The Girls of No Return (15 page)

And someone did live there. I may not be a genius, but I do employ certain powers of deduction. As we made the final push up to the lookout, I was able to see quite clearly that this place was inhabited. Clue: A couple of socks were knotted around the deck's guardrail, drying in the sun. Clue: The air smelled of fried bacon. Clue: A man walked out the door of the lookout, waved to Boone, and said, “Elsa! Glad you made it!”

Elsa
. I had never imagined that Boone had a first name. But here it was, ringing clearly in the air, and Boone gave me a warning glance —
Yeah, so what?
— before heading up to give the guy a hug.

“I brought someone,” she said, pulling away from him and punching him lightly on the arm. “Lida.”

He stepped forward and held out his hand. He must have been in his early twenties. Tall, rugged, wearing cargo shorts and a ratty T-shirt. The kind of good-looking that it's hard not to notice: floppy hair, perfect jaw, et cetera et cetera et cetera. I already assumed he was an asshole. But then he smiled, and I relaxed a little. His grin was just goofy enough to make him appear normal, even if only for a second.

“Ben,” he said, grabbing my hand and shaking it. “Glad you came up here. I don't get many visitors.”

“Thanks,” I said, and shook my head. What was I thanking him for? Being lonely?

“You're welcome,” he said, laughing. “Well, shit,” he said. “I had better entertain you all, hadn't I? Either of you hungry?”

I glanced at Boone, unsure of how to answer. She had already walked out onto the hut's deck like she owned it, and was leaning over the railing. She looked over at Ben and nodded. “It's not like the food at school's gotten any better,” she said. “It's still just congealed grease.”

“Grease is good,” Ben said, holding the door open for us. “It's nature's lubricant.”

Boone rolled her eyes. “You are a sick man.”

The inside of Ben's place looked like a ship captain's quarters. It was really just one big room with a cot in the corner and a table in the middle that was piled high with books and papers and a couple of coffee cups. There were windows on all eight sides, with telescopes positioned on ledges under two of them. The little wall space between each window was taken up by what I recognized, thanks to Margaret, as topographic maps. I walked over to one of them and put my finger on Buckhorn Peak. Near it, I saw the watery dot that I knew must be Bob. I counted the contour lines from sea level to the top of the peak. “Eight thousand, six hundred feet,” I said under my breath.

“Roundabouts,” said Ben, surprising me. I didn't know he was standing close enough to hear. “That school of yours is at, what — seventy, seventy-one hundred? You know your way around a map, don't you,” he said, handing me a cup of coffee. “Milk? It's powdered.”

“I'll take it black,” I mumbled. No wonder I was exhausted. We'd just climbed fifteen hundred feet.

“Good choice,” said Ben. “I've been here for a couple of months, and I still can't get used to the taste of powdered milk. It's like chalk.”

Boone was spooning the milk into her mug. “You just have to grow up with it,” she said. “Then you won't want anything else.” She continued heaping it in.

Ben turned on a small gas burner that was set up in one corner and cracked some eggs into a frying pan. “You guys don't mind a little midafternoon breakfast, do you? I just made the bacon this morning.” He waved his spatula toward a plate on the table that was covered with thin strips of bacon.

“Sounds great,” Boone said.

“You ever been to a fire lookout?” Ben asked me as he flipped the eggs over.

“No,” I said.

“Ben can spot a match being lit from two hundred miles away,” said Boone.

“Not quite, but I do have a view of a forty-five-mile radius from up here, and with my trusty maps, I can pinpoint the location of a puff of smoke to within half a mile. If something lights up, I'll be the first to catch it.” He pointed the spatula at Boone accusingly. “Each time you all light up on that beach of yours, I have to hold my breath.”

She turned to me. “He's all-seeing, all-knowing. Just like God.” Her voice was deadpan, but a smile winked at the corner of her mouth. It was as though, walking into this cabin, she had shed some coarse, rough coat and was stretching out her arms, comfortable in her skin. She lounged against one of the ledges beneath a window, smiling and chatting as though she had never thought to burn a building or cut a girl's hair as she slept. Or stab someone.

