Wild Within (Wild at Heart #1) (13 page)

Ed raised both hands and shook his head violently. “No. I’m interested in finding him before they do.”

“Oh.” The youth winked, moved closer, and reduced the amplitude of his voice. “That’s broken of you, dude. But, you know, last I heard, Jerry’s safe. He’s in LA. That’s, like, almost across state lines.”

“LA?” The pounding din hid the surprise in Ed’s voice.

“Yeah. I hear there’s some slamming rager that starts around Mexico and lasts all summer. The only fucked up part is you gotta walk millions of miles. But Jerry says he’s gonna do it.”

Ed leaned in until the two were almost touching noses. “What? A party? In Mexico?”

Hot breath blew against Ed’s face. “Not
in
Mexico. At the border. It’s on some hiking trail called the PCP or LSD or something. Supposed to be a tight blowout. But you gotta hike. Carry a backpack. Now, me? I don’t want to carry anything heavier than a beer.” He bent over the bar. “Gimme another.”

Ed grabbed the guy’s shoulder and spun him back around. “You’re sure? You’re sure Jerry’s doing this hike? Do you know when he’s starting?”

“Safe, man.” The youth flipped his blue hair aside and tossed down his new drink. “Buddy of mine got a text from him yesterday. Told me all about it, ’cause he couldn’t fucking believe it. He’s starting next weekend.”

Ed pumped the man’s free hand.

“Hey, no need to thank me. Like I said. LA’s practically Nevada. Don’t think the law’ll find him there.”

Ed pushed his way to the exit. Rain soaked him to the skin as he leaned, breathless, against the iron grills of the dollar store next door. His head spun as he rattled the bars, shouting profanities intended for Jerry. Passersby hardly glanced at him. On Telegraph Avenue at one in the morning, he blended into the crowd.

Later that night, he searched the Internet and found the trail.

The Pacific Crest Trail. PCT. Jerry’s there. I’m going.

The next day, he sold his bike and laptop. An Army-Navy surplus store supplied him with a large backpack that he filled with things he thought he would need: boots, a cold weather sleeping bag, water bottles, and a ten-pound tent the guy in the store called “ultralight.”

Three days after the visit to the Stork Club, Ed boarded the CA Shuttle Bus bound for Los Angeles.

He sat near the front and gazed absently at the boarding passengers. A hunched, white-haired man held onto the backrest of each seat as he swayed toward empty spots at the rear.

Looks like Dell.

Ed brushed the thought from his mind like an annoying fly. The bus jerked away from the station. He patted the pocket of his jacket and caressed the reassuring bulk of his new Navy pilot survival knife with its five-inch blade.

Who cares what he would think of me now.

Chapter 13

Breeze and Grace hiked together after her unplanned slide down the mountain. But after a few hours, he sped on ahead.

“Short legs. Who knew they’d make me so antisocial?” She watched his figure retreat into the growing dusk.

She ran across him again two days later at the top of a ridge. He sat on a rock, boots removed, staring anxiously at his toes. When he saw Grace, he limped toward her. They greeted with a warm embrace.

“Funny meeting you again so soon.” Breeze squeezed her shoulder.

“Yeah. At the rate you were going, I thought you’d be at Hiker Heaven by now.”

“I did too. But I’ve been having some trouble with my toes.” He lifted a foot and wiggled five digits. “They don’t seem to like my boots anymore. So I’m slowing down. I think I’m going to need to get new footwear in Agua Dulce.”

“Maybe your toe problem will even out our speeds. Hiker Heaven’s still about sixty miles. Do you want some company?”

Breeze glanced at her and then shot a look down the trail. He shook his head. “No. I’m going to do it real slow. I don’t want to permanently mess up my feet. You keep going, Grace. I’ll catch up with you again one of these days, once I get myself a new pair of shoes.” He hobbled back to his rock.

A gust blew tiny sand eddies across the path. The wind died and the dust settled.

Go with the flow.

“Take care of your feet.” She shrugged her pack higher on her shoulders. “I’m going to spend a few days at Hiker Heaven, so maybe we’ll overlap there. If not, catch up with me later, okay?”

“Will do. For sure.”

Later, at Hiker Heaven, Grace leafed through the register. The hiker paradise comprised a collection of RVs and tents set up with deluxe cots, washing machines, loaner clothes, a kitchen, a barbecue, a TV, Internet access, and showers. Almost all PCT thru-hikers stopped there.

Except Lone Star, wouldn’t you know it? How could he have skipped this place?

Grace closed the register and sighed.

Not even his signature. And nobody’s heard about him recently.

A chill of loneliness crept from the pit of her stomach through her limbs.

Stop it. The man who wrote that last stanza isn’t going to forget me.

The water brought you strength to try.

Your smile shone bright and true.

The pulsing joy I shared with you

Still lifts me to the sky.

She asked around for Breeze. No one had seen him either.

That night, Grace shared a tent with ten other thrus.

Why are trail guys always rescuing me from disaster? Men never rushed out of nowhere in San Francisco. Like that time I almost stepped in front of a bus. Plenty of guys on the sidewalk. Nobody grabbed me. All I got was hearing loss from the stupid bus horn.

I sure hope there aren’t too many law firms in El Paso. I might have to call them all and ask if they have a thru-hiking attorney on staff. One who knows poetry.

She fished out her phone and read another note.

…
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves a shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Her lips pursed. Something in the nether regions of her torso pulsed a rhythmic beat. She pulled the sleeping bag down to her waist and cradled the phone.

Now slides the silent meteor on…

With Lone Star filling her mind and an uncharacteristically soft cushion for her back, Grace tossed and turned until an hour later, she finally drifted to sleep.

