The Distance from Me to You (8 page)

“Yeah, I finished a few weeks ago,” Sam said, and took another bite of chili. McKenna couldn't blame the girls for fawning over him. His voice went perfectly with his looks—deep, with a hoarse edge to it, just enough Southern accent to make it musical.

“A few weeks ago?”

“Yep. Walked all the way to Maine. Then turned around. Started walking back.”

“Like Forrest Gump when he got to California,” said Blair. Her tone indicated she was not as impressed by Sam's charm. Maybe, like McKenna, she was suspicious of particularly gorgeous guys.

“Or Walden,” Ashley added.

They laughed. It wasn't the first time someone had mentioned a man named Walden. By now, McKenna knew that everyone had a different story about him, but generally it was said that some tragedy had befallen him and now he just walked up and down the trail, with no pack, living off whatever grew in season and sleeping under the sky. Some people swore he was a ghost. He had a quaker parrot that traveled with him, sometimes on his shoulder, sometimes flying beside him. Often, in the trail
ledgers, people would write down when they
thought
they'd seen him. But one seasoned thru hiker told McKenna that when you did run into Walden, there'd be no question in your mind. You'd know the very first instant: it was him.

“Walden doesn't really exist,” Blair said. “He's just a campfire story.”

Sam put down the bowl of chili, walked over to the girls' cooler, and pulled out a soda. He's certainly made himself right at home, McKenna thought. She also noted he was the only one not drinking.

Ashley leaned toward Sam as he sat back down. “Have
you
seen Walden?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I have,” Sam said. “I saw him twice. Once in the Smoky Mountains—that's the most haunted stretch of the trail—then in town near the Delaware Water Gap. He was eating pizza at Doughboy's, that crazy bird sitting on his head, squawking and spreading his wings when anyone came near.”

McKenna didn't know much about Walden, but thanks to her dad's friend and her future employer Al Hill, she had heard about the quaker parrots. Years ago, a shipment bound for a pet store had escaped in northern New Jersey. Now these tropical birds populated the Palisades, filling the trees in towns around the Hudson. Walden's parrot was supposed to be one of these, about the size of a parakeet. She guessed it could spread its wings, though it wouldn't be particularly threatening, and they probably peeped more than squawked. But she didn't say anything.

By now it was dark. McKenna was only halfway through her first beer, but the group was becoming noticeably rowdier, the girls squealing as Sam told them that Walden's daughter had been murdered at the age of twelve at a summer camp in the Smoky Mountains.

“She had long sandy-brown hair,” Sam told them. “Giant blue eyes. Freckles across her nose. In fact . . .” He stood up, facing the row of girls sitting on the log. McKenna coughed a little as campfire smoke wafted in her direction.

“She looked just like you,” he said, tipping his soda can at McKenna. “A little younger, obviously.”

“Obviously,” McKenna said. She blushed again, from his attention, and hoped it wasn't visible in the firelight.

“So,” Sam said. Now that he was standing in front of them, it felt more like he was performing. “Walden's daughter was killed. Not just killed but eviscerated. They found her one morning, by the flagpole, carved open. There was a manhunt, but no killer was ever found. Some people think it was a crazed black bear that dragged her from her cabin. But Walden doesn't buy that story.”

“Did he tell you this personally?” Blair asked, sarcastic.

“Let's just say I got the information close to the source.
Very close.
”

Sam's voice was low and convincing, but it had a twinkle in it, too. It almost made McKenna want to laugh, or worse, giggle.

“Anyway,” he said. “Ever since that day, Walden left the
world behind. He took to the trail, overcome with grief, and never went home again. He just walks up and down, south to north, north to south, never worrying about the weather, never carrying anywhere near enough to sustain him or keep him dry. It's hard to know how he even stays alive. But you know what keeps him going?”

“The search for the killer?” Maddie asked.

“No. What keeps him going is killing.”

“He's a vigilante?”