“Right,” said Ben. “Just like that.” He shook his head at Boone. “Little heretic.”

I wandered over to the table, where the books were stacked unevenly. “Nice library,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Ben, “I keep meaning to build some bookshelves, but I always seem to be too busy.” He laughed. “It's not like I'm overwhelmed with work here, but the hours do pass, you know?”

“What do you do, then, besides watch for fires?”

“He surfs the Internet,” interjected Boone. She was having a good time. “Watches porn on the Playboy Channel. Goes out for drinks with friends.”

“On the money.” Ben divided the eggs onto two plates and laid some bacon across the top of each one. He handed the plates to Boone and me, and we dug in. “Well, I hike around in the early mornings, when there's less chance of a spark. I look for mountain lion tracks.”

I stopped chewing. “Excuse me?”

“Pumas, cougars, mountain lions,” he said. “It seems like every state has a different name for them.” He laughed. “They're the most elusive of the forest creatures. You'll likely never see one. But don't worry — they
could
eat you, but they
probably
won't.” Ben patted me on the back. “Not with all these delicious deer running around everywhere.”

“Oh.” Mountain lions had definitely not been mentioned in the Alice Marshall School brochure.

Ben shrugged and went on. “I read. I meditate. I chat with the rangers down in Hindman on my walkie-talkie. Sometimes visitors hike in.” He smiled at us. “Mostly I just sit around waiting for Elsa to come break the silence.”

Boone blushed and looked down.

“It's a nice enough way to spend five months,” Ben said, “if you can handle the isolation.”

“I could handle it,” said Boone, putting down her empty plate with a clatter. That girl could sure eat quickly. “I'd love to not have to deal with everyone else's shit.”

It was exactly what I'd been thinking. Except I was also thinking that I wouldn't want to have to deal with my own. All that time alone? It could be dangerous.

“Yeah, you'd do great up here,” said Ben. “I wouldn't be surprised if you started talking to the animals.” He turned to me. “I don't know if you know it, but Elsa understands more about these mountains than most geologists.”

“Right. I'm a regular Annie Oakley,” Boone said with a laugh. “Shut up, Ben. Lida doesn't want to hear your crap.” She was trying to cover it with gruffness, but even I could see that she was practically glowing with pleasure.

Ben raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he said. “What about you, then, Lida? You think you could live up here for a season? Get your supplies packed in on a mule? Learn how to use an ax and a saw? Take bucket showers and use a latrine, wait for the bears to come a-knockin'?” He picked up a book and set it down again. “Are you a natural woodsman, like Elsa? Or are you a city girl at heart?”

“Don't know,” I said. “Neither, I guess.” But that wasn't exactly true. When I'd looked out over the wilderness from the back of Buckhorn, I'd felt at once lighter and stronger. I'd sure as hell never felt that way in Bruno.

Ben eyed me for a moment. “Well, man, you'll have to work on that.” He gestured to Boone. “You spend enough time with Elsa here, you'll quickly learn how you feel about nature.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.” I felt strange, like I was watching two people who had always only spoken English suddenly begin speaking in Swahili to each other. But in this case, I was one of the people talking.

“Damn,” said Boone suddenly, looking out the window at the sun. “It's already four.” She shook her head at me. “I didn't count on the extra time it would take to climb up here with Townie. We have to go.”

“Oh, so that's how it is. I can already see what you'll be like when you're older,” said Ben. “Love 'em and leave 'em.” He winked at both of us. “I wouldn't want you to get in trouble, though. Better get a move on.”

Boone and I made our way to the door.

“Oh, Elsa,” said Ben. “I almost forgot. I finished a book that I think you'd like.” He picked up a hardback novel with an orange cover and handed it to her, glancing over at me. “
The Dharma Bums
,” he explained. “Kerouac wrote it right before going to live in a fire lookout all summer. It's his best one.” He winked at Boone. “I'll be interested to hear what you think.”

Boone took the book without a word and wedged it in the waist of her shorts so that it lay flat against her back. She nodded.

“Thanks for coming,” Ben said to us. “Lida, I hope to see you again. Maybe you can join the book club that Elsa and I have got going here.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Come on, Lida,” said Boone, “hustle.”

