by Stacy Monson
She sat up and cleared her throat before answering. “Hey, Lin.”
“Mikayla, you need to come home.”
“I am. I’ll leave here next Sat—”
“Now. You need to come now.”
She rolled her eyes. More wedding drama.
“It’s Mom. They think she had a heart attack.”
“What? When? Is she okay?” I should have answered her emails, at least to let her know I got them.
“A few hours ago. Dad called from the ER and said they were admitting her. Mickie, please come home. Now.”
Mikayla paced the small room. If she flew home, she’d have to fly back for her car, but she couldn’t afford that. She could drive straight through and be there tomorrow at this time. But what if Mom died before she got there? She’d been furious with her, but she didn’t want her to die! What would that do to Dad? “Do you know for sure it’s a heart attack?”
“They’re running a bunch of tests. Dad said he’d keep me posted.”
“Did you call Maggie?”
“Dad did. He said he tried to call you, but the calls wouldn’t go through. I can’t do this wedding without you and Mom.” Lindy’s voice wobbled. “I told Beau we’d have to postpone it until she’s better and you’re home.”
“Don’t postpone anything, Lin. Let’s see how this plays out first. And I’ve told you a million times I’ll be there. I’d never miss my bestie’s wedding. Okay?”
“Okay. Just hurry home.”
When Lindy hung up, Mikayla’s finger hovered between Dad’s number and Maggie’s before hitting her sister’s. As she’d suspected, Maggie had been in touch with the doctors.
“They’re running tests,” Maggie said, “that will give a clearer picture of what’s happening. I’m glad Dad brought her in despite her saying no. Heart attack symptoms for women are often different from men, so at least now she’s where they can monitor her.”
“But she’s young and healthy. She eats well, she exercises.”
“Unfortunately, there are a lot of other factors to consider. Mental or emotional stress, issues like diabetes or a family history of heart problems, high blood pressure.”
Mikayla’s own heart skipped a beat. Emotional stress. Like the awful words she’d spewed at her mother in anger. “So it’s probably—”
“Mikayla, we don’t know for sure it’s her heart. This is not your fault.”
“Is she conscious? In pain?”
“She’s been conscious the whole time. Dad said she’s had some discomfort, but no pain.”
“Could she…”
“Until we know what’s going on, there’s no way to know what’s going to happen. There are no guarantees in life, Mikayla.”
She’d come to believe that.
“That said,” Maggie continued, “if you can head home now, that would be good for everyone. I have several surgeries scheduled over the next few days that I won’t cancel unless I have to. The doc said he’ll keep me updated.”
Standing at the window, Mikayla looked down at the crowd milling about. Dawson stood near the lodge porch talking with several people. They laughed together, and the older woman hugged him.
“Mickie?”
Maggie’s voice startled her. “Sorry. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“Drive safe, hon. Let me know when you get in.”
Hours later the camp was quiet, the celebration finally over. Several staffers stopped at her door and asked if she was okay. She gave brief updates to each, then thanked them for their friendship and hugged them goodbye. Brenda arrived and plopped into the desk chair, watching Mikayla pack as the story unfolded.
“I’m sorry about your mom, but selfishly I thought we’d have you for another week.”
Mikayla sighed. “I guess we can’t schedule health issues.” She pulled her hiking boots from the closet and stuck them in the duffel on her bed.
“Dawson is taking this hard,” Brenda mused.
Mikayla flinched but kept packing. “I haven’t told him yet.”
Questions swirled in the silence.
“Then why does he look so miserable?”
She shrugged.
“Because I made a really bad decision.” Dawson’s voice came from the doorway.
Mikayla remained focused on folding jeans despite the sudden tremor in her fingers.
Brenda stood and joined her beside the bed. “I’m not going to say goodbye,” she said, as Mikayla turned toward her. “I refuse to think you won’t come back. We need you here.” She hugged Mikayla tightly, and whispered, “Especially Daws.”
