Valley Girls

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  Rilla rolled her eyes, pulled up her hood, and followed Thea through the rain to the side door of the firehouse.

  Inside, it was a very different Yosemite than she was used to seeing—no tourists, no workers like in HUFF. These were the lifers. The corporate fast track to an Ent—the sentient trees in The Lord of the Rings.

  Thirty or more rangers and volunteers milled around the ambulance parked inside. Their jackets glistened and boots left wet footprints on the concrete. Scraggly beards on old and young, and hair chopped short or braided off the faces of the women. The feel of weather worn, but alive and green. They talked in clumps. Looked at a phone with their heads together. A few sat on the floor, eyes closed and heads resting on the concrete walls. This was what goth Thea had become. A motherfucking baby Ent.

  Rilla made a beeline for the big thermos of coffee and the tray of bagels set up on a table in the back. She grabbed a bagel and scooped out a glob of cream cheese.

  “Who let the Valley rat in?” Walker said.

  “Huh?” she asked stupidly, realizing a half second too late that he meant her.

  His hood was up, but under the dripping edge, his eyes teased and he needed to shave. Had he heard about the rope dropping incident?

  “You gonna just hog all the cream cheese?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

  Her stomach flipped, pulse climbing—god, his voice in the morning was quite possibly one of the sexiest things—but she made a face, and smothered the cream cheese over the blueberry bagel as if all her hormones hadn’t flicked on high alert. “Back off the cream cheese.”

  “Oh yeah?” He reached across her for a bagel. “Excuse me,” he said, purposely shoving his arm into her face.

  “Git, you big lug,” she said, shoving her elbow into his side, still clutching the plastic knife.

  He stepped into the hit, sending her stumbling toward the coffee. “Oh, pardon me.” His boot came down on her sneaker just enough to pinch. “My bad.”

  “Ugh, you toad,” Rilla said, wholly delighted, as she pushed back against his solid weight and tried to yank her foot out from under his.

  “Children,” Thea snapped behind them.

  Guiltily, they straightened.

  “He started it,” Rilla muttered.

  “Did not,” Walker said.

  “Oh, my god,” Thea said with a glare for them both. She refilled her mug of coffee and turned her back. “I claim neither of you.”

  “Good going, West Virginia,” Walker said.

  She growled and felt very pleased.

  Walker grinned and demolished half his bagel in one bite.

  “So, what do you have to do for this?” Rilla asked.

  “Nothing very interesting . . . I mean, I was like—” his voice deepened, “rescuing babies and kittens all night.”

  “All night?” She put her hand to her chest and prepared to swoon.

  “In the wind and rain, uphill both ways.” He stuffed the rest of the bagel into his mouth, talking over it. “Nah, I was at a trailhead most of the night, telling people the park was closing. Mostly, it’ll just be a long, wet day with annoyed tourists.”

  A woman about Thea’s age walked up to the bagels, with a confused side-eye to Rilla.

  Thinking she was blocking the woman’s way to the table, Rilla slid out of the way.

  “You rested up, Walker?” the woman said, with a soft accent that made Rilla’s heart jump. The South. Home. Now she understood why people talked about the South with nostalgia.

  “Absolutely. Adrienne, this is Martinez’s sister, Rilla,” Walker said. “Rilla, this is my team leader, Adrienne.”

  Understanding crossed Adrienne’s face. “Oh, hey, Rilla.”

  “Rilla is a new climber,” Walker said.

  Adrienne nodded politely.

  “And, Adrienne holds the speed record on Age of Gemini,” Walker said.

  “Now you’re just buttering me up,” Adrienne said.

  “Oh, wow,” Rilla said, hating herself for ever wanting to be a climber. Goddamn, what a stupid fucking idea. “That’s awesome.”

  “I’m hoping you give me something interesting today,” Walker said.

  Adrienne rolled her eyes. “We’ll see what we get. Be prepared for misery.”

  Walker pumped his fist. “The NPS Way.”

  “Boy, you don’t even know.” Adrienne sipped her coffee. “After this, we’ll have our own debrief. I think we have a group still left on El Cap. Sawyer talked to them on the phone this morning and they’re descending. I’ll have you go out and check on them this afternoon.”

