Sex & Sourdough (19 page)

“You have no idea how much I want to. I keep looking at maps and smacking myself. Maine is less than a month away. I just can’t figure out how to make it work. Once I start school, I’m stuck for the next three years. I was thinking maybe I could figure out a way to get away next summer to do the second half.”

“Well, there’s always retirement, like Doc and Bumblebee.”

“I don’t want to wait that long…. What about you?”

Kevin smirked. “You need to work in order to retire. No job, nothing to retire from.”

“You know what I meant. Are you going all the way to Maine?”

“That was the plan. I don’t know, though. Most people start earlier than we did, to get to Maine before they close Katahdin for the season. I didn’t want to hike in March because it’s too damn cold. I’ll probably head up north soon, get the end of the hike done while it’s warm and then head south to finish. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Anders leaned back so their shoulders brushed.

Kevin could feel the warmth radiating from Anders and had to fight to keep himself from wrapping his arm around Anders’s shoulders.

“I….” Kevin searched for anything he could say to make this easier. “I should get going. Buy supplies and stuff.”

Anders nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Kevin squeezed Anders’s thigh. “Can I kiss you good-bye?”

“You don’t have to ask to kiss me.”

“Even when people might see us?”

Anders grabbed Kevin’s shirt and pulled him close. “Let them see.” He tugged Kevin into a bruising, desperate kiss. Despite the very public setting, Kevin’s body awoke with the contact. He turned on the bench, drawn toward Anders with the same magnetic pull he’d felt all summer long. He still wanted Anders. Even knowing it was a bad idea, even knowing in a few minutes Anders was going back to his own life, Kevin wanted to be close to him.

“I need to go,” Kevin whispered. “I need to go, now. Otherwise I might try to fuck you right here on the bench.”

Anders shut his eyes, pressed his lips against Kevin’s in a closemouthed kiss, and pulled away quickly. “That might get us more than a few glares. Ah…. You don’t like weird, but…. Here….” Anders held a small scrap of paper out to him. “My new phone number. In case you’re ever hiking in Florida, or if…. Well, just in case.”

Kevin took the piece of paper, risked another quick kiss, and then climbed to his feet. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you.” Anders dropped his eyes to the ticket on his lap.

Kevin turned away quickly, before he could say or do something stupid, something that would make this harder. He hurried back to the hotel room they had shared, stopping at the grocery store on the way, and repacked his supplies quickly. He checked out by noon, grabbed lunch on his way out of town, and was back on the trail before two.

Without having to adjust his stride to keep pace with Anders, Kevin made good time. He managed to get twelve miles north of Pittsfield before he stopped for the night, well into the forest. He ruined dinner by kneading his bread dough until the gluten strands started to break down. He baked it anyway, even though it turned out so dense that it wasn’t edible. The smell always reminded him of happier times at home. There was nothing to do with the bread besides eat it, so he set it aside while he washed his dishes and then tried to choke it down. It reminded him of some of the first loaves of bread he’d made when he was a kid, when even having a professional oven with steam injectors, cornstarch glazes, and a whole collection of traditional molding baskets and pans to choose from hadn’t been able to make his experiments taste decent. He doubled his dose of Motrin, took the rest of his meds, and went to sleep in his own tent for the first time in two months. He tried to hang on to the smells, tastes, and textures of the bakery in his mind, to lose himself in old memories so he wouldn’t have to remember that Anders wasn’t in the tent beside him.

The next day it rained and he didn’t give a damn. He trudged through the mud and puddles, letting the rhythm of his feet and the rain pound his thoughts into submission. It was so much easier to hike than it was to think.

He felt the chest pain while he was making dinner that night. It only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like a vise clamping down on his chest. It left him dizzy and panting, even when he was sitting down and resting. He turned in early and the chest pain hit again while he was lying down, leaving him gasping in his tent. He didn’t think he was having a heart attack, but he knew it was a possibility. His heart had been the first organ his disease had attacked. If he was getting worse, it was likely that the first signs of a major flare would originate in his heart. If he had a heart attack that killed him, how long would his corpse sit there inside the tent before anyone realized he was dead?

Within ten minutes, the pain faded. He was so exhausted after enduring the chest pain that he was asleep within seconds.