Leaning back, she forced a wobbling smile, tears in her eyes. “You have a safe trip and keep us posted on your mom. And don’t be a stranger, girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. The endearment knotted Mikayla’s throat. “Okay,” she managed.
Brenda lightly punched Dawson’s shoulder as she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Mikayla faced Dawson reluctantly. His dark eyes looked back at her, brows drawn down, hair disheveled.
“We need to talk,” he said, then added, “Or I need to talk.”
The earlier emotions had dissipated with Lindy’s call. It would take the two-day drive home to untangle everything swirling inside. She nodded.
Lula circled him, looking up expectantly as he took in the suitcase and duffel. “Rob told me about your mom. I’m sorry to hear that. Will she be okay?”
“It might be a heart attack, so I need to get back there. I’ll head out first thing in the morning. I’m sorry to leave you short staffed.”
He took Brenda’s spot on the chair, and Lula jumped onto his lap and licked his chin. “We’ll work it out. You need to be with your family. I’ll be praying for her, and for a safe trip for you.”
“Thanks.” She slowly folded another pair of jeans.
“Kayla, you have every right to be angry with me.”
How big of him.
“It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I made the connection between the person you were looking for and Walt. He’s been Walter Smith as long as I’ve known him. Apparently he started using his given name when he moved to Winter Park, so everyone around here only knows him as Walt.”
“Except Joe.”
“Except Joe,” he echoed. “Since I met you, I’ve tried to figure out who you remind me of. Didn’t occur to me it might be a guy. Then I started noticing that some of your mannerisms were familiar, and the way you laugh. When you said something about Kenny, that sparked a memory from my first year working here. We’d gotten mail for Kenny Johnson, and when I asked who that was, he laughed and said he’d been called that as a kid. I didn’t think of it again until you said it. That’s when the pieces started coming together.”
She glanced sideways. “And that’s when you should have said something.”
“I should have,” he agreed. “But I needed to talk to Joe first, to find out if he knew anything about Walt having a kid. Joe was sure Walt never knew. He wouldn’t have kept that a secret.”
“So then you could have said something.”
“I know. I just…I couldn’t figure out how. You’d talked about how hurt you were by all this, and I thought it might make things worse if you knew he had a good life here.”
She quirked an eyebrow, and he lifted his shoulders.
“It doesn’t make sense now, but I didn’t know how you’d react. I was chicken, and I’m sorry.” He studied her, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Kenny would have been proud of you.”
Strangely, she didn’t recoil at the thought. It didn’t make her happy, but she didn’t cringe as she would have three months ago. “He’d never have accepted my fear of heights.”
He chuckled. “He’d have made you get over it.”
“My dad never did. He’s always accepted me as I am—irrational fears and all.”
“Now that’s a strong man.”
She’d always thought he was the strongest, bravest, most perfect
man in the world. He might be some of that, but he also had feet of clay. “He’s a good guy.”
“I’d like to meet him. He raised a pretty amazing outdoor professional.”
Quite a compliment. At least he considered her a professional. She set a stack of folded T-shirts in the suitcase, then settled on the edge of her bed.
“Thanks for being here this summer,” he said. “You’ve made an impact on the camp and on the kids. Both the staff and the kids have loved you.”
“And I loved every minute.” She ached for their easy banter on the mountain.
In silence, they stared at the floor between them. Sadness filled her chest, tinged with anger and regret. She lifted her head and looked at him. “All I’ve ever wanted is for people to be honest with me. The people I care about most are the ones who’ve lied to me. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He held her gaze for a long, silent moment, then stood abruptly, making her jump. He set Lula aside, strode forward and tugged Mikayla gently to her feet, then grasped her shoulders. “The main reason I didn’t is completely selfish. A rule I’ve led camps by is to never let things get personal with a guest or a staff member, and I never have. But then you came along and even though I tried not to, I fell for you. Big time. I was afraid that once you knew the truth about Kenny you’d leave. And…I don’t want you to go.”