  A ranger in a more official-looking rain jacket at the front of the firehouse cleared his throat.

  Everyone sort of turned.

  “All right, guys,” he said, lowering his radio and raising his voice. “Listen up.” He glanced at a little notebook in his hand and scanned the room before beginning his weather report and instructions for road closures and evacuation processes.

  Rilla quietly filled up a cup of coffee while he talked, mixing in cream and sugar.

  When they finished, Walker waved goodbye and followed Adrienne to a clump of volunteers.

  Rilla caught up with Thea and followed her back into the rain, careful not to spill her coffee as she climbed inside the truck.

  After starting the truck, Thea gripped the steering wheel, pulled herself up, and yanked down the edge of her vest from where it pushed out under her chin.

  Rilla narrowed her eyes. “Are you wearing a bulletproof vest?”

  Thea ignored her and twisted in her seat to back up.

  Rilla leaned into the center console. “Why are you wearing a vest? Do you have a gun?”

  “OMG shut up,” Thea snapped.

  “You’re a cop.” Rilla pointed, eyes narrowed. Knowing it was annoying her sister. Knowing it was fun. “You’re not a ranger. You liar. Did you tell mom?” Mom would hate that Thea was a cop. A park ranger—okay. It was law enforcement for trees, basically. But a cop? No. There was a strictly enforced anti-cop component to being a Skidmore.

  “Baby girl, if you don’t hush up . . . I swear . . .” Thea wrenched the wheel of the SUV, toward traffic on the main road. The windshield wipers flicked in rhythm.

  “Mom is going to be so mad. Wait until I tell her.” It was hilarious how annoyed Thea was getting.

  “I am a ranger.”

  “A cop.”

  “A law enforcement ranger,” Thea said.

  “How could you betray mom so deeply?” Rilla teased.

  Thea snorted. “Let us count the ways.” She turned off the wet pavement and onto what Rilla would have thought was a bike path. Tourists scattered in front of them, looking up into the SUV with wet and miserable expressions. The pines grew close to the road and dripped more rain.

  “It’s so hard being an upstanding citizen. Oh, the burden. The woe. You perfect child,” Rilla said.

  Thea put on the brakes and turned off the truck. “Get out. You’re coming with me.” Thea pulled her official ranger jacket hood up and got out, the sharp patter of rain hitting the nylon before she closed the door and eyed Rilla through the glass like hurry up.

  Rilla pulled up her hood and rolled out of the truck, boots sinking into the soggy needles and mud. “What are you doing? Am I going to get paid for this?” She asked, catching up with Thea.

  “You are out your damn mind. I should make you sit in the truck and do your work, but I’m not sure you’d be there when I got back.”

  Rilla rolled her eyes and trudged after her sister. Just over the trees the edge of Half Dome loomed down on them, the patches of snow still visible at the top. All that snow on the mountains. All the snow she’d seen from her climb. It was melting and rushing downward into the Merced, into the slit of Valley before it passed on into wider places.

  “We need to check on everyone and get them out of here as soon as possible,” Thea said from under her hood, not breaking her stride as she walked up to the closest RV. “The river
isn’t supposed to hit the high mark until midnight, but by then it’ll be over the roads.”

  Most of the campground was empty, and the ones that were left looked closed down or as if they were packing up. Rilla followed along in the rain as Thea went to each RV, one by one, reminding them of the evacuation order and asking how quickly they could get moving.

  One guy was waiting until the crowds died down because he didn’t want to sit in traffic. His arms were folded and his eyes narrowed, immediately hostile to Thea’s calm reminder and encouragement. Eventually she gave a firm, decisive, “you need to leave immediately and not wait for traffic.” A moment passed where the rain pattered and the wind rushed off the mountains above them and the man glowered in silence. Where it shimmered right on the edge of turning into something different. The hair on the back of Rilla’s neck stood up and she held her breath.

  “All right, I’m leaving,” he said.

  Rilla exhaled.

