Stork (13 page)

Whatever his reservations had been before, he took a deep breath and replied, “Sounds like a plan,” though I could still sense some hesitancy on his part.

After that we stood around for a few minutes finalizing arrangements. We’d all meet in the school parking lot at nine in the morning. From there, we’d pile into Pedro’s mom’s Suburban. I was assigned breakfast: coffee and muffins.

I was also reminded to dress warmly and wear comfortable shoes.

The pink sweater with the curled ribbon collar had seemed too girly, and the black zip-front one with leather piping — too formal. I yanked it off and dropped it onto the growing pile at the bottom of my closet. Sure, clothes were my thing, but even I knew I was overthinking something that would probably spend most of the day under my heavy parka. I settled on a simple hunter-green V-neck, hoping at least someone would notice it matched the paisley scarf I looped around my neck.

“You’re up early,” my mom said, laying down her newspaper. She looked at my outfit. “What are you dressed for?”

“A hike.”

“A hike? Where? With who?”

“A few kids from the bonfire last night. The girl Penny I told you about, the guy who delivered apples to the store, and a few others.”

“The Snjosson kid?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you knew him.” She pulled at her bottom lip.

“Not well.”

She took a quick sip of her coffee. “Then are you sure this outing is a good idea?”

Good thing I didn’t mention the dance. “Afi said something about bad blood between our families. Are we the Hatfields or the McCoys?”

“We’re neither.” She picked the paper up and snapped it open. “And I, for one, don’t listen to gossip.”

We had a quiet breakfast together after that. I only had a banana, knowing I was stopping for muffins and coffee. My mom ate her usual bowl of high-fiber, certified organic bark. Honestly, you could landscape with the stuff. I swear I’d seen it used. It made a decent mulch. She and Stanley had plans to look at open houses. She added quickly that
he
was in the market, but still, I didn’t like the idea.

The chime above the door to the Kountry Kettle alerted Jaelle to my presence, but she didn’t flash me with one of her usual smiles. I approached the counter hesitantly. The place was busy, so I figured that was the reason for her less-than-enthusiastic greeting. I took a seat at the counter, forgoing my usual spin.

“Good morning, Jaelle.”

“Hey, Ice.”

“How are you?” I asked, because her eyes looked kind of bleary, like she’d been crying.

“Been better.”

“Did something happen?”

“Just a stupid fight between me and Russ. We’ll get over it.” Jaelle asked why I was dressed like I was about to scale Everest. She had heard of the lake before, but hadn’t hiked it. She was, admittedly, not the outdoorsy type.

One of the customers signaled that he needed more coffee. Jaelle picked the pot up from behind her. I took that moment to pull my mom’s thermos out of my backpack. When Jaelle returned, I ordered a dozen muffins and asked her to fill the thermos to go. She emptied the contents of the coffeepot into the stainless steel carafe and then took a long swig from her own mug, though it appeared to be filled with tomato juice and not coffee. She started bagging the muffins, and I could tell by the way she was pitching them into the bag that she was upset and, moreover, would have made a darn good softball player.

“What did you guys fight about?”

“Same old stuff. About his being gone too much. And me stuck in this dead-end job. I have a business degree, you know.”

“I know.”

“What am I going to do with it here?” She handed me the bag.

I shrugged.

“He left this morning without saying good-bye.”

“But you guys always work it out.”

“Except this time he thinks maybe we should postpone starting a family until we figure out a few things.”

“I thought . . .”

“Joke’s on him, huh?”

“Did you take the test?”

“No. Still too chicken.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to know?”

Jaelle looked into the contents of her mug and then lifted it in a sort of toast. “Here’s to the great unknown.”

“Jaelle,” I said with alarm, “what’s in that cup?”

“Just tomato juice. Let me tell you, though, if I knew I wasn’t pregnant . . . oh, don’t listen to me. I’m a mess this morning.” She leaned against the counter on her outstretched arms. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah.”

“Then bounce your butt outta here. You got friends, girl, and they’re waiting on baked goods.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Get going.”

I left the restaurant with serious concerns about Jaelle — as well as the condition of the muffins tucked under my arm.

I met everyone in the parking lot right on time. Everyone except Jack, who was late. I poured cups of coffee and handed out lopsided muffins as we stood waiting. I was surprised at the effect his tardiness had on me: a crush of nerves had my tummy twitching. I was definitely interested in the guy, but interested how?

Pedro griped that Jack was the last person in the developed world not to have a cell phone. At a quarter after, the group came to a consensus that if he wasn’t there by nine twenty, we’d go without him. I had to admit, I was bummed. And not just because I felt like it was a reflection of his interest in me. His absence took all the excitement out of the day.

Nine nineteen. I wondered if I’d sound desperate suggesting we give him a few more minutes. Or would I appear all the more pathetic when he still didn’t show? I was shocked at how much I wanted his old truck to pull up. Now that he’d asked me to the dance, and there was something he wanted to tell me, I was — despite everything else going on in my life right now — thinking way more about Jack than I should. Especially as it was nine twenty.

Pedro sighed. “Looks like he’s a no-show. Let’s get going.” As we were only five, I sat in the backseat with Tina and Matthew, while Penny sat up front with Pedro. It was awkward. It had become a sort of double date and I felt about as wanted as a big fat jellyfish between the swimming cones. We were just pulling out of the parking lot when I caught sight of Jack’s old junker barreling at us from the opposite direction.