“You'd think so,” Sam said. “But the kind of grief we're talking about doesn't know logic. He wants others to feel what he feels. So while he's walking up and down the trail, he keeps an eye out. He thinks he's going to find her—his daughter, that cute blue-eyed girl. And every once in a while, along comes someone who looks just like her, all by herself, and for a second Walden's crazy heart will jump with joy, until he realizes it's not her, and then
bam
!”

Sam jumped in McKenna's direction so suddenly she started backward, almost falling off the log. The other girls laughed.

“They always find her the same way,” Sam said. “Eviscerated. Guts spilling out for everyone to see. That is, if the bobcats and bears don't find her first.”

McKenna laughed with everyone else. She noticed that when Sam took his place next to Ashley, she slipped her arm through his, reclaiming him. It didn't exactly make sense for Ashley to feel possessive, or for McKenna to feel flattered that Sam had chosen her to be Walden's murder victim. Maybe she
should have been spooked, but she couldn't help feeling like this was Sam's weird way of flirting with her.

As if to prove her suspicion, Sam's eyes stayed on her, despite Ashley being right next to him.

Thanks but no thanks, McKenna thought. This guy is obviously trouble. Part of her wanted to inform him she'd never been scared by ghost stories. But she didn't want to egg him on.

“That chili was so great, thank you,” she said to Maddie. “I really appreciate it, but I've had a long day, so I think . . .”

“Good night!” Ashley said a little too enthusiastically.

McKenna headed to her tent. The party sounds from around the campfire were increasing; part of her wished she'd pitched her tent farther away, and part of her felt glad that their proximity meant she'd feel safe from ax murderers (Walden notwithstanding) and bears (she didn't even bother hanging her food bag, knowing no bear would come close to the noise and flickering fire). She dug out her phone and climbed into her sleeping bag, hoping to find a message from Brendan. It was a bad precedent, she knew. For one thing, if she got into the habit of messaging him, her battery might run out and then she wouldn't have her phone in an emergency. But in a weird way Sam's attention had made her feel even more homesick for her boyfriend, a knee-jerk reaction to having someone flirt with her, even someone as charming as this gorgeous stranger. She couldn't flirt back. She was taken.

But she soon wished that she'd left her phone in her pack
or that she hadn't been able to get reception or—best wish by far—that she'd never met Brendan at all. His message read:

McKenna, hey! I was happy to see your message. Really glad you're safe and that everything's going so well out there. My head is mostly wrapped up in heading to college. E-mailing with my suitemates and all that.

I'm glad you decided to break your rule and write because I've been needing to talk to you but wanting to be respectful. I've been thinking about how college is this big new chapter, and with you on this trip, I thought maybe it seemed like a good time to take a break? Because we're already kind of going our separate ways, right? Please don't think by “break” I mean “break up” because I don't. I can't wait to see you at Christmas. I just mean that . . .

McKenna stopped reading. She didn't want to read any more, at least not now. Of course Brendan would never put it this way, but his meaning was clear:
I just mean that I want to hook up with other girls at college.
And why wouldn't he? Their last night together wasn't exactly memorable, and then she'd told him he was only allowed to talk to her once a month. It seemed like the stupidest thing in the world that it hadn't occurred to her that he would want to break up with her after that.

McKenna turned off her phone and tossed it toward her feet. The group by the fire sounded so cheerful: Sam's low,
gruff voice, followed by eruptions of laughter. She almost felt like going back out there, guzzling some beer and giving Ashley a little competition.

Tears gathered in her throat as she thought of Brendan about to head off to Harvard. Maybe he already had a girl in mind. Maybe he'd already hooked up with another girl. The tears made their way to her eyes and she pressed her forearm against them.

Even on that terrible first day, failing on Katahdin, McKenna had not cried. She would
not
cry now, not over a boy, even if he had been her first real boyfriend.

Finally, she gave in to the tears. But just a little bit, just this one night. In the morning she'd get her things together and start walking. Brendan had been her boyfriend for three months. She had more time than that left on the trail. Starting first thing tomorrow morning, she would walk that boy—and any sadness over him—right out of her system.