  Thea didn’t thank him. Just headed on to the next RV, looking calm and unbothered.

  “How do you do that?” Rilla asked, expecting Thea to ask what she was even talking about.

  But Thea’s eyes flickered to the horizon, high into the rain-pregnant sky and she said very seriously. “It’s not fun to have your vacation interrupted. But people forget, these are still wild places. We are all visitors here. They think we’re here to serve them, when it’s really that we are here to serve the park. You can’t be afraid of getting hurt. It keeps you from doing the most important things.”

  Rilla looked back.

  The man, true to his word, was already in his RV with it running. Still with the same glower.

  “Does Mom know about you and Lauren?”

  Thea looked down, lips tight.

  “Really?” Rilla was surprised. “Why not? I mean, we had two dads.” Everyone who learned that fact seemed to find it exotic—which wasn’t ever a good thing, but Rilla figured at least Thea should be used to it. “Mom would totally get it.”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “But why? I don’t get you. You obviously talk to Mom, but you don’t tell her anything? Not this. Not what your job is.” And yet, Thea told everyone in the Valley her business.

  “Mom doesn’t want to hear anything,” Thea snapped. “She just wants to hear everything is good. Trust me, I’ve tried telling Mom shit. If you and Mom have something different, that’s fantastic. I’m happy to hear that.”

  Rilla clenched her jaw. “I tell her stuff.”

  “Great.”

  “You can’t just write her off like that. You should try,” Rilla said. Somehow it mattered, deeply mattered, that Thea didn’t tell Mom stuff about her life. “You have to try,” she repeated.

  “Oh my god, Rilla!” Thea stopped and lifted her arm. “Go wait in the truck.”

  “No,” Rilla shot back, swallowing just in time to keep the you can’t make me from bursting out.

  Thea glared under the dripping brim of her hat. “You are the worst.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Rilla crossed her arms, but to clutch her ribs to keep from cracking apart in the fear that she’d finally pushed Thea too far.

  Thea stalked off to the next RV hunkered against the rain and an old lady in a clear poncho and plastic cap over her white hair stepped out.

  The tears she’d thought she’d run dry the night before pricked in her eyes. God, if she could just stop fucking everything up. Turning her back, she rubbed her eyes and stared glumly up into the dripping pine boughs, listening to Thea repeat the same things over and over.

  At the back edge of the massive campground, they crossed paths with Lauren.

  “Got ’em?” Thea asked, pulling her radio from her hip and surveying the few trailers still pulling out.

  “I think we’re good back here,” Lauren said. “Ready to hit up Half Dome Village again? Did they make a decision on employees?”

  “I’m waiting to hear,” Thea said.

  “Can I go back to the truck?” Rilla asked. “My feet are wet.”

  “No,” Thea snapped.

  Lauren snorted. Her gaze flicked to Rilla. “She’s got you out of the attic today, huh?”

  Water dripped off Rilla’s hood and plunked on her nose. “Yep.” Did Lauren know her girlfriend was a complete snot?

  “I’ll take you back to the truck. You can do your work now,” Thea said, walking off.

  “Oh. Ugh . . .” Rilla followed the back of Thea’s ponytail, stringy from the rain dripping off the brim of her hat.

  “If you put this energy into doing it instead of complaining, you’d be done by now,” Thea said.

  “Is there a handbook of trite parenting phrases you get with guardianship papers?” Rilla asked. “You don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. You only ask when you run out of things to say.”

  Thea just barked a laugh and whipped open the truck door. “You’re fighting the wrong person, baby girl.”

  Rilla made a face and slammed her door. August. She just had to make it until August.

  Thea glared out the front and rolled down the window for Lauren, who’d stopped by the truck.

  “You all right?” Lauren asked softly.

  Thea sighed and leaned against the side. “I’m fine.”

  “She won’t tell our mom she’s dating a girl,” Rilla said, taking satisfaction in getting to tell on Thea.

  Lauren looked at Rilla and didn’t even flinch or make an expression.

  Rilla bit her lip and looked at Thea.

  Thea shook her head. “We’ll talk later,” she said to Lauren.

