by Stacy Monson
“So that brings me to today. The answers I was looking for are gone.” She sighed deeply. “And I’m not sure what to do next.”
“Been a tough road for you,” he said.
Tears prickled. “It never occurred to me he’d be gone,” she admitted. “Stupid not to consider every angle. I’d thought about what I’d do if I couldn’t find him, but to find out he’s dead wasn’t on the list of potential endings.” She nibbled at the last of the cookie she’d been tossing to Lula and stared into the woods.
“Kenny was my best friend,” Old Joe said. “I knew him better’n anyone, but I still didn’t understand him. Pretty complex fella. By the book in some ways, devil-may-care in others. But I can tell you one thing for sure, missy…”
In the silence that followed, she moved her gaze to his.
“He’da been thrilled to know he had a child. ’Specially a daughter. He taught skiing to little ones the last few years and loved it. Had a soft spot for little girls who were brave enough to get on skis.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d have been a disappointment then. I hate downhill skiing.”
Old Joe chuckled. “That’d have been a challenge,” he acknowledged. “But he’da changed your mind eventually.”
“And I’m afraid of heights.”
“Huh. The higher and faster, the better he liked it.”
She hid a relieved sigh. So she wasn’t all that much like him. “If you have time, I’d like to know more about him. Try to put together a picture of who he was, what he was like. And I need to know what he died from so I can add it to my medical file.”
“Got all the time in the world for someone related to Walt.”
She smiled. “You mean Kenny.”
He waved a hand. “Sorry. Can’t keep names straight anymore. I’m happy to talk about him. Never thought I’d be lonesome without his big mouth around here.”
The morning sun climbed into the cloudless sky as Old Joe shared memories and insights. His stories painted a confusing picture of Kenny—a fierce competitor who sent money every month to his mother in Montana. A ladies’ man unable to settle down. Someone who was generous with his friends, but occasionally landed on the wrong side of the law.
He handed her a blue-speckled cup of water and resettled on his bench. Lula jumped into his lap and looked at him with wide-eyed expectation. He offered a bite of his cookie. “He didn’t talk much about his family. I always figured there was too much pain. And he weren’t one to dwell on the past. Up until the injury, whenever he got knocked down, he’d get right back up.”
His gaze became distant and Mikayla waited. She didn’t want to know Kenny had been a regular person with dreams and ambitions, friends and some enemies. She wasn’t about to forgive him for the mess he’d made of her life. Old Joe’s snort startled her.
“He shouldn’ta been on the slope that day,” he grumbled. “Bad weather was settin’ in. But that was Kenny. Cocky to a fault. He couldn’t let the challenge go.”
“Challenge?”
“Some idiot new to the circuit had been braggin’ about being the fastest skier, making remarks about some of Kenny’s record runs.” He shook his head, brow dark with memories. “I tried to tell Kenny it was jus’ talk. And I reminded him he’d had a couple of beers already. Maybe that’s what clouded his judgment.”
Mikayla watched pain shadow his sun-wrinkled face and held her breath, silently urging him to continue.
“With the other guys eggin’ him on, he just couldn’t walk away. So he told the kid they’d do one race before the snow closed the mountain that day. I knew it was gonna end badly. I could feel it.”
She shivered.
“They went up with a couple of the guys an’ the rest of us waited at the bottom.” He sat quietly staring at the memory. “Seemed like we waited forever. Snow started comin’ down heavier. Wind was blowin’. The kid finally showed up yellin’ something about Kenny going off-course. Guess visibility was worse than we’d thought an’ Kenny missed a turn. Took the medics two hours to find him and get him down.” He sighed. “Longest hours of my life.”
“How bad was it?”
He blinked and focused on her. “Worst I’d ever seen on the circuit. He’d gone right off the hill, fell about forty feet. Broke both legs, pelvis, a couple ribs. Got a concussion. He was out for days. They didn’t do surgery on his legs right away ’cause of the swelling in his head, so when they finally did, they couldn’t set things right. Never skied another race.”
