Chapter 4

 Somehow 

Rain drummed on the kitchen ceiling early the next morning. A chill drove through my hoodie and deep into my bones. An old pair of rubber gloves squeaked against my hands as I stood in front of the pantry, bleach bottle at my side. I shoved my sleeves higher on my arms.

“All right, you moldy monster. Make my day.”

The pantry door groaned open. I waited in vain for an attack of killer mold or a rancid blast of air. Instead, a beam of light illuminated a shredded bag of sugar on the floor. When I pulled a chain hanging in the middle of the pantry, nothing happened. I set a lantern on a shelf, spreading light through the cramped, L-shaped room. A tub of weevil-infested flour had fallen over, and tiny tracks ran through it. Generous piles of mouse droppings littered the floor.

“You are a brave woman, Megan Bailey, venturing into that pantry alone.”

I whipped around. A wiry, lean woman with muscular legs stood just inside the kitchen, balancing a laundry basket filled with bottles of cleaning solution and new rolls of paper towels on her left hip. I grinned.

“I learned it from my mom.”

“Sounds like a crazy woman.”

“You should meet her.”

A wide smile bloomed on Mom’s face. Her warm caramel-brown hair shimmered with streaks of gray as it swung around her shoulder blades.

“Oh, Meg. It’s so good to see you.”

She set the laundry basket aside, closed the space between us, and enveloped me in her powerful arms. I pressed close, inhaling the tangy scent of home from her running jacket.

“I’m so relieved to see you,” I breathed, pulling away. “I have so much to tell you. I don’t even know where to start. And thank you for helping me clean. This kitchen is … well … you know.”

“Anything for my favorite daughter.”

“Only daughter,” I quipped.

She winked. “Same thing.”

She pressed a hand to my cheek with a warm smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Lines ran like canyons from her eyes down her too-thin cheeks. Weariness clung to her like she hadn’t slept in a week.

I put a hand on her arm.

“Mom, is everything all right?”

“All those lowlanders come up to the mountains in the summer and have heart attacks, so I’ve been pulling extras this week. You know how it is.” She released a rueful sigh. “Flight nursing always keeps me on my toes.”

“Did Dad come with you?”

“No.” An edge of tension cut through her voice. “I … think he’s at work. Anyway, I brought you an extra cooler with ice. The fridge isn’t working yet, is it?”

While she jabbered about rags and cleaning supplies, she flitted around the kitchen like a manic bee, never settling. She unloaded a bottle of window cleaner and degreaser onto the island, then set them next to the grill. With a tut, she transferred them to the windowsill.

“You sure everything’s okay, Mom?” I asked, watching her search for a place for the garbage bags. She set them on the counter, then moved them to the grill and reached for something else in the basket. Then she thought better of it and went back for the bags.

“Fine! So, listen. I bought this vinegar-based cleaner—”

“Mom, wait. Before you unload everything, tell me what’s going on. You’re so jumpy you’d make coffee nervous.”

“I’m just tired.”

“But—”

Her shoulders tensed. “Nothing,” she snapped. “Nothing is wrong. Just leave it alone, all right?”

I shrank back. She pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, leaning against the cluttered island. The muscles in her jaw tightened. Her shoulders stooped.

“I’m sorry.” She met my worried gaze. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I really am tired. Just … leave it, Meg, for now. Please? I’m not ready to talk about it.”

My heart leaped into my throat. It. So there was something going on.

“Okay. Sure. Let’s talk about, uh, something else.”

In silence, we fell into our separate duties. I shuffled back to the pantry, broom in hand, and swept up the sugar and flour. Mom stayed at the sink, staring out the window. Time stood still. Only the scratch of the broom on the floor broke the quiet. Just when I thought I couldn’t stand another second, I felt a tentative touch on my back, light as a butterfly wing.

“Meg? I’m sorry.”

I turned around to find her slumped against the wall, her head tilted back. Her eyes sparkled, as if she was holding back tears. I leaned on the broom handle.

