by Nina Revoyr
Ranger Perry nodded. “And they will keep trying if they think you had anything to do with their garden being destroyed, or with their men getting killed. Better they believe that Arthur did all of it. And A.J.’s associates can believe that he was killed by one of them—or that he just fell over a cliff.”
“And the cycle will continue,” Gwen remarked. “Each side blaming the other.”
“Better they blame each other than you,” the ranger said. Now he leaned forward again. “Look, I know you want to do the right thing. But in this case the right thing is making sure that you stay safe. You and your families.”
Gwen heard the implication loud and clear, and heeded it. She looked at the two rangers’ sober, concerned faces and could not believe she was really having this conversation. “And this is the story you’re putting out there?” she asked.
“We’ve already put it out there,” said Ranger Perry. “You and your friends were on a backpacking trip and happened to get lost. And separately, in another part of the mountains, a bunch of bad guys had a conflict over drugs and several of them were killed.”
Gwen was silent for a moment. She knew it made sense—and it would save her from having to talk about what happened.
“What you did . . .” Ranger Montez began. “What you did took a whole lot of guts. You hiked almost fifty miles, over two major passes, in what, three days?—with no shelter and I’m sure no sleep.”
Gwen thought about this. Fifty miles. It seemed so long. And in that distance everything had changed.
“You were attacked by a murderer,” the ranger continued, “and you fought him off with your bare hands and killed him. It’s pretty great.” She shook her head. “It’s pretty unbelievable.”
For the first time Gwen felt the truth of this—relief, and amazement, and pride. “Well, me and the dog,” she said. “Hey, where’s the dog?”
“With your friend Todd.”
She was relieved. “He took her home to LA?”
“He took her, but he isn’t in LA. He’s here.”
“I thought you said he’d been discharged.”
“He was.” And now the ranger broke into a big smile. “He stuck around to wait for you.”
* * *
The next morning, Gwen woke up in time to see Oscar loaded into the transport ambulance. She hadn’t realized how tiny the hospital was until she went outside—smaller than her office building at work, the size of a bus station in a lonely country town. Oscar was in a travel gurney, swaddled in blankets, with two IVs attached to his arm. His shoulder was bandaged, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He was groggy from pain or drugs, but when he saw Gwen, he smiled.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. He was just about to be lifted through the ambulance door.
“I don’t feel so hot,” he replied slowly. “They’re taking me to Huntington Hospital, to be closer to home.”
“That’s good. Claudia and your mother can take care of you.”
He lifted his hand toward her, and she grasped it. “Thank you,” he said, eyes bright and intense. “Thank you for saving me.”
When Oscar was gone she thought about calling Todd, but she realized she didn’t have his number. Then she remembered that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since he didn’t have his phone. She’d seen Ranger Montez again that morning—the ranger had been there when Gwen woke up, and had made sure she’d eaten breakfast—but Gwen had forgotten to ask what hotel Todd was in. They’d avoided speaking of what had happened and talked instead about other things. Gwen told Ranger Montez about her job and learned that she was from Southern California too; she’d grown up in San Diego and had fallen in love with the outdoors through trips with the Boys & Girls Club. Ranger Montez entertained Gwen with stories of life with the National Park Service, silly tourist and animal encounters—like the man who ran naked and screaming through a campground after finding a bear in the shower; like the partying hikers on Mount Whitney she’d convinced to stop drinking with the promise of a bar at the summit.
Gwen found herself laughing for the first time in days. But she was ready, more than ready, to go home. The ranger had said that Todd would pick her up at noon, and since she had a couple of hours, she decided to go out and buy some clothes. The hospital staff had brought her a pair of jeans, a shirt, sneakers—but they were all too big, and she didn’t like to think about where they’d come from. The rangers had taken her hiking clothes and pack, which was fine with her; she didn’t want to see any of it, anyway. But they’d brought back her ID holder with her credit card and cash. So she put on the ill-fitting hospital clothes and ventured into the town.