Mikayla pushed back against an unexpected pang of sympathy. Kenny wasn’t a man who made good choices, in any area of life. It was his own fault. But still…
“He weren’t the same after that,” Old Joe mused. “The fire went out. Lost most of the attitude that made him a great competitor. Still shot off his mouth though. That got him in some big trouble so he hadta live under the radar.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Joe thought a moment, shaking his head. “Won a bunch of money at some card games. They said he cheated, but I know that wasn’t true. He was a lot of things, but not a cheat. But then he got involved with the guy’s girlfriend. That weren’t too smart, I’ll give you that. The guy told people he was gonna fix Kenny good. I heard he was real mean so I think he meant it.
“Wrong guy to mess with.” He sighed. “Anyway, Kenny pretty much lived off the grid after that. When I moved here, he came too. Built a good life. He was happiest outdoors.”
That’s a bit too close to home.
“What did he die from?”
“Liver cancer. Hated doctors and wouldn’t go in. Stubborn as the day is long. By the time he made an appointment, there was nuthin’ they could do for him.”
“So it wasn’t a heart issue?”
“Not that I know of. He wanted his organs donated, and I remember them sayin’ he had the heart of a man twenty years younger.”
Mikayla leaned back in her chair, a weight lifting from her heart. If Joe was right, her issue was a fluke. Thank you, God.
He refilled their cups, then they sat in companionable silence.
Old Joe stroked Lula where she’d sprawled across his lap. “He had a reputation with the ladies, for sure. Some of it was real but most of it was made up. He liked the image, but he weren’t the ladies’ man everyone said. He had too much respect for women.”
“Not my mother.”
“Don’t know the story behind that,” he admitted, “but I’m sure there’s something. He was the life of the party, but not too many knew the loneliness behind that.”
The strength in his words tangled her thoughts. She’d come here to demand an answer, even an apology. But her mother’s email, and now Old Joe’s declaration, softened the edges of that mission. His memories painted a different picture of the man whose lifestyle and choices she’d disdained. He wasn’t who she’d have chosen as her biological father, but she could live with it. She’d just make sure her lifestyle and choices never reflected his.
“This is a lot for you to figure out,” Old Joe said. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, so you can come by anytime with more questions. I’m happy to keep his memory alive.” He waited for her to look at him. “The Kenny I knew was complicated, but he was a good guy who paid the price for some bad decisions.”
The compassion in his eyes warmed the chill in her heart. Maybe Old Joe didn’t know everything about Kenny, but it was clear how much he’d cared for his friend. And mourned his loss.
“An’ you might not want to hear it, but you’ve got his eyes and his spirit. I thought it when you showed up yesterday asking about him, and now I see it plain as day. It makes this ol’ heart happy to meet his blood. To know part of his spirit will live on.”
She bit her lip and looked away. She didn’t want to be Kenny’s legacy. Nor her mother’s. She’d have been happy to be Dad’s until the email.
“But I’ll bet you got more of your mom than Kenny,” he added kindly. “Can’t imagine you in jail for shootin’ off you
r mouth or doin’ stupid stunts on a challenge.”
She didn’t always censor what came out of her mouth, so that might be from Kenny, but she preferred to think the rest was from Dad. “I’ve had the most wonderful father my whole life. Everything I know I learned from him.”
“Glad to hear it.” Old Joe nodded. “Walt prob’ly wouldn’t have been half the dad for you. Not ’cause he wouldn’t have cared, but he just wouldn’ta known how.”
Kenny, or Walt as Joe kept calling him, would never have measured up to Dad. “Well, thank you for your time, and your openness.” She got to her feet. “You’re right. This is a lot to take in.”
“Say, have you stopped by the camp? You’ll find out lots more about him there.”
She frowned. “What camp?”
“The one not too far from the resort. The, uh…” He shook his head. “Something about adventure…”
“Outlook Adventure Camp?” The name squeaked out.
