You and Me and Him (6 page)

“Yep, I sure will, Mom.” I give her a big thumbs-up and a cheesy smile. Pulling the door shut behind me, I wander to the kitchen to see what I missed for dinner. Chicken, veggies, and rice. Again.

I think about baking more cookies, but I have too much homework and my conversation with Nash has made me weary and unsettled. I forage in the cupboards for something starchy and sweet. The closest I come is a box of Cheerios, so I fill a bowl, pour the milk, and scoop sugar on top. Sitting at the counter I think about Nash and Tom until I hear the spoon scraping the bottom of the dish. I don’t even remember eating the cereal.

I haul my laundry from the dryer, groaning as I dump it on my bed upstairs. About halfway through folding it, I transfer the pile to my chair and keel over onto my bed. I think about doing my homework, but before I can reach for my backpack, I’m asleep.

Between work and school and listening to Nash ramble on about Tom, the week crawls by. When Saturday arrives, I am more than ready for some time in the woods. The sun reaches through the trees, dappling the road to the trailhead as it winds through the park. I’m half hoping Tom will have gotten lost along the way. I’m not an antisocial person, but I like to hike alone. When I was younger, our chocolate Lab, George, went with me so my parents wouldn’t worry. By the time he died a couple years ago, they were so used to me going off into the woods, they kind of forgot that I didn’t have a hiking partner anymore.

Rounding the corner to the parking lot, I sigh when I see Tom waving. There’s no car, so I wonder how he got up here and realize I should have offered to drive him. I pull Mom’s Subaru into a space and kill the engine.

“Hey!” Tom says. “I got here a little early. What a spot!” He’s beaming, and I find I’m actually a little psyched to show him the trail.

“How did you get up here?” I ask as I grab my pack from the back seat.

“My dad dropped me at the park entrance. I ran up from there. It’s such an amazing morning.” He looks around again, his breath puffing little clouds into the sharp fall air. “By the way, you think I could get a ride home after?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say. In my mind I’m calculating the alarming amount of alone time I am going to build up with Tom today. “You ready?”

He nods, and we set off through the gate to the trail.

Tom stops to read a sign about bear sightings in the area. “Um, bears?” he asks. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you think you can’t run faster than I can,” I say.

He chuckles but falls in next to me. He seems content to walk in silence for a bit, so I let myself find the rhythm of the pace and breathe in the early fall.

“The truth is,” I say after a while, “the moose are more of a problem than bears around here.”

“Moose?” Tom asks. “They seem pretty docile: kind of like tall cows.”

“Have you ever seen a moose?”

“Well, no—I guess in pictures and stuff.”

“Well, they’re huge, and they can be very territorial, and if you piss them off or threaten their babies, they’ll try to stomp you flat.”

“Understood,” Tom says under his breath. “Avoid pissing off local wildlife.”

We follow the level part of the trail along the creek and into the old-growth cedar at the base of the mountain. I point out the occasional wildflower or chipmunk, but otherwise we don’t talk much. As we wind up the switchback trail, I can hear Tom start to breathe heavier behind me. It’s nice to know that not everything comes easy for him. The Patterson Falls loop is one of my favorite trails, winding uphill through some amazing cedar and fir forest. On the switchbacks, you catch occasional glimpses of the lake and town through the trees. We cross the creek a couple of times, but we don’t stop until we’re about twenty-five yards from the waterfall.

“Close your eyes,” I say.

Tom looks like he’s not sure he should trust me near the edge of a cliff.

“Just close them,” I say. “It’s better if you take it in all at once.”

Tom nods, adjusts his pack, and closes his eyes.

I take his elbow and lead him the last few yards up the switchback to the viewpoint. Putting my hands on his shoulders, I position him facing Cedar Ridge and the lake. “Okay, take a deep breath, and open your eyes.”

Tom opens them. His head swivels as he takes in the panorama of the mountains, the lake, and the glacial valley all laid out before him. “Wow,” he whispers.

“That’s Hitchcock Mountain,” I say, pointing left over his shoulder. “And Rock Lake and town, of course.” He’s taller than me, so my arm touches his shoulder as I point. I feel his warmth through two layers of fleece.

Tom nods. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing west to a mountain with a bit of snow and ice still visible in a basin below its summit.

