Chapter 16

 Desperate Measures 

As it turned out, being the camp nurse and the staff chef wasn’t as bad as I’d expected.

It was far worse.

Campers injured themselves at the most inopportune times. Anything from open blisters to splinters to swollen bug bites. I’d slap antibiotic ointment and band-aids on kids while praying my cornbread and chili didn’t burn. Once they left, I’d sprint to the lodge to keep up with meal prep.

The last half of the summer closed in. On Monday morning of the sixth week of camp, the smallest group arrived—only twenty boys. Four of the ten counselors left to vacation for the week, not needed with so few participants. While stirring a pot of meat sauce, I grabbed my ringing phone and answered an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Megan Bailey?”

Something about the tinny, distant quality of the voice set my hair on edge. I hesitated.

“Uh, yes.”

“Wonderful. My name is Jameson. I work with Traveler’s Credit Card.”

My stomach melted. “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

“We’re calling in regards to your missed payment for the month of July. According to our records, this is the second payment you’ve missed. Your minimum payment due has now risen to—”

“I lost my job!” I cried, then bit down on my knuckle. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scream at you. Look, I know that I haven’t paid the minimum due, but the truth is that … I can’t.”

Jameson paused. “You can’t?”

I grimaced. Why had I said that? Surely he didn’t want to hear the truth if that’s what it came to. “I was laid off at work, and now I’m seeking … new employment.”

“When were you laid off?”

I swallowed. “At the end of May.”

“And have you filed for unemployment?”

“No.”

“Are you actively looking for new job opportunities?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, sounding annoyed, “but that doesn’t change your minimum balance. You’ve missed two consecutive payments. And now that I know you don’t have work, I’ve frozen the account to keep you from using it again.”

I ran a trembling hand through my hair.

“Listen, what if I promise you that I can make a payment next month?” I asked. “When is it due?”

“August tenth.”

My flight back home left August first, which wouldn’t leave enough time to start a job and be paid by the tenth. I growled under my breath. Since Jodie hadn’t found any hiring bonuses, the only way I could promise to make any kind of payment was to borrow money—not likely given the family’s current circumstances—or leave Adventura early.

Both options left a metallic taste in my mouth.

“Are you there, Miss Bailey?”

“Yes. Sorry. What happens if I don’t pay the minimum payment due by August tenth?”

“Your bank will be notified, and we’ll give you to a debt collector. Trust me. They never stop calling.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll pay … something by then.”

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you just informed me that you don’t have a job?”

“I will by then. I’m working with a recruiter.”

“Do you have any money to put down as a show of good faith?”

“I wish. Well … I have twenty bucks but—”

“Great. I’ll make a note of this conversation and plan on seeing that good faith payment come through within the next couple of days. I will speak with you again on August tenth, Miss Bailey. Thank you for your time.”

The line went dead. I dropped the phone to my side, allowing my mind to speed away. Did I dare tell Mom or Dad? No. Out of the question right now. Mark and JJ had no money. None of the Health and Happiness Society had over five hundred dollars lying around that I knew of—I hadn’t exactly kept in touch with them. Could I lose my house? My car? My credit? I didn’t want to find out. I only had one option.

With heavy fingers, I clicked through my phone. It only rang twice.

“This is Jodie Renner with EveryHealth.”

“Jodie, it’s Megan.”

“Oh. Hello again. I didn’t expect to hear from you this soon.”

“Uh … there’s been a slight change of plans.”

“Yes?”

I closed my eyes. “Find me a job. Any job.”

She paused. “Okay,” she drawled. “Starting when?”

My tongue stuck to the top of my roof like sandpaper. “Uh … anytime.”

“I’ll be in meetings for the rest of the day, but I’ll compile a list when I’m back. Expect to hear from me Monday afternoon, all right?”

Fabulous. A whole weekend to dwell on this conundrum. I swallowed.

“Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Jodie. I really appreciate the help.”