Old Joe snapped his fingers. “That’s it.”
“What does Kenny have to do with the camp?”
“He started it. ’Bout fifteen years ago. Needed somethin’ to do when he moved here, and he loved bein’ outdoors, so it made sense to try that.”
Mikayla watched his mouth move, the words coming down a long tunnel. “But the guy who started it was…” Walt.
“That’s the name he used once he moved here,” Old Joe said with a nod. “His real name was Walter. Walter Kenneth Johnson.”
A memory flashed before her—Sara reading the personnel record. “His real name is Walter.”
Joe was still talking. “When he came here, he wanted a fresh start so he went back to Walter and used Smith so those thugs couldn’t find him. Don’t know if too many people ’round these parts knew him as Kenny Johnson. It took me a while to get used to callin’ him Walt. He’d get after me good if I slipped up.”
So that’s what he’d meant when he said he hadn’t heard the name Kenny Johnson in a long time. She sank back into the chair, which Old Joe seemed to take as an invitation to say more.
“I helped him build that first lodge. Took us nearly six months.” A fond smile filled his whiskered face. “We had a good time workin’ on it. And it brought him back to life, gave him a purpose. He needed that bad. That’s when he really became Walter Smith.”
He’d been right under her nose this whole time. If she’d taken the time to look at the camp photos more closely, she’d have seen it. And the one behind Dawson’s desk—the one she’d thought was him and his dad—that was Kenny too. Her bio dad.
Her breath hitched. Had Dawson known and not said anything? She raced back through their conversations. Did she ever mention Kenny’s name? Not that—wait. After getting Dad’s email, she’d ranted about her bio father. Was that why he’d looked at her strangely the last few weeks? He knew and didn’t tell her?
No, he wouldn’t do that. Not after everything she’d shared with him. But she’d never have believed her parents could hold out on her, and she’d known them far longer than three months.
Dawson had only lived here for ten years—when everyone knew Kenny as Walt. If she hadn’t been so fixated on finding who her mother called “Kenny,” all she’d had to do was ask about Walter when she first arrived in Winter Park, and she’d probably be back in Minnesota by now. But the name “Kenny” had burned into her brain from the moment she heard it. Even the newspaper clippings had referred to him as Kenny.
“You’re lookin’ a little green all of a sudden. You need more water?”
She blinked and focused on the concerned lift to Joe’s brow. The chaos in her head made her nauseous. “No. Thank you. I’m fine.” I don’t even remember what fine feels like. “I’ve taken up far too much of your time, Joe. Thank you so much for all the information.”
Pushing to her feet, she paused to stop her spinning thoughts and forced a smile. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you.”
He stood and handed Lula to her, then walked beside her to the jeep. “Pleasure’s all mine. It gets a bit lonely out here sometimes, so I’m always happy for visitors. You bring that little girl back for a visit sometime.”
“I will.” She climbed in and rolled down her window. Much as she wanted to race back to camp, she couldn’t be rude to the sweet old man again. “I hope you’ll think about getting yourself a new friend. I’ll bet there’s the perfect one just waiting for a new home. It’s good to have a sounding board that doesn’t give advice.” It was astonishing she could form coherent sentences with her brain in chaos.
“A true friend,” he agreed with a chuckle, then held up a hand. “Hold up a second. I got somethin’ to give you.”
He returned to the cabin and emerged with a faded camo duffel bag. “You should have this.”
A faint musky aroma lifted from where she set it on her lap. “What is it?”
“All that’s left of Kenny’s belongings.”
A tremor shot through her, and she lifted her hands from where they’d rested on the canvas. This was way too personal. “No, Joe. I can’t take this. You were his family. You should keep it.”
He stepped back. “They gave it to me after the funeral, right after Dawson went away for a while. I forgot I had it. You might find more answers in there. Go on now.” He shooed her away with a smile. “Share it with the team at the camp.”