“Mount Baker. I know: another amazing geological feature named after an obscure dead white guy. So imaginative.”

Tom nods again. “Do you know how lucky you are to live someplace this beautiful?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“So, why do we have the trail all to ourselves? Does Nash come up here?”

My laugh comes out in a snort. “Um, never. You heard him the other day. Nash doesn’t do nature.”

Tom turns and stares at me.

I’m standing so close behind that when he faces me, I can smell peppermint and something earthy, but good, underneath. Cologne, maybe, or some manly hair product?

He holds my eyes, and a small smile curls the corners of his lips. “How can you not ‘do nature’ when you live someplace this mind-blowing? That’s stupid.” He shakes his head and turns back to the view.

“Well, yeah, the woods are gorgeous, but Cedar Ridge is Podunk. It can feel a little sad,” I say. “But we’re close enough to Seattle to get our culture fix when we need to. If you want to see the city, Nash is your guy. He knows Seattle better than half the people who actually live there.”

“Yeah, we talked about going sometime,” Tom says. “And I don’t think Cedar Ridge is Podunk at all. Or if it is, I like it that way. It’s one of the best places I’ve ever lived.”

“Then you must have been living in some pretty depressing spots,” I say.

“Come on, Maggie,” Tom says. “How can you look at this and not love it?”

“Still, I want to leave at some point, see the world and all that.”

“Sure. Do it,” he says. “But don’t think you’re going to find something out there that will be better than this. Different, maybe, but not better.”

“You haven’t even seen the waterfall yet,” I say.

“In a minute,” he says, turning and drinking in the view a bit more. Then we move up the trail, and Tom is struck silent again. Patterson Falls is narrow but tall—a much taller waterfall than you’d expect to find on such a short hike. “Wow,” he says again. “I’m feeling the awe here. I had no idea Cedar Ridge had such hidden treasures.” As he says this, he turns his head, and now he’s not looking at the waterfall—he’s looking at me.

I rub my sternum to calm the flurry of flying insects that have taken up residence in my chest. Walking to the edge of the stream, I bend and splash some water on the back of my neck, trying to push down the creeping heat there.

“You have water?” I ask, still crouched by the stream.

Tom holds up a water bottle.

“Do you want to backtrack or do the loop?” I ask.

“Your call,” Tom says.

“Loop, then,” I say, and hop across the creek on partially submerged rocks. Tom follows and we start down the trail toward the western slope of the hill.

“How often do you hike this?” Tom asks.

“Three or four times a year, maybe? It’s my favorite, but there are lots of other good day hikes close in like this.”

“Maybe you could take me on some of the other ones?” Tom asks.

“Maybe,” I say, and I want to, but I’m wondering how Nash will feel if Tom and I become hiking buddies.

We are a quarter mile from the trailhead, back on the flat of the valley floor, when I hear something big in the brush just east of the trail. “Stop!” I whisper to Tom, and put my hand out.

“Very funny.” He walks around my hand.

“Tom, shit, stop!” I whisper again, and this time he does. He turns slowly to face me.

“What is it?” His voice is softer now. A young bull moose comes out of the woods and onto the trail about ten yards behind Tom. It’s not the biggest one I’ve ever seen, but it’s big enough to do some damage.

“Moose,” I mouth.

Tom’s eyes widen.

I motion for him to turn around. He does, and the moose takes a step closer to us.

“Now, back up. Slowly,” I whisper. We start inching into the tree line on the edge of the trail. The moose stands his ground but doesn’t advance any farther. We make it to a large cedar and position ourselves so it’s between the moose and us. I peek around the tree and see the moose still there.

Tom lets out a long breath. “What do we do now?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Well, do they stick around awhile or move on or what?”

I shrug again, and Tom sighs.

“He’s so big!”

“Yep,” I say.

After about ten minutes, we hear the moose crash through the brush away from us. I check, and, sure enough, he’s gone. “We can go now,” I say.

We return to the trail and hurry down the last bit to my car.

“So what would we have done if he had, like, charged us or whatever?” Tom asks.

“Try not to die, I guess? I don’t really know.”

“Always a good policy,” Tom says. “Try not to die.”