Mouth open, she stared at him.
“I figured if you didn’t know Walt was Kenny, or Kenny was Walt, or whatever, then your search wouldn’t be complete and you’d stay.” He released her and stepped backward. “I had no right.”
The pounding of her heart made her light-headed, and she sank back to the bed. He’d fallen for her?
He paced several steps one way then the other. Finally he faced her. ‘I knew you had to go back for the wedding, but I’ve been afraid that once you leave, you won’t come back. And I want you to.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and held her gaze. “It was totally selfish, and I’m really, really sorry.”
No words formed as she looked back at him, tears in her eyes. If he’d just been honest, how different this moment might be. Now she needed space—to sort out everything that had happened these past months, how much she’d changed. And to figure out if she could learn to trust him again.
He swallowed hard. “We’ll miss you around here. I’ll be praying that everything works out for your family.”
Lips pressed together, she nodded. She’d miss him. So much. The curls. Those impossible eyelashes. The dimple in his smile. How he made her laugh and think. And feel.
“Okay, well, I’ll get out of here.” He moved to the door, sweeping Lula up to nuzzle her. “You take good care of her, Lu. You hear me? We’re counting on you.”
Mikayla quickly brushed a tear from her cheek as he set the dog down and looked back at her.
“I’ll be praying God blesses whatever you do. You have a gift, Kayla,” he told her, appreciation warming his words. “And a great opportunity to share it through your work and your writing. Whatever you choose to do is going to impact a lot of people.”
The knot in her throat made it impossible to speak. She stood and nodded again, tears still burning.
They looked at each other in pained silence, then he strode back and took her face in gentle, calloused hands. The corners of his mouth trembled, his dark eyes misty. “I already miss you,” he said, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.
When the door closed with a gentle click, she remained still. A tear slipped from between her closed lids and slid down her cheek.
~ 33 ~
Just before midnight, Mikayla quietly took her suitcase and duffel to the jeep. There on the floor of the backseat lay the bag Old Joe had given her. She hadn’t found the courage to open it, but now she was out of time. She wasn’t going to take it back to Minnesota.
She pulled it out, packed her belongings, and took his bag back to her room. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she stared at the battered old duffel. There couldn’t be anything of monetary value in it, and certainly nothing of sentimental value, to her anyway. She yanked the zipper open, then pulled back from the musky aroma. Kenny’s cologne must have been plenty pungent if it had stayed this strong for so long. She reached behind her and slid the window open, breathing deeply.
Lula climbed around and over the bag, sniffing with great interest. Maybe Kenny had owned a dog at some point. Hard to imagine someone with a phobia of commitment taking on a pet. Unless… Her eyes narrowed. Maybe Bruno and Pal had been his. That would make sense.
She squared her shoulders and opened the bag wide. A worn leather-covered Bible sat on top. Setting it aside, she sorted through the rest. A hatchet, a dorky fishing hat like Dad’s, a small tackle box, some books. Moby Dick? Dante’s Inferno? She couldn’t picture him reading anything, let alone classics. A few tattered maps. And a photo album.
She pulled the album onto her lap and flipped slowly through the pages. Parents, maybe. High school buddies. Medals, of course. Lots of guy friends mostly shirtless and holding beers. He was always easy to identify with that curly blond hair and engaging smile. She touched her ponytail where it hung over her shoulder.
There were a few of him with different young women. None of her mother. Why was that disappointing? The last few photos made her pause. Arms folded and wearing a proud smile, he stood on the front steps of a primitive version of the lodge. Probably what he’d built with Old Joe. A hand-carved sign overhead stated Outlook Camp. The start of a surprisingly ambitious venture for someone who’d never wanted to settle down.
The next were an older Kenny and a young Dawson fishing, arm wrestling, even praying together. There he and Dawson stood mugging for the camera in front of the new bunkhouse. And the two of them crouched beside a fire in dripping rain gear.