Her legs and back were sore and she felt a little wobbly, but otherwise, she was uninjured and grateful. What an amazing thing to be in a town! It was a small place, three stoplights, and half the storefronts on the main strip were empty. The town appeared to be blue-collar white, with a few Natives here and there. There was a Ben Franklin, a hardware store, a shop that sold fishing supplies, all in old brick buildings that made the place feel like Main Street from the 1950s. And yet walking down the block, past the American flags and red, white, and blue streamers left over from the Fourth of July, Gwen was overcome with joy. She was out of danger, back among the living.
She found a small general store and chose the simplest things she could: jeans that fit, a polo shirt, some no-name sneakers. Not the cutest stuff for sure, but it would have to do. And even in this simple outfit, she felt infinitely better—clean, and ready to reenter her life.
She returned to the hospital along quiet backstreets, moving for the sake of moving and not trying to outrun anything. The whole town was dwarfed by the mountains behind it, which loomed like a wave about to break. She stopped and looked at them, this range that had stood for tens of thousands of years before her and would continue to stand long after she was gone. Deep in those mountains three men had died. And somewhere, maybe, Tracy still wandered. Where was she? And how was it that Tracy was the one who hadn’t made it out, when Gwen was here, in one piece, and alive? For a moment she remembered the intense, wild fear, the sense that she might die at any moment. It was over, she was safe, and about to head home. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
When she got back to the hospital, Ranger Montez had returned. Gwen filled out a few forms related to the rescue, and then a few more for the hospital. She handed them back and then the ranger reached out and grasped her hand. “I’ve got to go,” the ranger said. “But it was really a pleasure to meet you.” She held Gwen’s hand just a second longer than she needed to, the dimples coming back as she smiled.
“Thank you, Ranger Montez,” Gwen said, meaning it, sorry to take her hand away. What an impressive person, she thought. What a wonderful calming thing it had been, just to be able to look at this woman.
“It’s Jessica. And feel free to call if you remember anything else.” She paused and smiled as if she wanted to say something more, but then decided against it. “I hope you come back up to the Sierras sometime,” she said finally. “You should give them another chance.”
It was almost an hour before Todd was due, so after checking with the front desk, Gwen returned to her room. She was tired, completely worn down. The bed was made up already so she lay down on top of it. Three days she had slept, the rangers said. She could easily sleep three more.
* * *
She was awakened by someone yelling, “Timber, wait!” And then a flurry of wriggling fur, muffled yelps of joy, and wet kisses.
“Well, hi there!” Gwen said to the dog, who nuzzled her in return.
Timber was trailing a new leash, Todd nowhere to be seen. She panted and smiled, her fur white and clean, her long tail thumping the bed. She snuck in another kiss and rested her head on Gwen’s chest, and Gwen closed her eyes, laughing, and held her tight.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The scholarship presentation was set to start in half an hour, but Gwen couldn’t keep h
er eyes off the sky. The clouds were gorgeous, stretched thinly across the top of the mountains. When she’d arrived at the park at six thirty that morning, they were lit pink on the bottoms, and that—along with the balloons on the fences, the neat rows of white chairs, the stage that was already draped with colorful banners—had convinced her it would be a lovely day. Now, at nine thirty, families were already lining up outside the rope barrier. There were a few more signs to put up, certificates to get in order, the AV system to check. She would be introducing all the kids today—thirty of her students who’d just graduated from high school and were headed off to college in the fall.
“Are you reserving seats for the graduates?” Todd asked.
“Yes, the first two rows.”
“Okay.” He stretched masking tape between the first and second rows, and set Reserved cards on each of the chairs.