On the third day out from Pittsfield, he turned off the main trail and followed a blue-blazed side trail to a parking lot where his guidebook said there was a payphone, complete with the number for a local hostel that ran a shuttle service. At a minimum, he needed to call his doctor and get advice about how to adjust his medication.

When he stumbled down into the parking lot, he saw two familiar faces. Chex Mix and Spider, the Florida hikers they had traveled with through most of North Carolina, were sitting in the shade, already waiting for a van from the hostel.

“Hey, Sourdough!” Chex Mix waved up at him. “How’s it going?”

Kevin smiled despite his mood. “Okay, I guess. I think I need a break, though. You guys waiting for a ride?”

“Yeah. If you’re heading for the hostel, we’ve already called. Dude said he wouldn’t be here until three o’clock, though, and we’ve been waiting forever!”

“About half an hour,” Spider translated. “Sit down, take a load off.”

Kevin dropped his pack and sat down in the shade beside them. He rearranged himself so he could lean against his pack and let his burning knees and ankles relax. “You all right?” he asked Spider. The man was sweating even though he was sitting down.

“Tired. Sore,” Spider drawled. “You wouldn’t think shin splints would be possible after three months, but I’ve got them. Ran out of painkiller yesterday, so I’m going to go find a drugstore.”

“You want some Motrin?” Kevin asked, flipping his pack open without waiting for an answer.

“If you’ve got enough to spare, hell yeah.”

Kevin dug into his pack until he reached the zip-top bag that held his medication. He got out four Motrin and passed them to the cringing man beside him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Spider swallowed all of the pills dry.

“Sure. You know, I get shin splints whenever my shoes get worn down. Might be time for a new pair.”

Spider glanced down at what was left of his light hiking boots. “I suppose the rocks the last few days might have been all this pair of boots had left….”

“Sorry.”

“It was bound to happen. We’ve been trying to make up mileage, doing days that are just too damn long. Where’s Butch at?”

Kevin shrugged. “School starts Monday.”

“Oh.” Spider stared out at the quiet parking lot for a moment. “Sorry.”

“What about Caboose?” Kevin asked.

This time, Spider shrugged. “She was just doing that section of the trail.”

“Ah.”

“Whatever,” Chex Mix muttered. “That was total bullshit.”

“Chex, shut the fuck up,” Spider growled.

“The thing with Caboose didn’t go good?”

Chex Mix shook his head quickly. “She just didn’t want her rich white daddy to see who she hooked up with. Bitch had ‘New England trust-fund baby’ written all over her!”

“Ah.” Kevin took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, “By ‘daddy,’ do you mean her father, or….”

For a moment, both hikers from Pensacola were silent. When Spider burst out laughing, Chex Mix slapped Kevin on the shoulder.

“He means her father!” Spider laughed.

“Just checking.”

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. She was sweet.”

“And hot,” Chex Mix added.

“That too. She can’t help it if her father’s an asshole. And she can’t help what type of family she was born into.”

Kevin tossed a pebble out into the parking lot. “You’re a nicer guy than I am, Spider.”

When the rumble of tires over the dirt road reached the parking lot, Chex Mix sighed and leaped to his feet. “Finally!”

“Don’t mind him,” said Spider. “He gets twitchy when he sits still for more than ten seconds.”

“I’m not twitchy!” Chex Mix shrieked. “I’m hungry!”

“You’re always hungry,” Spider griped.

When the vehicle drew closer and turned into the parking lot, Kevin felt his heart race again. It wasn’t a van or bus, but a filthy red Jeep Wrangler with Florida plates.

“That dude’s a long way from home,” said Chex Mix happily.

“What the fuck?” Kevin climbed to his feet too. The plates and the Jeep were the same, and so was the brunet behind the wheel. “That’s the guy who’s been following Butch all this time. Do me a favor—don’t tell him anything. If he doesn’t know Butch is off the trail, the poor guy might be able to get a week of peace.”

“Following? Like a stalker?”

“Exactly like a stalker, obsessive voice mails and everything.”

Chex Mix slapped Kevin on the shoulder and grinned. “It’s cool, bro. I got you,” he whispered. Then he turned a bright smile on Anders’s ex. “Hi there! Are you from the Religious Society of Friends?”

Kevin turned away, trying not to laugh. On the ground, Spider snickered.

“What?” Joel asked.