“No problem. Talk to you soon.”

The sound of the dial tone filled my ear, sounding an awful lot like the dead hum in my chest.

What was I going to tell Mark and JJ?

The debt pressed into my chest like a heart attack for the rest of the day. Every moment I wasn’t searching for another option—Could I sell my car long-distance? Did I own any jewelry I could pawn?—I spent the rest of it swearing I would never again let my finances fall on the back burner.

Or plummet because of a guy.

“Hey, Emmett. Will you grab that pot of pasta and take it off the burner?” I called later that evening, just five minutes before dinner. “This meat sauce will burn if I leave it.”

Emmett leaped up from where he sat on a bench in the dining area and hurried into the kitchen. “Sure thing, girl power.”

“Sorry. I was called into medical to fix a laceration.”

“No problem.”

Staff members streamed into the dining hall from all parts of Adventura, sweaty, hot, sunburned, and starving. A couple of them filled their water bottles at the sink while telling me stories about annoying campers.

“The kid cried because his feet got wet. I don’t understand. It’s a lake. With water,” Sione muttered.

“Maybe he didn’t want to ruin his shoes?”

Sione snorted. “He was barefoot.”

He tossed a water bottle in the recycling can before banging his way into the dining room. Several other staff members came in, talking to me over each other.

“…then the little kid punched the big kid. It was pretty sweet. Don’t look at me like that, Megan. I stopped it … eventually. He deserved it. It was a true David-and-Goliath story…”

“So there I was, on top of the climbing tower…”

Spaghetti sauce and onions bubbled on the stovetop while I listened, commenting here and there while the kitchen filled with the scent of oregano and tomatoes. I toggled three different conversations and two side dishes at the same time. The distraction from my debt was a welcome relief.

“Hey, JJ,” I called into the dining room. “Start setting out plates of butter, will you? Thanks!”

He leaped to his feet, abandoning an ongoing game of poker that had been running at mealtimes for at least a week.

JJ and Emmett bustled around the kitchen under my orders as I orchestrated the symphony of dinner. Their willing hands cut down my work by half. I was just tasting the spaghetti sauce after adding a dash of brown sugar when Mark burst into the kitchen. Justin followed close behind, grease on his hands from working on the camp truck. He headed for the sink. I rolled up the window into the lodge as the staff gathered.

“Dig in, gentlemen,” I called, ringing the bell with a satisfying whack.

The staff flooded forward, scrambling for plates, forks, and fresh rolls. Behind me, something slapped the island. I spun around to see a folded map next to the second bowl of noodles.

“Found this over the weekend,” Justin said. “Thought you might be interested.”

“A map?”

I wiped my hands on my apron before picking it up. When the creased, rain-resistant material unfurled, an aerial view of the mountains surrounding Adventura lay before me. Justin reached over my shoulder and pointed out camp. A delicious hint of vetiver mingled with the heady tinge of automotive oil.

“Here we are,” he said.

He pointed to where the river flowed out of the canyon. A blue dot indicated the lake. His fingertip slid up the canyon and over to the right. A network of trails rambled like spider legs along the mountain ridge.

“Check this out—two trails lead up Custer Mountain,” he said. “I thought there was only one.”

I tapped on the left trail. “This western trail looks faster.”

“No way. Check out that elevation profile. Eastern would be faster.”

“Too many switchbacks. It’s at least two miles longer.”

A hint of challenge tightened his tone. “I disagree.”

My own pride rose to the occasion. The only way to know who was right would be to test it. How delicious it sounded—conquering something tangible while the rest of my life fluttered to ash in the background.

“Wanna bet on it?” I asked, drawing out the budding idea. Justin canted his head to the side.

“Bet?”

“Yeah. Let’s make a bet. I’ll take the short route. You take the long. We’ll leave at the same time. Whoever gets to the top first wins.”

Justin’s eyes gleamed.

“You got it, girl power. What’s the prize?”