Gwen smiled. It was still strange to see Todd in a button-down shirt and tie, but she was getting used to it. He had been volunteering for much of the last year—helping review contracts, sponsoring a field trip, coming to talk to a group of youth on Career Day. His firm had made a donation to provide all the graduates with $2,500 scholarships, and he was here to see them presented. At first Gwen had been unsure about his interest in helping—and some of her colleagues, like Devon, had been downright resistant—but now she was glad he was there. He seemed genuinely pleased to be involved, and it probably gave him something to do—which was especially important since he and his wife had separated.
By nine forty-five, over a hundred people were waiting. Some of Gwen’s colleagues monitored the line but all the families were patient—maybe it was pride on behalf of the students; maybe it was the pleasure of being outdoors on such a beautiful morning. The park—which used to be so overrun by gangs that people avoided it even in daylight—had been completely redone the previous year, and had recently reopened with new baseball fields, a soccer field, playgrounds and pools, exercise stations for the runners who circled the park, and vast amounts of grassy, tree-lined, unstructured space, one area of which they were using for the day’s event. Watts had not had a space like this in all the years that Gwen had worked there, and for many more years before that. Arriving this morning, under that colorful sky, and seeing all the early-morning joggers and cyclists, Gwen had been filled with happiness, and pride.
At ten, Gwen’s colleagues unhooked one end of the barrier. Families streamed in and took their seats, and there was a chatty hubbub of excitement. Gwen noted happily that the Latino and African American families intermingled, did not sit in different sections. People were talking to one another, kids playing with kids, mothers laughing and comparing stories, men shaking hands and clapping each other on the back. These families had made sacrifices, she knew—creating quiet zones in overcrowded apartments so that their kids could do their homework; working multiple jobs; pushing school officials and social service agencies and churches and clinics to ensure their kids got what they needed. All of this even though most of them lacked formal educations themselves, and many had language barriers. Gwen moved among them and greeted the parents she knew, hugged the beaming kids. Ricardo Flores, who’d graduated from Jordan, was attending USC. Darius Colson, from Locke, would be attending Cal State Northridge. Katrina Johnson and Maria Villalobos from Alliance were going to UCLA, and Pedro and Juanita Gonzalez, twins from King-Drew Medical Magnet, would be going to UC Riverside. LeHenry Stevens, who’d grown up in Nickerson Gardens, had gotten a full ride to Stanford, and Charise Tolliver, from Jordan Downs, was going to Howard. Sylvia Morales, Lupita Gomez, and Dawn Stanton, the girls from Lincoln, were going to Berkeley, Cal State Long Beach, and UC San Diego. And Sandra Gutierrez, the girl she’d worried about so much, had received a scholarship to UC Santa Cruz.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Gutierrez, hugging Gwen tight. That was all she could manage through her tears. They had plenty to celebrate, Sandra and her mom, and fewer things to be scared of. Sandra’s stepfather was in prison now, and would be there for at least eight years.
Mixed in with the families were other guests—the principals from the various high schools that the students had come from, teachers, coaches, pastors, representatives from partner agencies; the deputy from the mayor’s office who’d come to present a proclamation from the city. In one of the back rows sat Oscar and Claudia, and Oscar’s daughter Lily; they’d come in and taken their seats, waving at Gwen across the crowd.
Finally everyone was assembled and Dr. Morrison, the head of Gwen’s agency, took the stage. She began with a short prayer, and then thanked everyone for attending. She congratulated all the graduates, and thanked Harrington & Fletcher, Todd’s law firm, for awarding the scholarships, as well as several of the corporate partners who had donated a “college care package”—school supplies, backpacks, gift certificates for books—for each of the graduates. She thanked God for imbuing the children and families with strength and determination, and for blessing them with such a beautiful day. Then she turned the mic over to Gwen.
When Gwen stepped to the podium, she gazed out at the audience—the proud faces of the students and their families. She looked past them at the rest of the park—the kids starting to gather for baseball; the booths at the farmer’s market; the two police cars stationed fifty yards beyond their event, unobtrusive but present, just in case.
