The Middle of Somewhere (11 page)

“Were you at the pass when it hit?”

“Were we ever! Dante said you had hail, too.”

“For a couple minutes. It was a drive-by.”

Payton let go a short laugh. “Go on,” he said to his brother. “Tell them what you did up there.”

Rodell shuffled his feet, considering. “Oh, all right. But so long as everyone knows it was a dare.”

This'll be worth staying up for, Liz thought.

“So, we're at the very top, right? And the sky was dark as midnight and the clouds hung low and heavy. Like the end of the world was coming. What do you call it? The eclipse?”

“Apocalypse,” Liz said.

“Yeah, that. A big one. Anyway, I'm standing there, waiting for the thunder.” He got up, assumed a wide stance and turned his face to the sky. “My knees are shaking like crazy and Payton is laughing his butt off.”

Payton smiled. “I wish you could've seen yourself.”

“Then the thunder goes ‘Boom!' Right there! I swore a bomb went off inside my head. So I throw my arm up like this,” he thrust his arm above his head, “and stick my hiking pole way up in the air!”

“Holy crap!” Liz said.

Payton's eyes locked on hers. “Your own personal nightmare, I take it?”

How the hell would you know?
She held his gaze, refusing his challenge. “Sounds like a bid for a Darwin Award.”

Rodell either didn't understand or refused to take offense. “Got away with it.”

Dante said, “That's quite a story. Who dared you? Your brother?”

“Yeah.” He shot a glance at Payton, who closed his eyes and nodded once, slowly. “We do a lot of dares. It's a game.”

“Like Truth or Dare?” Liz said.

Payton said, “Just like that. We've been doing it since we were little.”

“I'll bet your parents were thrilled.”

“Wasn't any of their business. It was only between us.”

Rodell said, “Daddy didn't approve.”

Payton narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Like I said, it wasn't anyone else's business. Thing is, we ran out of truths a long time ago.”

“In 2001, wasn't it?”

“It was. Late October. No secrets left.”

“Not a one.”

“So now all we've got are dares.”

The failing light dimmed another notch. The trees froze in the hush. Liz reached for Dante's hand, warm against her suddenly cold skin.

Dante spoke in a cautious tone. “Sounds exciting. Or dangerous. Or both.”

“That about covers it,” Payton said.

“Sometimes it's funny, too,” Rodell said, and fell into a fit of laughter, snorting like a pig. He bent over, holding his stomach, and snorted again and again. “Isn't it funny sometimes, Payton?” Another snorting fit. After a few more bouts, he gathered himself and wiped his mouth with his hand. “Remember the time you and that girl—Brenda, wasn't it? Remember? She didn't—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Payton interrupted, unsmiling. “Sure I remember. But no one wants to hear about that. Not right now.” He stood and reached a hand out to Dante. It was as thick and broad as a slab of meat. They shook.

“Stay dry,” he said, and nodded in the direction of his campsite. “We're right there if you need anything.”

As soon as the Root brothers left, they climbed into their sleeping bags. It was pitch black inside the tent. Liz lay with her eyes closed, listening. The footfall of someone approaching would have been deafening in the still night, but she listened all the same.

“Dante?”

“Um-hmm?”

“You don't think those guys are weird?”

“Unusual, yes. But not necessarily weird.”

“Volunteering to be a human lightning rod isn't weird?”

“It's not different from swallowing goldfish or tipping cows or whatever else Americans do in college.”

“Except the Roots aren't wasted when they're doing it.”

“True.” He pulled an arm out of his sleeping bag and wrapped it around her. “These bags are very unromantic.”

“Sadly, yes. In about two minutes you'll have an armsicle.”

“Maybe Rodell was exaggerating. No one saw him do it.”

“Good point.”

And that was the problem with the Root brothers. No one ever saw anything.

•   •   •

She awoke and waited for the sun to scale the eastern ridge and provide at least the hope of warmth. The metallic clink of cups and dishes from the other campsite told her the brothers were up. Dante stirred. She kissed him and left the tent. Payton and Rodell were folding their tarp in the minuet of housewives folding a sheet. Fold, step together, touch hands. Fold, step together, touch hands. The good news was they would be well on their way before she and Dante were ready. Odds were the Roots would make camp first, and they could leapfrog past them. Not that it mattered much. In two days they would all converge at the same place: Muir Trail Ranch. Everyone landed there to retrieve supply buckets and enjoy showers, food and Internet access. The last approximation of civilization for the remaining one hundred and ten miles.

She lured Dante out of the tent with a cup of coffee, and began breaking camp. He helped put away the bags and mattresses. She was removing the fly when Payton called out. “See you guys on the trail.” He adjusted his cap and raised a hand in salute.