Since I officially had zero dollars to my name—having already promised the twenty dollars to Traveler’s Credit Card—I cast about for something of high value. My eyes landed on the smorgasbord of food the staff had piled onto plates with reckless abandon.

“If I win, you cook dinners for the next week,” I said.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “That’s it?”

“That’s a lot!”

“Let’s make it more interesting.”

A thrill shot down my spine. The staff stared at us from the window, silent, hands poised halfway to their plates.

“How?”

“Fifty bucks and I make dinner for a week.”

I swallowed. He had no idea how much fifty dollars was asking.

“If you win?” I asked.

“Fifty bucks and you … clean all the biffies.”

A couple of men behind us sniggered. The biffies—or outdoor toilets—were cramped wooden shacks with a toilet on top of a hole in the ground. Still, they had to be wiped down with bleach and restocked every week. Not only did they reek, but flies swarmed them. Would it be worth it?

Definitely.

With a flash of inspiration, I recalled my talk with JJ on top of the cliff. His family is loaded. Lives in this big mansion in California. He’s old money, I guess. Desperate times called for desperate measures, didn’t they?

“No,” I said.

His eyebrows shot halfway to his hairline. “No?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

A collective ooh came from the staff, preceding the chorus of dissents that rang in my head.

“Girl has balls,” someone sang.

“She’s insane.”

“No one can beat Justin on a mountain.”

“She’s betting five hundred dollars with the gladiator?”

Their murmurs did little to dissuade me. My heart pattered like a bird in flight. If I won—which I would—his money would solve everything. I could meet the minimum balance on my debt by August tenth without leaving Adventura early. Jodie could get me into the right job instead of a last-minute desperate job.

Justin studied me before sticking out his hand.

“Agreed.”

I accepted, ignoring the smirk that sent his dimple into a deep groove.

“You’re on, girl power. You and me. Saturday morning.”

I grinned. Me on the mountain? I’d been trail running with JJ almost every morning. Climbing and swimming every Saturday. Hiking with the twins every Sunday. I had this—and my debt issues—in the bag.

Saturday dawned with a big sky evenly funneled into a sliver by the mountains. Not a single cloud loitered in sight. The crisp, heady scent of pine needles drifted into my little cabin, calling to me. Eager to get on the trail, I shucked the sleeping bag off and scrambled for my hiking boots.

“Hey,” JJ said when I hustled out of my cabin ten minutes later, finishing off an energy bar. He jogged to my side, his hair unbound and wet on his shoulders.

“Hey.” I swallowed the last bite. “I was just on my way to the kitchen to grab my lunch.”

JJ nodded toward the stream. “Justin’s at the trailhead now. So is the rest of the staff. Oh, and I brought you these.”

He extended four black packets to me. A bright crimson font across the front said, The Gel Guru presents Black Cherry.

“What are they?” I asked, glancing at the back. No list of ingredients. Minimal packaging with frayed edges and skewed font. “Are these black market or something?”

“Energy gels. A running buddy of mine is trying to get into it. He’s testing this recipe, so he’s not sure how well it works. Said something about extract of ginseng and a new caffeine mixture.”

“Sounds … intense.”

“Want to try it out? You could give him some feedback. He wants to go wide with it but needs to know if it requires more ingredients, or fewer. And…” He paused. “Well … let’s just say you might need the extra boost.”

My right eyebrow rose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Justin is the best hiker we have here.”

“Better than you?”

“I’m a climber, not a hiker. There’s a big difference. But yes, even better than me. Mark, too.”

A shot of anxiety raced through me. Maybe I’d made this hasty bet without all the facts. Anyone that could beat JJ could beat me.

“He’s a lowlander,” I said, brushing it off. “I’ll be fine. I grew up in the mountains.”

“Not a lowlander anymore. He’s been living in Jackson City for the past year. Look, I’ve hiked with him before. He has lungs the size of hot-air balloons. He’ll dominate those extra two miles. Probably run up the whole thing and then back down even faster.”