She stayed two nights at Hiker Heaven, calling Celine to discuss plans and future drop boxes, rearranging gear, buying supplies. But the camp had a two-night limit.

I can’t waste time waiting for something that might never happen. Maybe Lone Star’s up ahead waiting for me after all.

She awoke her final morning to the smell of coffee. She blinked.

Fresh brewed? Out here?

She dressed and followed the scent. It led to a propane camp stove like the one she’d carried before her Idyllwild makeover. A two-person tent perched on the lawn behind it. A short, slender man with round tortoiseshell glasses and a bald spot evident through thinning brown hair crouched next to the flame. He looked up.

“My nose had to see if it was right.” Grace’s expression softened into a smile of reminiscence. “I haven’t smelled fresh coffee since Lake Morena.”

“Have a seat.” The man indicated the lawn. “I’ll give you a cup.” He turned to an approaching thick-set woman with a microfiber towel slung around her neck. “Folger, can this woman borrow your pot?”

“By all means.”

Folger seated herself next to Grace on the grass. Hefty thighs stretched her light green hiking shorts as she crossed her legs.

“The smell usually brings someone over to our tent most mornings.” Straight grey hair pulled back in a short ponytail emphasized Folger’s oval face. Boiling water coursed over coffee grounds in a small golden filter. “We’ve got to have fresh brewed, right, Max?” She handed Grace the pot. “Milk?”

“You’ve got milk too?”

“Only today.” The fine lines around Folger’s eyes crinkled with a secret smile. “We’re leaving this morning. We got a small carton at the grocery store yesterday for a treat. Tell me when.”

Grace let her pour enough to turn the coffee a creamy brown and took a sip.

“Wow.” She held the pot away from her and admired it. “This is fantastic. I forgot what it tasted like. I used to drink four cups a day.” She took another sip. “I went cold turkey before starting this hike.”

“Most people do. That’s how we got our trail names. Max is short for Maxwell House.”

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Max offered Grace a peach. “We did too much shopping yesterday. We’ll never be able to eat it all without help.”

The early morning sun warmed Grace’s back as peach juice dribbled onto her hands and legs. After six peaches, Max served her a pot of oatmeal with blueberries and raisins. Then she ate two bananas and a chocolate muffin.

“I didn’t think I’d be much help in reducing your supply. But I guess I was wrong.” Grace patted her distended stomach. “I’ll never get over how much I eat out here.” She lay back and looked at the silky white clouds streaking the sky. “A full belly at the start of another day of hiking. My idea of heaven.”

Folger and Grace carried the assortment of pots and utensils to the communal sink. Folger scrubbed her pot with a Brillo pad. Errant suds flew to her nose, and she wiped it with the back of her hand. “You’re leaving this morning too?”

“Yes.” Grace concentrated on the coffee filter. “I was waiting for someone. This guy, actually. Lone Star. I hiked with him for a bit. I hoped he might show up here. But I’m beginning to see that’s silly. Always wanting things to be different.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is.”

“I know we’ll get back together. He’s the one for me and I’m not letting go. I just have to learn to be more patient.”

Grace left camp at ten, struggling with a pack heavy with new supplies. She followed Agua Dulce Canyon Road through town. At the junction where the PCT began a slow ascent into the surrounding hills, she noticed two figures on the trail ahead of her and was close upon them before she realized who they were. Folger and Max parted to let her pass.

“Thought you might catch up with us if we took it easy.” Max’s glasses sparkled in the bright light. “We’re always glad of a little company on the trail.”

Grace looked at Folger.

Did she tell him I’m lonely?

But when the PCT branched off from the dirt road and became a narrow path again, Max encouraged Grace to go first. “We don’t want to hold you up.”

“Thanks. Maybe you’ll catch up later.”

She strode up the gentle ascent, swinging her hiking poles in time to “The Happy Wanderer,” always buzzing in her brain since her Choir Master encounter. In the next hour, every time she looked over her shoulder at the bizarre rocky vistas and the mountains she’d passed days earlier, there were Max and Folger, not far behind. She waved to them. They waved back.

She took a lunch break on the ridge between Spunky and Bouquet Canyons and reassessed her plans.

They hike at my speed, but I avoid them because I’m trying to be happy alone. How stupid is that?

When Max and Folger approached her lunch spot, Grace waited until they unpacked their sandwiches.

“Would you mind if we hiked together for a bit? I’d enjoy the company.”

Folger and Max exchanged a glance. “We’d love it.” Folger sipped from a water bottle. “We find hiking in a group to be quite pleasant, don’t we, Max?”

Max nodded and finished his mouthful. “I admire people who hike alone, but Folger and I have always done it together. There’s a lot to be said for having someone else to talk to now and again.”

“Still, if you meet someone else or want to slow down or speed up, that’s fine.” Folger patted Grace’s knee. “We won’t feel insulted. And don’t feel obligated to keep us company if there are younger folks around. You’ve probably heard it already, but there’s an expression on the trail. Hike your own hike. We think it’s a good rule to live by, don’t we, dear?”

Max’s mouth was full again. But he squeezed his wife’s hand.

***

That same evening, in the town of Saugus, south of Hiker Heaven, Ed Galeano slinked into the Rattlers Bar-B-Que restaurant. His eyes squinted in the dim light as he scanned the room.

The Sideways Seven sat in a row at the bar. Salsa, chips, and beer lined the counter in front of them. Ed looked at his watch.

Happy Hour. They’ll stay till it’s over.

Ed chose a dark table in a corner from where he could watch the group’s raucous antics.

Perfect. Jerry just pinched the tip from that table. Things are looking up. Maybe they’ll get kicked out again.

Ed’s teeth tore into a sticky rib. He sucked sauce from his fingers.

Scum. You deserve everything that’s coming to you.