“The Society of Friends? You know, Quakers? Or Shakers, but they’re a dying breed, apparently. Something about not having sex to get closer to God. I think someone got a little bit carried away editing their bibles, you know, because ‘go forth and procreate’ was in my version. Or maybe I made that up…. But, whatever, you know.”

“Why would I be a Quaker?”

“Because this is….” Chex Mix looked confused and swayed back and forth. “This isn’t Pennsylvania anymore, is it?”

“I don’t think it is,” the owner of the Jeep said coldly.

“Damn! We hiked through the entire state and didn’t get to meet any of them! I thought they were popular around there. I guess they ride around in horse-drawn buggies and stuff! They’re awesome! I want to do that, you know, get back to basics, back to the land. There’s so much knowledge, you know, so much lore, and skills, and just common stuff that we’ve lost! We’re all eating Pop-Tarts and TV dinners, you know? But no one knows how to do that shit anymore! How to get food from….” Chex Mix waved his hands vaguely. “You know, actual grain and stuff! That’s what I want to do! I want to churn butter and shit. I’m Chex Mix, by the way.” He held out his hand. “Are you hiking?”

“What the fuck are you on?” the man asked with a chuckle.

“Nothing at all. Why, you got something good?”

“No. Does my car look like a horse-drawn buggy?”

“No,” Chex Mix answered happily. “Oh! Oh, I see! So, you’re not from the Religious Society of Friends?”

“No. And”—the man sounded amused despite himself—“I think you mean the Amish.”

“Amish?” Chex Mix sounded doubtful. “Oh well, that’s cool. You out for a day hike, or are you going longer?” Chex Mix didn’t give him time to respond. “We’re just passing through, you know. Waiting for a lift from this dude who runs a hostel for hikers. Where you heading?”

“You’re thru-hikers?”

“Totally.”

“Well, that’s lucky. See, I’m trying to find a friend of mine. His name is Anders Blankenship. He’s about five foot seven, about a hundred and sixty pounds. He’s got light-blond hair, blue eyes, from Jacksonville, Florida. He’s out here somewhere, but he’s cut off contact with his family and no one’s heard from him in ages. Everybody’s really worried about him.”

“Anders?” Chex Mix smiled. “Oh, hell, I know Anders!”

Kevin tried not to groan. Spider just smiled at him and winked.

“We hiked together, where was it? North Carolina! That little dude can really move, man. I couldn’t keep up!”

“You’ve seen Anders Blankenship?”

“Yeah! He’s not going by Anders out here, though. It took him forever to find a trail name he didn’t hate, he’s so picky. I liked Shoe, someone else wanted to call him Switchback, and Esquire-in-Training made him so mad it was hilarious.”

“Yeah.” The man’s patience was obviously wearing thin, but he sounded like he was trying to play along. “That sounds like Anders.”

“But he settled on Corona when he got so drunk he fell asleep with a bottle of Corona Light hanging out of his mouth. That was the funniest night ever, man.”

“Corona?”

“Yeah. Like, the beer, you know?”

“I know the beer, yes. He’s going by the name Corona?”

“That’s right. But, like I said, that little dude was fast. He was doing eighteen, twenty-mile days back there. This part of the trail’s not so bad, so I bet he’s bumped it up.”

“Really? How far do you think he might have gotten?”

“I don’t know. He was trying to finish the entire trail before summer vacation ended. So, halfway to New Hampshire, maybe. But there are shelters all along the trail here, and ranger stations too. He’s been signing in on the visitor logs, and the date’s on there. Just look for his trail name, then do a bit of math and voilà, you’ll have a distance to narrow it down!”

“Corona? You know, thank you. I’ve been having a hell of a time tracking him down. The poor guy has never done anything like this before, and his parents are worried he’s lost it, taking off out here on his own with no experience. They just want to know that he’s all right.”

“Sure, man. No problem. That’s one thing everybody out here’s got in common: we don’t like to leave people hanging.”

“Can I give you a lift into town, something like that?”

“No, don’t worry about it, man. My buddies and I are waiting for a ride already. Go find your friend, man. When you see him again, tell him he’s got to come to Pensacola and party with ol’ Chex Mix again. I miss the little guy.”

Kevin was ready for the man to blow up, but he just smiled, hopped back into the Jeep, and drove away. For a few moments, Kevin was worried that it was all a joke and the man would come back and run them all down. But the sound of the engine faded into the forest in seconds.