then...mambo."

Unselfconsciously, she started humming.
Holding his army knife in her hand, she began to dance. Her hips
swayed in the mambo, her feet kicked up little puffs of dust, her
eyes closed as her head fell back. Her baby blue hat tumbled to the
ground. Jayne lost herself in her demonstration. Her body moved
lithely, her lush blonde hair flowing in the breeze.

"She's an excellent dancer," Mack told Riley
in a low voice, nodding. "Very uninhibited."

"Yeah." Bruce nudged him. "Hey, this
workshop stuff could be pretty
good
."

Even Lance looked up from his Game Boy.
"Whoa."

It was hard for Riley to drag his gaze from
Jayne's sassy little hip thrusts, but he did it. All for the sake
of scowling them into submission.

"Sorry," they mumbled, then went back to
watching.

After less than a minute, the dance ended.
Jayne opened her eyes to retrieve her fallen hat, and all the women
applauded. Bruce stuck his fingers in his mouth to whistle. Riley
deterred him with a jab to his ribcage.

"Thanks," she said when the applause died
down, cheeks pink with pleasure. "That was just a demonstration, of
course. Your own personal mambos can go on as long as needed. Then,
the next step." Jayne brandished her Tyvek envelope. "Mashing."

With enthusiasm, she thrust his army knife
into the bag. She ripped the protective strip from the adhesive,
dropped the bag onto the ground, and closed the envelope with a
stomp from her shoe. She bent over to retrieve it.

Bruce nodded, grinning. His ogling reflexes
seemed to be having a field day. "This workshop is awesome. Wait'll
they're
all
doing it!"

Riley considered punching him in the nose.
He settled for telling him to shut up, then began planning his
first macho counter-workshop. After all, he'd said he'd do it. He
was a man of his word.

Jayne raised the sealed envelope over her
head. "Voilà! By the time your memorabilia is stowed in your
envelope, you'll have put to rest a big chunk of your memories,
too. And when you're ready to revisit them someday, they'll be
there for you. Safe and sound."

"Yay!" All the women lunged to their feet,
ready to mambo-and-mash their memorabilia.

"This is our cue to exit." Riley angled his
head sideways, motioning for the men to follow him. "We've got our
own workshop to conduct."

They trouped toward a distant set of
boulders. Bruce cast a longing glance backward. "Will our workshop
have dancing women?"

Riley shook his head. "Eyes front and
center, mambo boy. Let's give the ladies some privacy."

"Did you bring one of your super-duper
cameras, by any chance?" Bruce persisted. "One with the a telephoto
lens and a tripod and crystal-clear imaging?"

Riley always carried a camera. Leaving it
with his gear in his battered Suburban home-on-wheels was like
leaving a chunk of himself behind. "I'm not here to take
pictures."