We hiked quickly away from the doorway of the lookout, where Ben was waving at us. I could see now that it had indeed gotten later; the sun was resting atop one of the peaks in the distance like it was trying to decide whether or not to go down. And so we hustled. Boone marched quickly ahead, and I scrambled after her, stumbling over the rocks when we got to the outcrop and sliding a little as we made our way down Buckhorn's switchbacks.

I didn't think we'd talk on the way back down, and was silently concentrating on not twisting an ankle or tripping on a log when Boone spoke.

“You're kind of funny, Lida,” she said over her shoulder, “when you're not acting like the world's asking you to donate a kidney.” She kept moving, though she slowed down enough that I caught up with her. “I've noticed the way you are with Margaret,” she went on. “You're different with her. Sharper. You talk back.” She kicked a rock off the trail. “You can be pretty sassy for a church mouse.”

I blushed. I knew what Boone was insinuating, and what she was asking. She wanted to know why I was so outspoken around Margaret and so silent around her and the other girls. And I wanted to tell her.
Because there are two of me
, I wanted to say.
Because one Lida can crack a whip across her father's back with a single sentence and the other can't even look you in the eyes. Because that's how I've always been: one part nail and one part glass.

But I just kept walking. “I guess I don't usually have that much to say.”

“Right,” she snapped. “My guess is that the things you don't say could fill a book.” There was a pause, and then she chuckled, almost as though she was laughing at herself. “Whatever. Who am I to judge? Stay curled up behind the pew, little mouse. It's probably safer there, anyway.”

All in all, our descent took less than half the time it had taken to climb up in the first place. We reached the base of the trail just as we heard the dinner bell start ringing. I started to sprint toward the Mess Hall, but was jerked back by Boone, who had grabbed hold of my sleeve.

“Not a word,” she said. “And you don't go up there without me.” The old Boone was back suddenly, her eyes glinting with the promise of broken arms, black eyes, sharpened blades.

“Okay,” I said, and then continued boldly. “Hey. Are you guys . . . I mean, are you and Ben like . . . ?”

Boone stared at me as though I had suggested she check the dullness of a knife by drawing it across her own neck. “Don't be stupid,” she said. “Ben is twenty-five. Besides, did you even see him? You think he looks twice at anything less than total perfection? Forget about it. He'd never even consider —” She shook her head at me angrily. “Seriously. Forget it.” Boone let go of my sleeve and swung away from me, running toward the sound of the bell.

I would have run after her to tell her that her secret was safe. Maybe I would have even told her that I knew what it felt like to stand next to a sculpture and feel like a rock. But I didn't. I saw Gia instead.

She was resting against the front of the Mess Hall with her arms crossed. There was no one around her for once, since everyone else had already rushed in for dinner, and the way she looked off toward Bob intently, as though searching for a cloud that she'd misplaced, made her seem sad and a little vulnerable. Then she turned slowly and, seeing me, smiled. She was wearing a thin T-shirt with a feather reaching across it. Her hand rose in a half-wave and she left it there in the air, like a salute.

I walked over to her. “Hey. Cool shirt.”

“Hey yourself.” She tilted her head and smiled slightly. “I thought maybe I'd find you at the Waterfront, but I didn't see you.” She shrugged. “Too bad. I wanted to go canoeing.”

I tried to compose my face into a suitable imitation of her expression: part nonchalance, part irony. I coughed to cover up the blush that was spreading down my neck.

“Sorry,” I said. “I had this thing.”

“I bet.” Gia laughed. “Whatever. I found other ways to occupy my time.” She stood there for a long, delicious moment, smiling at me with that look on her face that felt like a promise. “Well? Shall we?” She nodded at the Mess Hall door.

“Sure,” I said, and followed her in.

 

We hung out at the Smokers' Beach that night, and the night after that. It felt like there was a perfect silver ring that encircled us whenever we were together, and I didn't want to tarnish it. But every night as I walked away from the Smokers' Beach, the taste of cigarettes heavy as soot on my tongue, I wanted more.