A shout from the stream caught our attention. Mark stood in the trees, waving for us. “We’re waiting!” he called.

“Coming!” I said, shoving the gels in my bag as JJ and I started walking. JJ put a hand on my back.

“Just … don’t set your heart on this, okay?”

“It’s $500. My heart is absolutely set on it.”

And so is my future, I thought, setting my jaw.

“And the biffies,” he quipped. “Don’t forget how fun it will be to clean those.”

“I’ll win. I have to.”

He said no more as we strode through the trees, but his silence told me everything.

“You ready for this, girl power?” Justin asked as we approached. He wore a pair of gray shorts and a loose t-shirt. The muscles in his legs seemed even more pronounced. I recalled his morning swim at the lake with a little blush and dismissed JJ’s warnings.

“I was born ready,” I said, cracking my neck.

Five hundred dollars, I told myself. Just get through the pain to get the gain.

Everyone gathered at a split in the trail a few yards from the stream, which we’d just crossed. Although they kept their voices low, I could hear them placing bets. Only a few went in my favor. Sione waved a stack of fives at me, no doubt to indicate his loyalty. Mercenary motivations aside, I wanted to make these guys proud of me again.

At any rate, it couldn’t hurt more than the belly-flop.

Atticus stood between us, tail swinging, mouth open in a perpetual pant. “You take the dog,” Justin said, nudging Atticus closer. I sank my fingers into his silky fur and didn’t disagree. Adventura was private land, so the trail had been mostly unused. A neglected trail posed many dangers. Having Atticus with me would ease some of my worries.

“Thanks.”

“May the best hiker win,” Justin said. I tried not to focus on the rough feel of his callused hands against mine as we shook.

“I will.”

He laughed, heading off onto his trail. Atticus watched him go, then looked up at me.

“C’mon, boy.” I ruffled his fur. “Let’s go.”

The staff cheered as I spun around and headed for my own trail.

“Get him, girl power!”

“Beat the gladiator.”

“Make us proud!”

Their calls faded into the background as I strode down the trail. If I could win a belly-flop competition, I could win this bet. I would win this bet and the freedom that making a big payment would bring.

Or so I hoped.

A nagging tug made itself known in my stomach as I began the ascent up the steep mountainside, sliding on the occasional waterfall of loose rock. What if I failed to make it to the top? What if I was in over my head like JJ had suggested?

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I wouldn’t even think it. Karen’s face when she let me go swam through my mind.

Then again, sometimes things didn’t go the way I planned.

Imagining Justin powering his way up the other trail served as steady motivation for the first twenty minutes. One fiber at a time, the muscles in my legs warmed up. The trail climbed a steep pitch from the start. Within the first half hour, I felt like I’d climbed thirty flights of stairs. My lungs begged for air. Atticus stood on top of a boulder, peering at me as if to say, Come on, silly human. We’ve just begun.

“I’m … coming…” I panted.

When I stopped at the rock, I propped my hands on my waist. I couldn’t do this for seven miles and maintain a competitive pace. Although I was loath to admit it, JJ’s energy gels called to me. I preferred hiking mountains on my own energy.

But maybe today’s extenuating circumstances merited a little … boost.

Reaching into a pocket, I grabbed a pouch, tore it open with my teeth, and downed it in one gulp. The saccharine taste of cherries and something metallic filled my mouth. I swallowed, chugging half a bottle of water with it. The aftertaste coated my tongue with a dry, chalky taste.

“Yuck.” I wiped my mouth off with my sleeve. “These better be worth it.”

A sharp snap broke the air when I started again. I paused, breath held. When I moved my eyes down, not daring to breathe, I confirmed my suspicion.

“A broken shoelace? Seriously?”

Two frayed ends of my shoelace hung over opposite sides of my right shoe, having broken apart right in the middle. Atticus trotted up to my side, sniffing into my shoe as I pulled it off. He recoiled. I rolled my eyes.