“Have a good walk,” Dante said.

“'Bye,” Liz said, sweetly.
Go to hell. I double dare you.

O
ver the first four miles, they descended from their camp at ten thousand feet to below eight thousand feet to reach Quail Meadows.

Liz said, “Sounds like a suburban development.”

Dante nodded. “And I suppose, because I can actually breathe here, we're about to go up.”

She'd reviewed the map and knew what they were in for. Two thousand feet of climbing over two miles. A whopping one hundred eight-five stories.

The switchbacks began, zigzagging from one side of the slope to the other like a garland on a Christmas tree. She counted each time they made a left-hand turn. At the fifteenth switchback, Dante asked for water. She pulled the bottle from his pack and handed it to him.

“You first,” he panted. “Air, then water.”

She drank and passed it to him.

He gulped down half the bottle. “I was wondering if a story wouldn't make this easier.”

“Only if I tell it. You'll pass out.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Any ideas?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. If you wouldn't mind, you could tell me the story of what happened with you and Gabriel.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, or deflect, but remembered she had started this conversation the night after Red's Meadow. “I'm not sure I know how.”

“Start with the first time you cried.”

“I don't cry very often.”

“I know,
carina
. I know.”

It was easier than she thought. With the empty trail in front of her, she could have been talking to herself.

“Gabriel got a job right out of college as a systems analyst in Albuquerque, which was how we ended up there. I think I told you that, right?”

“Right.”

“It worked out fine for me because the University of New Mexico was putting together a program in biomed engineering. I did graduate work and earned some money as a teaching assistant.

“It felt like we were playing house. Gabriel would leave for work in the morning and come home by dinnertime. I had more free time, so I did most of the housework and cooking. I guess that's why it felt like playing house. It was all so grown-up, but even though I knew how to do all the tasks, it felt like someone else was doing them. But I figured all newlyweds go through that—at least they did on TV.”

Dante said, “The idea of TV explaining life scares me.”

“It's what I had.” She rounded the corner of a switchback without pausing. “Anyway, on weekends we'd see a movie or go for a hike. On Sundays he went to church—I sometimes went, too—then Gabriel spent ages reading
The New York Times
. It was a habit he started in college. He said he never had time to read most of it when he was in school, but now he did. I thought it was a little odd—to read the book reviews but never the books, to read about sports but never watch a game—but so what? While he read, I talked on the phone with Valerie, or went for a long run.

“Every other weekend we'd drive to Santa Fe to see his family, and sometimes Claire. Claire was odd. She'd greet us at the door as if she'd forgotten we existed, and wasn't thrilled to be reminded. Then she'd recover a little, show us her latest work, and maybe even convince us to go to a gallery to see her friends' stuff. Claire was Claire.”

“I don't think mothers like her exist in Mexico,” Dante said. “I mean, when I met her, if I hadn't known she was your mother I never would have guessed. Except your mouths are exactly the same.”

“They are?”

“Precisely.”

Liz ran her fingers over her lips and tasted dirt and sunscreen. She adjusted her hat and resumed her normal pace. “Anyway, back to Gabriel's family. They seemed different to me than when we had visited from L.A. Or maybe they'd always been that way, only now I noticed because I was married.”

“Different how?”

“For instance, Gabriel's parents never touched each other. They must have had sex a minimum of five times, right? And I don't mean pawing each other. I mean no pecks on the cheek, not a hand on an elbow.
Nada.
They were as kind to each other as ever, but physically they treated each other like lepers.

“The other thing was they mostly talked about other people, or causes. When they asked Gabriel or me about our jobs or whatever, they were ticking a box. We were married; we had promising futures, so we weren't interesting. I wasn't insulted by it, but over time it struck me as strange.”

“It does seem odd not to be interested in your son's life. But usually there is a reason.”

She continued around the next switchback and paused to face him. “Are you thinking about your father?” Dante's father had endorsed his son's pursuit of both an undergraduate and master's degree in the States because he believed Dante would return to take up the mantle of his hugely profitable business supplying weapons components to the Mexican and U.S. militaries. When Señor Espinoza realized his son had no intention of returning home, he was furious. Only his wife's emotional breakdown averted a complete dissolution of their relationship.

Dante's tone was somber. “Yes, of course, but I can dwell on failing my father another time. Right now I want to hear about Gabriel.”

“You sure?”

He nodded and she led them upward again.