  Lauren nodded. They kissed and Thea started the truck.

  Rilla crossed her arms and slid into the corner, as far from Thea as she could get.

  “You’re a little bitch, you know that?” Thea said. It stung.

  “Ohhh . . . that feels awfully Thea from West Virginia,” Rilla said. “Be careful. You might wake up and Mom will know you fuck girls.”

  “Shut up!” Thea screamed.

  Rilla snapped her jaw shut.

  “Do you think I want my life to be like this? Do you think I hate Mom? That I never want to go home again? That I didn’t love being there? That I haven’t actually told Mom about three times, all of which she completely ignored like some fucked-up denial thing?”

  Rilla couldn’t answer.

  “I’m doing it, Rilla. Day after day, I’m dealing with what I have. And all you’re doing is refusing to even acknowledge there’s a problem. It’s okay to say someone’s actions hurt you.”

  Rilla didn’t know what to say. Or think. “Mom isn’t like that,” she whispered, even though it sounded exactly like Mom. “And I know . . . I’m not. No one hurts me.” Shit, why did she feel like crying. Everything was hot and confusing and terrible.

  Thea shook her head. “Why do I try?” she muttered.

  They sat in silence, in the traffic, with everyone else—moving at a snail’s pace. Rilla stared out the window, focusing on her breathing until the threat of tears receded.

  Thea pulled into the end of a parking lot and blocked the exit. “Let me know if you see anyone coming to their cars. I have to inform them of the evacuation,” she said, putting the truck in park and turning down the heat.

  From the front seat, Rilla could just barely see the foaming edge of the Merced as it churned over boulders along its path. It looked swollen but not flooded. But she knew rivers. Rainelle had flooded only two years ago from snowmelt and storms. Thea didn’t know—she hadn’t been there or called when it happened. Rilla didn’t know what was going on between Mom and Thea—but it couldn’t be what Thea said. It just couldn’t. Rilla wasn’t ready to face a problem she couldn’t try and fix.

  “Is this all you’re doing now?” Rilla said. “Napping?”

  “Yep,” Thea said from under closed eyes. “Try doing some schoolwork.”

  Rilla sighed and looked at her bag. The deadline for all this work wasn’t until
August. There was no reason for Thea to be on her except it made her feel good to grind her axe about something. She pulled out The Scarlett Letter and slouched in her seat, curling the book’s binding back on itself. The rain pattered on the windows. The fan blasted heat. She blinked at the end of the page, and couldn’t remember a word of what she’d read.

  “Can I go back to the house?” Rilla asked.

  Thea was silent.

  “Thea.” Rilla droned. Come on. “Theaaaaaaa.”

  “What,” Thea said without moving.

  “Can I go back to the house?”

  “No.”

  Rilla gritted her teeth. “Why?”

  “You need to sit still and focus. You need to be making significant progress on your schoolwork,” Thea continued.

  Rilla deflated. “What’s significant progress?”

  “I need to see you working. Disciplined. With a stack of finished bigger than your stack of unfinished.”

  Rilla narrowed her eyes and flapped her book in Thea’s face. “I’m halfway done with this book. Does that count?”

  Thea didn’t flinch. “No.”

  “I can do that at the house.”

  “But you don’t. You know I found your mess the other day?”

  “What mess?”

  Thea counted them off on her fingers. “The pencils, the broken pencil sharpener, the drawer you dumped out, the garbage can you left without a bag, and you didn’t latch the bear box for the garbage you did take out. Thankfully, I followed your little mouse trail of undone crumbs and latched it before something got into it.”

  Rilla frowned and looked out the window. She didn’t want to argue with the only person left who cared about her future or wanted her to do something. And she could do the work—she had to. But hopelessness clawed at her throat, choking her.

  She opened the door and got out.

  “I said no. Where are you going?”

  Rilla slammed the truck door and started off in the rain, without waiting for Thea to argue.

  The park felt strange without people—foreboding, with its empty meadows and empty paths and the long string of bumper-to-bumper cars still leaving the park. Her feet were soaked, making her cold, and she headed across the Valley toward one of the stone bridges sure to still be above water.