Dawson should have these. He should have all of it. None of it meant anything to her, but he might appreciate the mementos. She’d left Minnesota thinking the worst of Kenny Johnson, intent on uncovering information that would prove her right. Now, with all that was left of his belongings strewn across her bed, she saw the layers of a man she’d never meet. And still wasn’t sure she’d want to. If he were alive and she met him tomorrow, her approach would be so different from what she’d planned at the start of her journey. Mainly thanks to Dawson.
She closed her eyes, chin quivering. God? I’m tired of being angry at Kenny, and Mom and Dad. But I don’t know where to go from here, how to fix things. I need honesty from people now. Everyone’s cards on the table. And I need some distance between me and Dawson so I can think, but… Why is it so hard to leave him? Even knowing he kept such a big secret from me, I still don’t want to go.
In the answering silence, she released a long breath and waited for something. A lighted sign pointing toward Minnesota. A phone call. Silence. Yet deep inside a gentle nudge started, an ache to see Lin and Mags. A growing desire to see Dad again, even Mom.
Eyes brimming, she nodded. God might have to pry her fingers from the edge of the mountain range, but it was time. She repacked the bag and set it by the door, wrote brief notes to the team, and then wrote one last post on the Hiker Girl blog, musing on the pain of saying farewell, and on what the future might hold.
After snapping off the light, she breathed a prayer into the dark. Please let me come back someday. Please.
Mikayla slid a note under each staffer’s door, then went out into the brisk pre-dawn air to set Kenny’s duffel bag on the lodge porch, propping her note to Dawson on top. She stood a moment, hand pressed against the solid wood door, then set her shoulders and went down the steps to the jeep, Lula at her heels.
Her heart skipped when she saw a white envelope tucked under the wiper blade. She retrieved it and climbed into the jeep. Her trembling fingers struggled to open the flap that was soggy from morning dew. Inside was the bracelet Dawson wore every day, Remember imprinted into the leather. The word blurred as she ran a finger across the letters, wrestling against the aching need to stay.
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With a sharp, steadying breath, she blinked the tears away, slipped the bracelet on, and started the jeep. Leaving the grounds, she glanced at Kenny’s likeness where it stood guard at the entrance and managed a single nod.
Though there was little movement in town, she wasn’t surprised to see lights on in the Wildflower Café. Much as she’d hoped to slip away after leaving a note for her special friend, Violet’s voice stopped her as she tiptoed away after propping the envelope on the window box.
“Now what in the world has you out at this hour?” she demanded from the doorway, hands on her hips.
Shoulders hunched like a child caught red-handed, Mikayla turned back. “Just leaving you a note.”
“Don’t you dare think of leaving town without talking to me.” She waved an arm. “You and Lula come right in here and talk to me while I get the cinnamon rolls in the oven. Come on.”
When Mikayla opened the jeep door, Lula shot out with an excited yip and bounded into the shop. Mikayla followed more slowly. Talking with Vi would only make leaving harder. Settled at the counter with a steaming mug before her, she watched through a window that separated the shop from the kitchen as her friend filled a rectangular baking pan with shaped rolls and slid it into the commercial oven, then set a timer.
She emerged through the swinging doors, poured herself a cup of coffee, and leaned on the counter. “Okay, spill. What has you sneaking away before dawn?”
As the full story unfolded, Violet nodded, frowned, and nodded again. “So you’re Walt’s daughter. I should have seen that.”
“Did you ever know him as Kenny?” Why hadn’t she simply asked if she knew Walter at the beginning? If she had, she wouldn’t have gotten to know Dawson. She glimpsed a heavenly chess game, and her breath caught.
“Everyone only knew him as Walt,” Vi said. “But now I remember a couple of thugs coming in here not long after Walt got to town, looking for someone named Kenny. They were pretty rough and threatening, so I’m glad I told them there’d never been a Kenny Johnson in town. Which was true.”