“That’s your own fault,” I muttered, my pack sliding off my shoulders. I sat on the trail and reached down, yanking the laces free with sharp, jerky movements. After two attempts, I tied a firm knot in the broken strings and re-laced the threads. They fell short, leaving two holes unfilled. The back of my foot slipped out of the shoe every now and then. That’ll be annoying after a few miles, I thought.

“C’mon, Atty. Let’s go.”

I started up the trail but stopped ten feet later. The sound of four pattering paws didn’t race to pass me. I turned around to find an empty trail. The leaves on the quaking aspens fluttered like thin coins in the breeze.

“Atty?”

I returned to the same spot and peered into the bushes. No sign. Not a single stirring of life.

“Not funny, Atticus. Come!”

A bluebird fluttered by, chased by another. They swooped past me, disappearing into the foliage.

“Atticus?”

I tromped into the bushes, shoving scrub oak aside, wresting brambles and knee-high wildflowers. When I stopped to unwind a strand of hair from a high branch, I froze. In the distance to my right came a faint bark.

“Atticus,” I yelled, turning. “Atticus, come!”

The bark sounded again. I yanked my hair free and charged through the weeds. Ten minutes later, I stumbled on an old tree hiding in a copse of aspens. Atticus pranced along the base of it, barking with fits of aggression. In the lowest branches chattered a squirrel, its puffy tail flicking behind it like a horse.

“Seriously?” I grabbed his collar. “Let’s go.”

He wheeled around at my insistence, trotting through the high grass with an occasional glance back. The wild, untamed beauty of the meadows sprawled in disorienting skirts of variegated viridian and mossy green. The clump of trees on the left looked exactly like another clump of trees to the right. Various animal footpaths meandered through the space. I’d been so intent on not losing Atticus that I hadn’t searched for landmarks. Disoriented by the sameness of it all, I stopped.

Atticus vaulted a high clump of wildflowers and headed north. I threw my hands in the air and followed. With any luck, he’d know where to go.

After another fifteen minutes of careful searching—and four attempted butterfly snacks—Atticus found the trail. We started our ascent a second time. Within minutes of reclaiming our path, a heady buzz sprinted through my legs. I pushed hard and fast, feeling the energy course through me like neon lights. Perhaps JJ’s friend really had something with these gels. I’d have to tell him to keep the recipe.

We settled into a steady hour of uninterrupted hiking. The sharp mountain walls and heavy pitch of the trail required all my effort. Thanks to low traffic, Atticus and I lost the trail several times and had to backtrack, wasting precious time. In my bragging, I hadn’t paid as much attention to the grade as I should have, but with the help of the gels, I pressed hard.

On the first outcropping, I stepped off the trail and peered down the mountainside. The height of our climb gave me vertigo. The edge dropped into a sheer rock face that plunged into the river. The canyon unfurled, carved by the distant whitecaps of the frothy water and the bushy peaks of the evergreens.

“Three miles,” I murmured to Atticus, who peered down the side. I playfully swatted his face. “We finally made good time once you stopped chasing squirrels.”

I grinned, grabbed a second energy gel, and slurped it down. A slow start notwithstanding, Atty and I had this hike in the bag.

An hour, two miles, and three lost trail moments later, I lurched to a stop.

The top of Custer Mountain loomed high in the distance, a pillar of granite and stone. Half a mile ahead, the timberline disappeared into a field of slate and shale that led to the final ascent. The intense sunlight bounced off the pale rock faces.

Sweat coated my shirt and back, dripping down my arms in hot trails. The sun beat relentlessly hard this high. Every breath seemed to give me less oxygen. I glanced at my watch. Five miles completed. Only two left. My stomach churned, so I grabbed my bottle and swigged. Water leaked from the corners of my mouth and dribbled down my jaw. My unusually insatiable thirst left me only one more bottle. I’d never felt thirst so strong. Water had never tasted so refreshing.