“It’s all right, Mom. Bad days come and go.”

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not that. I just … I’m frustrated with your father.”

My throat tightened. “Is everything okay?’

“It’s fine. Your father and I are fine. He’s fine. I’m fine. It’s all just fine. We’ve been fine ever since you guys left the house. Whenever I ask him, he says he’s fine. He never asks me, so I just pretend that I’m fine. We just live in a big, damn circle of fine.”

A rangy laugh bubbled out of her. She thrust away from the wall, snatched a brown bag from the basket, and yanked out a box of baking soda.

“You wouldn’t believe how many years you can live on being fine. How many years you can tell yourself that everything will be fine even if you don’t believe it. Or maybe you do believe it, because if you don’t, you can’t imagine what it would mean. So, it’s easier to just be fine at any cost. Until, one day, it’s not. And you realize you’ve been lying to yourself all those years.”

I reached out and put my fingers over hers. She stilled. A hand rose to cover half her face. The mania in her motions calmed, and in its place settled a bone-deep weariness.

“Oh, Meg,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you. I’m just … struggling.”

“Mom, it’s okay.”

She fell against me with a little cry, like a terrified kitten. I wrapped my arms around her, paralyzed in shock. What could I even say? Mom and Dad having marriage problems?

“Are you fighting?” I finally managed, sounding hoarse. She pulled away, sniffling, using her knuckle to wipe away tears.

“Yes. We have been for a while. It’s worse when we’re together.”

“Are you apart?”

“Not yet. Not officially, anyway.”

My thoughts fractured into thousands of glittery shards. What did this mean? How had it happened? Did the twins know? How was Dad doing? The questions swung at me like wrecking balls. I’d come home hoping to cling to Mom, but for the first time in my life, she clung to me.

“Mom, it’s okay. Look, we’ll work this out. After all these years together, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Mascara smeared under her right eye. She sniffled but didn’t meet my eyes. Her deadpan voice didn’t give me much hope. “I hope so, Meg. I really do.”

“Do JJ and Mark know?”

“Mark knows. I don’t think JJ does. Your father would be furious if he knew I told you. He doesn’t want to worry anyone. Please don’t tell your father or your brothers I told you. Please? It’s very important to me that … I don’t know. I just … I don’t want everyone to know yet.”

I winced. Dad furious with Mom? Sure, they’d had disagreements when I was growing up, like any married couple would. But Dad’s long-fuse temper rarely manifested itself. I pushed aside all my worries over Lexie’s impending marriage and my joblessness and the tower of bills. For now, I’d focus on Mom.

“I understand. I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks, Meg. Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.” I set my hands on my hips. “Let’s clean this disaster up, eh? There’s no therapy quite like manual labor. Or so my mother always told me.”

A tremulous smile stole across her face, replacing the melancholy. She cleared her throat, resetting herself back to the can-conquer-all Mom I’d always known.

“That’s my girl,” she said, pressing a salty kiss onto my cheek. “Always works hard. Let’s divide and conquer. This place needs a makeover.”

•••

Food List for Blister

Note from JJ: Definitely buy fresh carrots and hummus if you can. Baby tomatoes are a win. I’ll take celery, but it’s not my favorite. Oh, and get natural PB.

•••

The chilly June air breathed down my neck early the next morning, sending goosebumps down my arms. The heater in Mark’s Zombie Mobile proved to be as consistent as my dating history. My breath curled out in front of me in light wisps as I rumbled down the mountain roads and pulled into Pineville.

Ahead of me, pink-and-white sunbursts opened behind the mountains, stretching with long arms into the sky. When I pulled in, the Pineville Market parking lot lay empty except for three other cars, one decorated with swirls of frost. Thanks to a late night finishing the kitchen, the smell of bleach still burned inside my nose. My fingertips would never be the same after so much scrubbing.

In my right ear, a call continued to ring.

“C’mon, Dad,” I murmured, shivering. “I know you’re at your desk. You love going to work early in the morning.”

A familiar growl made me jump.