“I want to tell each and every one of you how proud we are,” she began. Beside her, with another mic, her colleague Julio translated her words into Spanish. “You have succeeded despite facing challenges and barriers that others can’t even imagine. You’ve succeeded despite the assumptions of many people outside the community, and some inside too, that there’s no hope for the youth here in Watts.”
“Viva Watts!” someone yelled from the audience.
“That’s right!” agreed another.
“You will need every bit of your optimism, your hard work, your determination, your faith to keep on with your success as you enter this next stage of your lives,” Gwen continued. “But you’ve already shown that you have all those things. And let me tell you something: you have them because of where you grew up, not in spite of it. All the difficulties you’ve faced have made you stronger, more compassionate. They’ve made you who you are.”
She thanked the principals, the teachers, her coworkers, the families. And then, one by one, she called the students up and introduced them, announced which school they’d just graduated from and what college they’d be attending. When she called Sandra up, and then the three girls from Lincoln, she had to clench her fists to keep her voice from shaking. Dr. Morrison handed them each a certificate—and a check for $2,500. It wasn’t much—not enough to cover tuition or rent—but for many of them, it would pay for them to travel to campus. It would enable them to buy clothes, or a laptop, or a desk and chair, or glasses. Each student posed with Gwen and Dr. Morrison as a photographer took a picture. It was time-consuming, but the families couldn’t get enough—they erupted in cheers and applause for every student.
As Gwen spoke the words about experience and strength, she knew that they applied to her too. Before last summer she wouldn’t have been able to stand up and speak in front of a crowd. Before last summer she couldn’t have said these words and meant them. But since she’d returned from her trip to the Sierras, everything had taken on a different light. It hadn’t happened right away. For weeks she’d called the Forest Service every few days, hoping for word about Tracy. For months she’d checked and double-checked her windows and doors; she’d dreamt of A.J. and José and gunfire, and constantly thought there was someone behind her. But A.J. was dead, and none of their names had come out in the media. She carried the burden, as did Todd, of having taken a life, but it was a burden that was never made public. All that was reported—just like the rangers had promised—was that members of two rival groups, a white supremacist group and a faction of a Mexican drug cartel—had killed each other, and that law enforcement had eradicated their gardens. Th
ere was no mention of Gwen and the others at all.
Because of this, no one outside of Oscar and Todd were aware of what had happened. As far as her family and colleagues knew, they’d gotten lost and had to be helped out of the mountains. One of them, Tracy, had never come back; there had never been any word of her. She’d just vanished, and Gwen felt the loss of her, despite her lingering confusion, even anger. It was just like Tracy to disappear so that the story didn’t have to end. Maybe she was still in the mountains, outrunning threats, whether real or imagined. Maybe she was trying to settle a score with A.J.’s brother, or José’s men. Maybe she’d gotten out and gone somewhere else, come up with a new name and started over. Or maybe she’d gone deeper into the mountains to forge a new life, just like she’d said she wanted to do.
But Gwen suspected it was none of these, suspected her friend was gone; that she’d wandered off and fallen or hurt herself and hadn’t made it out. She was saddened by the reckless way that Tracy had handled her life—maybe if you courted danger the way she did, you could only beat it for so long. Tracy’s house stood unchanged, and Oscar said her family didn’t want to touch it, just in case she did come back. If it hadn’t been for Tracy’s disappearance, it would have been hard to believe their trip had really happened.
Once Gwen had recovered physically and gone back to work, the slightest things gave her pleasure—her banter with the receptionist, her first sessions with the next crop of kids in the new school year, even the damned boring management meetings that took up half of each Tuesday. She was grateful to be able to do these things, grateful to be alive. And after what she’d been through, she found that she wasn’t inclined to keep quiet anymore if she had an opinion. She proposed several adjustments to their programs and Dr. Morrison, after being surprised at her assertiveness, took her suggestions. It wasn’t long before she was promoted. Now she not only ran her own youth groups, she supervised all the other staff who ran groups too.