After pouring the rest of the water into the bowl I carried for Atticus, I spun the lid back on and straightened up, surveying the soft meadows. The grasses waved in the gentle breeze, scattered with nodding wildflowers. Atticus finished drinking and pounced on a wandering moth, his jaws snapping. I put a hand to my still-rumbling stomach and peered up at the azure, cloudless sky. One day I’d come back up here and take time to enjoy the bigness of it all. A yawn tickled my jaw. I reached back for another energy gel, but my hand came back empty. Had I already eaten all three?

“C’mon, Atty,” I said, replacing the pack. “Let’s beat your human. I have a credit card to pay off and brothers to keep happy.”

Just as I headed back to the trail, an irritated cramping in my bowels caught me by surprise. I paused. It soon passed, and I started hiking. Within minutes, my belly spasmed again. I had time to scramble into the trees before I lost all control. Ten minutes later, I returned, my stomach still in prickly stitches.

“Awesome,” I muttered to Atticus. “Nothing helps a hike like grumpy bowels.”

Atticus waited for me, ears perked, on the trail. When I stepped up to his side, he trotted away, tail swinging. But now, with my abdomen on the warpath, every step uphill felt like a small mountain. Despite my previous determination, my energy flagged. I trudged forward, my toes dragging in the dirt. Half an hour passed, and I’d only gone half a mile. Twenty yards away, the shale field began. The grass clumps had thinned out. A hawk soared overhead.

“Lunch,” I murmured, with an edgy sense of panic. I needed to eat but had no time. The last thirty minutes should have gotten me at least a mile, if not more.

Still plodding, I reached into my backpack and groped for the two PB&J’s I’d packed, but my fingers only brushed canvas at the bottom. I paused, then yanked the backpack strap off my shoulder and pulled it forward.

“No,” I said, peering into the almost-empty pack. “No. Way.”

I closed my eyes. I’d completely forgotten to grab lunch! JJ had side-railed me with his energy gels, and then Mark had called for us. All I had was a couple water bottles for Atticus, an old stick of jerky, an applesauce packet, and—eureka! Another energy gel. My stomach gurgled again. I snatched a small package of biodegradable toilet paper and dashed into the trees just in time. When I returned, Atticus nudged my pack with his nose.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, ripping the top of the energy gel off with my teeth. “I’m hungry, too.”

With the gel halfway to my mouth, I paused. JJ’s words floated back through my mind. He’s testing this current recipe, so he’s not sure how well it works. Energy gels were packed with electrolytes and sugar and sometimes caffeine. They often caused gastrointestinal distress. This untested recipe could be worse than usual.

Especially during intense workouts.

I recalled the syrupy taste as I’d forced the others down. My gut seemed to roll over again. A dry, dense field of sand trickled down my throat. No wonder I’d been so thirsty! Energy gels required water to break down.

I tossed the gel back into my pack with a growl.

“Great. I did this to myself.”

Going further now would be risky for several reasons—there was no cover if I needed another dash into the trees, and I had little water left for the descent. Considering the rumbly state of my stomach, a need for discretion could be imminent. What if Justin made it to the top before me, then glanced down just to see me crouched on the side of the trail, emptying my sick bowels? I grimaced. Not happening.

Unbidden, I yawned again, my lips spreading so wide I thought my jaw would pop. Whatever lead I’d had would be gone by now. I struggled to keep my eyes open, too sleepy for panic anymore. All I wanted was a gallon of fresh water and a deep, dreamless nap.

I lay down under the last cluster of quaking aspens and stared up at the sky. Atticus lay down next to me, warm against my side. I burrowed the tips of my fingers into his hot fur.

“Just for a minute,” I murmured through a yawn. The soft whisper of wind brushed my hair against my cheek. I snuggled my head against the pack and closed my eyes, willing my body to relax just a little.

Just for a few minutes.

The heady blackness of a deep nap stole over me, and I gladly welcomed it.