She set it on the floor behind her. She’d give it to Dawson. Or maybe throw it at him if it turned out he’d known all along. “If there’s anything you decide you want back, let me know.” She reached into the glove compartment for a business card. “Here’s my cell number.”
They exchanged a smile as he nodded. “Will do. Now you get out there and live your best life, Mikayla. Do your father proud. Both of ’em.”
With a wave, she pulled away from the tiny cabin. He stood alone in the road, a hand raised, until she went around the bend. With everything he’d told her about Kenny, or Walt, nothing shocked her more than learning Dawson’s friend and mentor was her bio dad.
Now she had a new mountain of questions, but this time only Dawson had the answers. As close as the men had been these past years, he had to have known Walt had also gone by Kenny. Right? How dare he not tell her? He knew how she valued honesty, knew how messed up she’d been by so many lies.
She’d trusted him, worked beside him all this time. And she’d fallen for him. Maybe that’s what hurt most. It hadn’t occurred to her he’d withhold something so important. She lightened her foot on the gas pedal. She couldn’t go back to camp and demand answers until she had her emotions under control. Questions and thoughts ricocheted through her head while her head ached and her heart burned. She needed to process everything Joe had told her. Once she could think clearly, she’d have a calm, rational conversation with Dawson.
And then she’d be free to go home.
~ 30 ~
The last few days before the Founder’s Day celebration, the camp was a hive of excitement and activity. Mikayla helped decorate the lodge and grounds, unloaded vanloads of food and equipment, and ran errands into town. Anything to keep from dwelling on her conversation with Old Joe, and the duffel bag still in the jeep. And from wondering if Dawson had chosen not to tell her the truth.
With anger still simmering below the surface, she’d yet to figure out how to broach the subject without blasting him with the pain of another betrayal. When they crossed paths, she was polite and professional, keeping their interactions brief. Several times she caught him watching her with a quizzical frown, and quickly put her attention elsewhere.
In the quiet of her room each night, snuggled in bed with Lula, she looked through hundreds of photos on her computer, trying not to dwell long on those that captured Dawson’s smile. Then she continued reading the parts of the Bible he’d suggested. She could easily identify with the angst, anger, and grief in many of the verses. Discovering people from long ago who had experienced similar issues and emotions created an unexpected connection to the
readings.
Her blog entries had become more personal as she mused about honesty, living in truth, owning up to mistakes so others didn’t have to deal with the fallout. Hiker Girl found solace in the stately silence of the mountains, the calm of the forest, and the simple beauty of wildflowers. Nature didn’t lie or shade the truth. After the sudden downpour of a rumbling mountain storm, the sunshine that followed made everything fresh and clear, from the air to the sparkling drops that fell from overhead branches.
Each time she finished a post and turned out the lights, she lay in the dark, wondering what God would say about her tangled thoughts. She should pray about it, like Dawson said he always did, but what would she say? Maybe she’d just try talking to Him like the psalm writers—putting it all out there. And each time she fell asleep pondering how to approach God with her messy thoughts and questions, and hoping it would be okay when she found the courage.
Friday afternoon as she helped hang twinkle lights in the lodge, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her back pocket, then stared. Why would Ted be calling? From her post atop the ladder, she drew a deep breath and answered. “Hey, Ted.”
“Mikayla! Am I catching you at a bad time?”
His familiar voice made her smile. “Not at all. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’m not sure how you’ll take this, so I’ll just jump in. The board has been reconsidering your proposal, and they’ve decided they’d like to continue the discussion. With you this time.”
“They what?” The ladder wobbled as she clambered down and then dropped onto the arm of the couch. “You’re sure it was my proposal they were looking at?”
He chuckled. “Very sure. It might have to do with my directing them to a certain Hiker Girl blog.”
“You’ve seen my blog?”
“Stumbled across it when I was researching women in outdoor recreation. I’d recognize your writing anywhere—clean, concise, personal but factual.”