“Sheriff. This is Jim.”

“Hey! You are alive. How are you, Dad?”

“Well, what do you know? It’s my favorite daughter.”

“Only daughter.”

“Same thing.”

Grinning, I leaned back in the seat. “Yeah, sorry I’ve missed our Sunday calls the past couple of weeks.”

“Too busy dating that Norman guy to call your father?”

“Nathan.”

“Whatever.”

I winced. Something about Nathan had pulled me into his orbit like a satellite; everything had revolved around him. I’d missed calls to my family more than once.

“Sorry. I haven’t been a very good daughter the past couple of months.”

“Don’t apologize, kid. I get it. Mark says you’re back in the state. When are we going fishing? Then you can stomp around with those big feet, scaring away everything for three miles.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. A rush of a dozen childhood memories of fishing with him in the river followed. We spoke about Adventura, repairs in the kitchen, and Mark’s current state of easy stress. The sun crept higher, smoothing into long lines of light. Not once did Dad mention Mom.

“Listen, Dad, I talked to Mom yesterday and—”

“Hold on, kid.”

The sound of his voice muffled, as if he was covering the mouthpiece. Ten seconds later, he returned.

“Listen, Meg, I gotta go. Can we pick this up later? One of my deputies needs help on a call.”

“Sure. Of course. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too.”

The line went dead. I dropped my hand to my lap with a sigh. The repercussions of Mom’s revelation still flipped my stomach like a roller coaster. I didn’t want to think about secrets festering in the shadows of my parents’ marriage. But now that Mom had revealed the truth, I couldn’t think of anything else.

Memories whirred through my mind. Had there been an undercurrent of tension at Christmas I didn’t remember? When had I last spoken with them together? Could I remember the last time I saw them flirting? I came to no solid conclusions.

My thumb hovered over my screen, ready to dial Lexie. I needed someone to talk to, but I paused. Deciding against it, I yanked the key free from the engine. The truck groaned when I hopped out and tucked the phone in my pocket.

Just hearing Dad’s voice gave me hope. They’d work it—whatever it was—out. They had to.

Somehow.

•••

The back wheel of my shopping cart rattled like the bones of the dead.

I pushed it through the empty aisles of the Pineville Market, ignoring the high-pitched squeak that wailed with every turn. Except for a foggy-eyed cashier, no one else roamed the store.

A sea of fruits and vegetables lured me in. Plump tomatoes. Lumpy carrots with weird knobs. Shiny apples. Crisp pears. My mouth salivated just thinking of tart, tangy huckleberries still warm from the sun. Surely Adventura had huckleberry bushes. After gathering an assortment of fresh fruits, I slipped to the vegetable section and studied a bag of potatoes.

How many would serve twenty grown males? I grabbed the biggest bag and tossed it in the cart. Cooking for twenty people couldn’t be that hard. Just a matter of multiplying, really.

I parked by a stand of instant noodles and cracked open Grandma’s recipe book that Mom had brought me. Good Morning Muffins—a familiar favorite. Chili and corn bread—too easy. Cupcakes cooked in orange slices—the only recipe I felt confident about. Luckily, Grandma’s handwritten bread recipe fell out of the back. I ran a finger down the list of ingredients. Yeast. Flour. Salt. Sugar.

Piece of cake.

In the baking aisle, I squatted down to study the flour bags. Cake flour. All-purpose flour. Bread flour. Pastry flour?

“Geez. What’s the difference?”

Opting for the safest route, I chose a bag of all-purpose flour, set it in the cart, and breezed past the brownie mixes. Mom had left behind a double-sized box of brownie mix just in case, her note read. You never know when you’ll need brownies in a camp full of men.

She literally knew everything.

Spices cluttered a shelf in a conglomeration of plastic bottles. The little market couldn’t get cell phone reception, but somehow they stocked grapeseed oil. I tossed a few jars of cumin, red pepper flakes, and chili powder in the cart.