“Back to the Pembertons. They always drank—pretty sure I mentioned that—but the longer I knew them, the more they seemed to drink. It could have been because we were there mostly on weekends, when most people do their serious drinking. But I wondered about that, too. And all of it started me thinking about the normal life Gabriel said everyone wanted. I wanted. It got me wondering about what it meant.”

“To be normal?”

“Yes. I thought it was the same thing as being happy.”

“It would be nice if that were true.” They traversed two more switchbacks. Finally, Dante said, “You haven't finished the story.”

Liz took a deep breath. “After about six months at his job, Gabriel started playing around with video games in the evening. Not just playing them—he'd been into that in college—but designing them. It seemed hugely frustrating for him, because he didn't have a clue how to proceed. I don't understand much about computing, but systems analysts and programmers are different species. I suggested he take some courses, but he said he didn't have the time or the money. Which made no sense because he spent a lot of time working at it at home. Hours. He'd stay up late and have trouble getting up in the morning for work.

“This didn't happen all at once. It was insidious. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, alone, and find him asleep on the couch, or in his chair at the computer. Everything'd be a mess. Paper, DVDs, beer bottles, food everywhere.”

“Didn't you talk about it?”

“Of course. He'd agree he should limit his hours and sleep in our bed. I even got him an alarm clock so if he drifted off he could wake up and come to bed. He'd do it for a while, then forget.

“I hated that I was verging on being a nag about it. But two years into our marriage, I pretty much only saw him at dinner. Sure, once in a while we'd go out, to see friends or whatever, and he'd be the way he used to be—not so distracted. I'd think we were back on track. He'd even say how great it was to be together and tell me how much I meant to him. But it never lasted. He'd go inside himself again, exactly as before. It dawned on me that his parents were completely focused outward and Gabriel was completely focused inward. I couldn't get through to him.” Her chest constricted. She hadn't thought about the details of what had happened in her marriage in so long. Her anxiety and fear were fresh, like a cut reopened while slicing a lemon. She fought it by pushing harder up the hill for several steps and the pain eased.

“I woke up one night, the fourth night in a row Gabriel wasn't there. I knew he was in the next room. I started crying.” She paused, then forced the words out. “I was alone again.”

Liz stopped. She knew without turning around that Dante's face would be full of pity. She didn't want to see it. She didn't deserve it. Tears stung behind her eyes, not only because her own story made her sad, but also because soon, too soon, she would disappoint Dante. She would break his heart. And when she did, he'd remember this moment and regret his pity. He'd wish he had never met her.

“Liz.” The trail wasn't wide enough for both of them. Unless she stepped aside, he had to stay behind her.

“It's okay, Dante. Really.”

He moved closer until only her backpack was between them. “It's not okay. It's sad. Extremely sad.”

She ground the tip of her pole into the gravel, and fought the choking sensation in her throat. “It was a long time ago.”

“How can someone love another person enough to marry them, then ignore them?”

Liz bit her lip and blinked back tears. “I wish I knew. Maybe it was me.”

He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let's get to the top and have lunch. I'm starving.”

•   •   •

Dante had met Gabriel's family when they traveled to Santa Fe in June for the wedding of Gabriel's youngest sister, Etta. Liz would've preferred to avoid being inundated with reminders of her dead husband but could hardly refuse, as both Gabriel's mother and Etta had included personal notes with the invitation, urging her to attend and welcoming her to bring “a special friend” if she wished. She and Dante had laughed about it, and Liz referred to him as My Special Friend for a while. As they would be in Santa Fe, Dante assumed he would finally meet Liz's mother. Liz wasn't concerned about her mother's appraisal of Dante. If Claire could be counted on for nothing else, it was indifference.

The wedding was large and tasteful, and the Pembertons, whose numbers seemed to have increased exponentially, were warm to both her and Dante. But Liz was distressed. With her boyfriend and her dead husband's family in the same venue, her secrets seemed to rise to the surface and become nearly visible. It was irrational, but real enough. She drank too much at the reception and afterward Dante half carried her to the hotel room, where she attacked the minibar. He'd had a fine time socializing and dancing, and was tipsy himself. After three, maybe four, miniature Ketel Ones, Liz shucked her dress and pulled Dante into bed, forgetting—or was it not caring?—she'd left her diaphragm at home. The next morning, she was hungover and emotionally whipped. While she waited for Dante to return from Starbucks, she latched onto the idea of an escape: three weeks alone in the wilderness.

Over the next few weeks, the idea of hiking the John Muir Trail, and the subsequent planning and research, restored her relative calm. She studied weather patterns, emergency provisions and the logistics of resupply. She read backpacking blogs and books about the trail. She discovered the right equipment, the best food, the optimal pace.

And the unintended pregnancy.