• • •

When McKenna crawled out of her tent before first light, what she had taken to calling the birds' time, when their musical racket escorted in the dawn, she was surprised to see Sam asleep by the fire, alone. She'd fully assumed he'd be in Ashley's tent with her.

Last night she'd thought he was several years older than her, maybe in his early twenties. But asleep, even with that fair stubble across his jaw, he looked younger. Closer to her age. She remembered Brendan's message with an ache that she
tried to tamp down.
Walk off the pain,
her track coach used to say when she twisted her ankle or pulled a muscle. Today's injury was more full-bodied, a bruise that spread from her toes to her head. She needed to walk off the pain.

Quietly as she could, she pulled her gear out of her tent and started breaking it down. Sam was appealing in an obvious way. But McKenna did not want company on this walk. Being pointed in the same direction from here, no doubt they would run into each other more than once over the next couple months, but today she wanted to give herself a head start.

“That's a lot of stuff,” said a gruff drawl.

McKenna looked up and there he stood, looking down at her. He ran a hand through his too-long hair, smoothing it into place, the only beauty routine necessary. McKenna suddenly became acutely aware of her unbrushed teeth and the millions of hairs that must be unraveling from her braid.

“Mackenzie?” Sam said. “That's what you said your name is, right?”

“McKenna.”

“Right. McKenna.” He knelt down, surveying her things alongside her. McKenna gathered up her phone and shoved it into her dry bag along with the food. She'd planned to eat something before she left, but now that he was up she decided it was better to hit the trail as soon as possible.

Over the past few weeks, McKenna had devised a very specific system for how she packed, placing everything in the exact order she'd need it, which meant her tent and sleeping bag
went in first. This process required the rest of her things to be spread out and surveyed, something that helped her get her head together for the day and focus on what was ahead. More nights than not this summer, she had camped at sites with other people, but Sam was the first to join her in this morning ritual. Feeling self-conscious, she started shoving things into her pack more hurriedly.

“You like Johnny Cash?” he asked, holding up her pink T-shirt.

McKenna snatched it away and stuffed it in her pack. “No. I just like the T-shirt.”

“Wow,” he said, holding up her little canister of pepper spray and the whistle. “You're prepared for everything.”

She grabbed them out of his hand and tossed them in with her clothes (she was too embarrassed to clip them onto their usual spot, in easy reach on the outside of her pack).

“Yeah, well,” McKenna said. “I need those in case I run into Walden, so I can put up a fight before he eviscerates me.”

“Won't do you much good tucked away in there,” Sam said.

As he examined each item, McKenna swept it away, the usual order of her bag giving way to lopsided bulges. Luckily she had packed the tampons before he showed up! As she grabbed her Swiss Army Knife, she decided to saw off the rope bracelet that Brendan had given her. Sam watched her for a second, then went back to examining her gear.

“You have a lot of books,” he observed. “Unnecessary weight.”

“I need to have something to read,” she said “Plus the
guidebook seems pretty practical.” She didn't feel like explaining
Walden
, or her journal.

“You should at least burn them once you're done,” Sam said. “That way you don't have to haul them all the way to Georgia.”

McKenna stopped sawing for a moment and stared at him. His face didn't look jeery or challenging. There hadn't been a lot of religion in her childhood, but McKenna thought a lightning bolt might strike her dead if she so much as considered burning books.

“I leave them in free boxes when I finish,” she said, finally pulling the bracelet off and tossing it into her garbage pile. “And then I take a new one, or buy a new one if there isn't anything good.” At outposts all along the trail, there were boxes of items hikers had shed, free for the taking.

Sam leafed through her songbird book. It had been a birthday gift from Lucy last summer—a thick paperback with buttons beside each bird that played their song. Sam pressed the button next to the goldfinch.

“Hey!” he said. “I recognize this one. I never put it together with the bird, though. Every time I see one I think someone's pet canary has escaped.”