Thirty minutes later, I shoved my overflowing cart into the checkout line, passing olive oil, sea salt, celery, a container of hummus, and a wide assortment of other items onto the belt. Mark had tucked $100 cash into the list, so I pulled it out.

The cashier, a thirty-something man with deep-set eyes and a drawn, pale face, scanned my items without speaking. Once he slid the final can of corn across the scanner, he said, “That will be $245.76.”

My heart nearly stopped.

“What?”

“Uh … $245.76.”

“It can’t be that much.”

He licked his lips, gesturing with a limp hand to the bags piled in my cart. “Well…”

“I only have a hundred dollars.”

He shrugged and reached for the nearest bag like he had all the time in the world. “Oookay. Then we’ll have to return $145.76 worth.”

I put a hand out to stop him when he reached for a butternut squash.

“Whoa, buddy. Wait just a second. I need all this food. I’m supposed to feed twenty men.”

His expression didn’t falter. “And I need $245.76.”

“Don’t you have coupons? Maybe that’ll whittle it down.”

“By $145.76?”

“No. But something.”

He pointed a skinny finger at a sign with a bright yellow star. “Coupons are only for our Star Reward members. Unless they come from the manufacturer. Do you have manufacturer coupons?”

Was he kidding? I’d never used a coupon before, and I hadn’t clipped them from the newspaper since third grade.

“No. Where do I find those?”

He shrugged. “Online? The paper?”

“You said reward program?”

“Star Rewards program.”

“Great! I’d love to join.” I snatched the pen off the check counter. “Where do I sign up?”

An old woman pushed her cart in behind me and started unloading boxes of instant oatmeal. The cashier blew his greasy bangs out of his face and slid a paper filled with squares over the counter. Two minutes later, I slid it back. He picked it up and stared at it through narrowed eyes.

“This address says Jackson City.” He peered over the top of the paper.

“It’s my parents’ address.”

“That’s not a local address.”

I gritted my teeth. “You’re right. It’s not.”

He tossed the paper in the garbage.

“The Star Reward program is only for locals. You’ll have to sign up with the Jackson City store to get the deals there. Your total is $245.76.”

“Are you kidding?” I cried. “I don’t live in Jackson City. I live here.”

He pulled another paper from the top of the stack behind the register and set it in front of me.

“Then put your local address this time.”

With a growl, I started writing again but stopped. When I looked up at him, he stared past me, deadpan. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. The old lady behind me cleared her throat.

“Um … I don’t know my local address,” I said.

His lips bunched. “You don’t know your own address?”

“I just moved here two days ago. I’m still trying to figure it all out.” He made a move to reach for the paper, but I snatched it back. “No! Don’t throw it away again. I’ll … remember in just a second.”

“Where is it?”

“Up the canyon.”

One of his light blonde eyebrows rose. “You live in the canyon?”

“Yes. Up the canyon. At Adventura Boys Camp.”

He made a sound in his throat that I couldn’t decipher but assumed was disinterest. I made up a road name and put a fake address, then handed it back, daring him to contradict it. He looked from the paper to me, then back to the paper again.

“You remembered?”

“Yep.” I slammed the pen down. “4587 Boys Camp Road.”

He pointed to the paper. “This says 5478.”

“Right. That’s what I meant. Just take it. Please?”

He paused, considering, before finally removing the paper and setting the clipboard aside.

“Congratulations,” he intoned dully. “You’re now a Star Reward program member.”

He dashed a plastic card over the scanner and handed it to me. The numbers on the screen whirred for a few seconds. I held my breath, waiting for a forty-or-fifty-dollar discount.

Surely.

“Your new total is $221.17.”

“Twenty bucks? That’s it?”

He lifted one eyebrow. The old lady let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Take back the frozen pie crusts and Hot Pockets and Oreos. I’ll charge the rest.” I pulled out my credit card.

After removing more nonessentials and whittling the total down to $156.29, I rammed my card through the scanner, and the cashier handed me a receipt. Mark would have a fit.

“Have a good day.”