We wind down the road to the park entrance, listening to music. After the intensity at the waterfall and the near-death experience with the moose, I’m not really feeling social. But Tom dives right into a mini version of the Spanish Inquisition.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.

“
Some Like It Hot
,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“Marilyn Monroe? Tony Curtis?”

Tom shakes his head.

“It’s old,” I say.

“Oh, no wonder. I hate old movies.”

“How can you hate old movies?”

“I watch them, I get bored, so I hate them.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“
Lord of the Rings
,” he says.

“Okay, not terrible. Geeky, but not terrible.”

“Favorite band?” he asks.

“Nope. Can’t answer that one. It depends.”

“On?”

“On everything,” I say. “On timing and weather and mood and who I’m with and what we’re doing and . . . everything.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “Favorite place?”

“You just saw it.”

He nods.

“You?”

“There’s this place outside of Vegas, the Valley of Fire. No trees, no water, nothing but petrified sand dunes and ancient petroglyphs.”

“That sounds . . . interesting?”

“I know. It seems like it’d be awful, but it’s so strange and really amazing. The colors and the light . . .” He’s moving his hands back and forth, like he’s trying to clear away whatever’s keeping me from seeing this place. “Anyway, that’s my favorite.”

We’re in town now, so Tom gives me directions to his house, and I pull up in front but make no move to get out of the car. Their driveway is full of broken-down moving boxes waiting for the recycling truck. The realty sign, complete with a bright red “
sold
,” has been uprooted and is lying on the lawn. The grass underneath is starting to turn brown, and I wonder how many times Tom’s family has had a sign-shaped brown spot on their lawn, and whether they’ve ever stayed anywhere long enough to see it fade. Tom cracks his door open, but then stops and turns to me.

“Thanks for the thoroughly Northwest wilderness experience,” he says, putting his hand on mine as it rests on the gearshift. He squeezes my hand lightly. Skin to skin, I feel heat but also a current that fires down my arm and settles itself like an ember, tugging the bottom of my stomach. I know we’re not holding hands, not really, but it’s as close as I’ve ever gotten.

He gives my hand one last squeeze and gets out of the car. “I’ll always wonder how you convinced that moose to make an appearance.” He slams the door and leans in the passenger window.

Now that he’s out of the car, I find my voice again. “Ah, well, I keep a stable of trained mooses for just such an occasion.”

“Mooses?” Tom asks. “Moose? Mooses? Meese? But seriously, thanks. It’s the most fun I’ve had since I moved here.” He waves and walks up the path to his house.

I let out a long breath, calming my heartbeat before I drive away.

At home, Mom is sitting at the counter picking at a salad and drinking a glass of iced tea. A stack of student papers sits in front of her, but I can tell she’s not really reading the one she’s holding. She smiles when I come in, putting the unread paper back on the stack.

“Maggie! Where have you been?” She takes stock of my dirty shoes and cut-off sweatpants.

“The waterfall,” I say, dropping my pack by the door and unlacing my boots.

“Oh, that’s great, honey. That’s such good exercise.”

I look at my mother, my face blank, but she doesn’t take the hint. “Yeah.” I start gathering my things to make my escape upstairs.

“Did you see anyone?” Mom asks.

I stop with one foot on the stairs. This is tricky stuff here. If I tell her I was hiking with a boy, she’ll make a big deal and assume all kinds of savory details. I opt for the adulterated version of the truth. “Um, yeah. I ran into a new kid from school on the trail. And I saw a moose.” I take another step up the stairs, my arms loaded down with my hiking boots, but Mom’s quick.

“Really, someone new? Boy or girl?”

I cringe. Now I have to give details. “His name’s Tom. He’s new this year, moved from, well, I can’t remember where he lived most recently. I know he’s moved a lot. By the way, did you also hear me say I saw a moose? I was nearly trampled! It was right there on the trail . . .”

“You saw a moose?” Dad asks, coming in from the garage. “How big?”

“Tom? I haven’t heard you talk about a Tom before. What’s he like?” Mom asks.

“Tall. But not as tall as that moose . . .”

“Was it a bull or a cow?” Dad says.

“Oh, Steven! Forget the moose.” My mom waves her hand in front of her face. “Was this a date? How did you meet him?”