“I think that’s him coming,” I said, trying, and failing, to keep an even keel to my voice. If I’d sounded any more gleeful, I’d have needed choral robes.

Pedro made a U-turn, and Jack parked his car alongside ours. He climbed out from under the steering wheel, walked to the back of the Suburban, and stowed his gear. He then vaulted himself, quite effortlessly, into the third row of seats. Pedro pushed some sort of button that closed the hatch automatically. I was frozen in my seat. Would it look funny if I, too, scrambled into the back?

“So Kat, you gonna make me sit back here all by myself?”

My stomach did a jackknife. Just the sound of his voice, kind of breathy from rushing, but also playful, had every inch of my body trilling.

“Are you going to ask nicely?” I had to at least try to act cool.

“Will you
please
sit back here with me?”

Now I had to crawl into the back and not look like a complete spaz, in stiff boots that had about as much give as granite. I managed to land on my butt, hard, but at least I ended up on the seat and not the floor.

“Dude, you seriously need to get a cell phone,” Pedro said.

“I’m sorry,” Jack replied.

He looked straight at me, and I could tell that this was intended for my benefit more than anyone else’s. His right hand stretched out and then balled into a fist, like he wanted to touch me as he said it. Of course, he didn’t dare. Given the bizarre and chilly outcome the last two times we’d made contact, who knew what could happen? I was pretty sure Pedro’s mom didn’t have insurance for a freak pelting of hail and ice.

“My dad wouldn’t let me leave until I’d finished my chores for the day. I’ve been up since four.”

No one dared get on his case after that. I hadn’t even made my bed before rushing out the door, never mind the pile of clothes I’d left on the floor of my closet.

In the front of the car, they began a conversation about the band that played at the Asking Fire. Jack and I were quiet, though there was an intensity between us that screamed volumes. It was driving me flippin’ crazy. I was on fire. Every neuron in my body was crackling. I wondered how no one else could hear it.

“Have you been up here before?” I asked finally.

“Once. A long time ago.”

“Is it a long hike?”

He looked down at my boots. “Are those as new as they look?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head.

“They’re Timberlands,” I said defensively. My grams in Santa Monica had bought them for me when she’d heard we were moving to what she called “north of nowhere.” Nobody shopped like my grams. Born and raised in Paris, she claimed couture was in her blood. Her favorite thing, besides shopping for herself, was shopping for me.

“But have you worn them before?”

“No.”

Again the head shake. I looked down at his boots, the leather of which had probably been tanned about the same time as Moses’s sandals. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or if he was genuinely concerned, nor which I’d have preferred. I decided to change the subject.

“What’s the weather forecast for today?” I asked.

Something passed over his brow, like the start of a joke or remark, but then he just kind of shrugged.

Tina overheard my question. “I think it’s supposed to stay fairly mild. Of course, we are hiking up to a higher elevation. I hope everyone brought layers.”

Jack was in a T-shirt, as usual. “Is that all you’re wearing?” I asked.

He looked straight ahead, but, again, I sensed some internal struggle on his part. “I don’t feel the cold,” he said matter-of-factly.

For the last portion of the drive, I stared out the window. I’d never seen so many trees. They bordered the highway, some encroaching within feet of the blacktop. Their leafy heights swayed in the wind, and birds — so many I grew dizzy watching — soared in and out of this lush canopy. We even passed a small herd of deer, ten or twelve together; they loped gazelle-like between a thicket of tree trunks. Finally, Pedro pulled into the parking lot of the state park. There were only a few cars. It was seemingly more of a summer destination. We piled out and grabbed our gear. The air was already cool, and I was glad to have heeded the advice about layers. I wore a long-sleeved Under Armour T-shirt, Eddie Bauer knit blouse and had the hunter-green sweater tied at my waist and a North Face parka balled into my backpack. Were the next ice age to suddenly hit the area, I’d probably survive.

Again, I looked at Jack’s light apparel. “Is that seriously all you have to wear?” I asked. My paranoia of the cold, was, I discovered, transferable: frigiphobia by proxy.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said.

“It’s the bears you should worry about,” Pedro cut in. “I hope you brought your bear repellent.”

“My bear repellent?” He had to be kidding.

“He’s joking,” Penny said.

“Are there really bears?” I asked.

“Black bears,” Jack said. “Not grizzlies, and not the brown bear you have in California.”

“Kinder, gentler bears,” Pedro said with a laugh. “Even the wildlife around here is Minnesota-nice.”

“You really don’t need to worry,” Matthew said. “We come up here hunting every year and never had a problem. They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”

I did not like the idea of there being any bears in the vicinity, and I made no allowances between brown or black. I cast a wary eye all around me, and only settled when it seemed I was the only one with pre-hike jitters. I reminded myself, quite logically, that the Pacific Ocean — in which I willingly swam and surfed — was full of sharks, yet there I stood, all limbs accounted for.

Several trails were marked on a large map, which was posted outside the small ranger station. It seemed we were taking the longest and most circuitous route; our trek would take us up the western side of Fletcher Lake, along a northern ridgeline separating it from Weaver Lake, and back down the east side, crossing a small river.