I snatched the paper and left. Outside, I slung the groceries into the back of the truck and logged on to my bank account. My heart sank. Subtracting my mortgage and car payment for that month, I only had twenty dollars.

I hadn’t been this poor since college.

With a sigh, I climbed into the truck. Maybe working at Adventura Boys Camp wouldn’t be the easy vacation I’d hoped for.

•••

The Zombie Mobile didn’t have power steering, so driving had become my new upper-body workout.

Bouncing along the windy canyon road back to Adventura required most of my concentration. The crisp scent of pine filled my nose. Dust billowed in my wake. The river frothed beneath the bridge, swirling in white foam as I barreled across. We’d rafted it once as a family. JJ had fallen in so many times Dad threatened to tie him to the raft. My lips twitched at the memory.

My thoughts spun with abandon while I crept along the dirt road, the cool mountain air whipping through my hair.

Dust the lodge first, I thought. Then sweep. No, unload the groceries. Is the fridge repair guy coming soon? I still haven’t mopped. We have no mop. We need more money for basic necessities.

A self-populating list grew in my mind. No matter how much work we sank into the lodge and kitchen, more work popped back up. The first day of camp fast approached. I shifted gears on the truck and wondered what Nathan was doing. Had he moved to New York? Did he miss me yet? I snorted. Probably too busy enjoying his promotion to think about what he’d left behind.

Halfway down the dirt road, the engine chugged, then sputtered. I pressed the gas, but the engine cut out, and the truck lurched to a stop in the middle of the road. Dust ballooned by in puffs.

“Fantastic,” I muttered.

I peered at the dashboard. Still had half a tank of gas—or so it said. Who knew if it registered accurately or not. My attempts to resuscitate the engine failed. Not even a click to indicate a turnover. I smacked the steering wheel with my palm, jumping when the horn emitted a wheezy honk.

Livid, I elbowed my way out of the old cab and lifted the lid. A conglomeration of rusty pipes, wires, and other ancient architecture peered back at me from under the hood. I grumbled. At least no smoke billowed out. I dropped the hood, blasted by a wave of dust.

My cell phone had limited reception here, but I could walk back to the highway. Hello, ma’am, I imagined myself saying to a total stranger after flagging them down. Can I interest you in driving me an hour out of your way on a dirt road to a summer camp no one’s heard about? Thanks.

My fingers curled into tight fists. There was simply no time for this. The staff arrived in the morning. Sweeping and mopping the sprawling lodge floor would take hours alone. Not to mention I had to plan and prep all the meals for the week. Who had time to sit and wait for help?

An idea popped into my head. I swiveled, regarding the long dirt road with new eyes. I could hike back to Adventura.

I hadn’t hiked in years. My toes itched to get back on a trail. The sun still hadn’t crested the mountains, so the cool air would preserve the groceries for an hour or two. Couldn’t be more than an easy four-miler. My fingers tingled at the thought. It had been too long since I’d just … hiked. Outside. By myself.

“Well,” I murmured. “The lodge will have to wait.”

After retrieving the truck keys, slinging my backpack over my shoulders, and locking the doors, I left the truck in the middle of the road and headed toward the mountains.

Birds twittered overhead, chasing each other. Sunlight fell in dappled, warm slants through the leaves, shifting with the wind. Every now and then, my foot kicked up a puff of dust. On either side of me, trees rippled up the steep mountain slopes in emerald waves, giving way to chunky boulders and shale fields. The wild excitement of the forest energized my blood. So untamed. So brilliantly fresh.

I stopped in the middle of the road, my head craned back to regard the sky. Something visceral inside me responded to the primitive beauty of the outdoors. I’d forgotten how much I loved it out here. The protection of the peaks. The grandeur of being smaller than everything else. When I slowed down to revel in the sunlight, it all felt right. It had been far too long since I’d lived in the moment. Shucked aside my career expectations in favor of just … existing.

Maybe I needed to remember the things I loved more often.

Content, I hooked my thumbs in the straps of my backpack and hiked on.