My walkie-talkie crackles with a familiar voice. “350. This is 324.”
“Hi, Guy.” I don’t bother repeating our call numbers.
“Hi, Daniels. I have a weather update for you. Over,” Gaia says, keeping it professional. All park rangers share the same channel on our land mobile radios, so others could be listening to our conversation.
“You know you don’t have to say over or roger, right?” I tease her.
“You ruin all my fun.” Amusement warms her voice. “Storm’s intensifying and shifting course. Did you clear the trails? Over.”
I decide to play along. “Roger that. All but one hiker seems to be accounted for. Clingmans didn’t have eyes on her either, but she may have headed down into North Carolina.”
The radio remains silent for a beat.
“You still there?” I ask.
“You didn’t say over.”
“And I’m not going to.”
“Better make your way back to the station if you can. The meteorologists are saying we’re getting gale-force winds, hail, thunder, rain, probably ice, and a few inches of snow.” She switches to her serious tone. “In other words, it’s going to be bad up at elevation and you might get stuck.”
“I’ve hiked every trail in this park at some point in my life. I don’t get lost,” I grumble, continuing my march through the familiar woods.
“Won’t be a trail to follow if it’s buried under half a foot of snow.”
“You said a couple of inches,” I grumble.
“That’s the general consensus, but the outliers have mentioned more.”
“Has the guy from the Weather Channel shown up with a camera crew yet?”
“Jim Cantore?” she asks with a chuckle.
“That’s the one. Always a bad sign if he’s in the area.”
“No, not in Cades Cove, but he’s all over the news about the storm.”
“Shit. Really bad, huh?” Smirking, I scan the steep incline ahead of me.
“Ed wants you to return as soon as possible.”
“I agree.” The idea of a solo hiker, especially a woman, stirs a feeling of guilt in my belly. “I just wish I had confirmation on the last person.”
“I thought you believed she left the trail already?” Guy sounds confused. “Don’t risk your life. It isn’t worth it. Despite you being a misanthrope, people would actually be sad you’re gone, at least a few. Maybe even a half-dozen of us.”
“Thanks for making me feel loved, but I need to do my best to make sure everyone is safe.” The idea of someone dying because I wanted to sleep in my own bed doesn’t sit well with me, not at all and we both know it.
She sighs. “Fine. Radio me in an hour. Take care out there.”
“I will.” I pause by a tree marked with the white blaze of the AT. “Over.”
“Shut up.” Her laughter echoes in the stillness of the woods.
Guy is my favorite colleague. We get each other, though not in a romantic way, and not even in the friends with possibilities way. She’s smart, kindhearted, and doesn’t suffer bullshit. Kindness is underrated these days.
Oh, and she hates people who litter almost as much as I do. Those people are the worst, especially on the trails and in the backcountry. No one is out there following behind the selfish idiots with a garbage bag and a dustpan.
Don’t get me started about Mount Everest. My stomach churns with rage at the thought of the thirty plus tons of trash left behind on the mountain. It’s like thirty cars packed full of shit. Literally.
Now in a foul mood, I decide to get off the main AT and try one of the smaller trails. There’s a chance Snowbird took a detour or got lost. I hope she’s at least stuck to the marked paths and hasn’t wandered into the thick woods. Too easy to get disoriented, especially on a cloudy day without the sun to guide direction.
The wind swipes the tops of the trees, blows through the underbrush, and scatters leaves. There’s a chill to the air. Storm’s not supposed to hit until later tonight, but already the temperature is dropping.
I’m running out of time.
Chapter Five
Olive
July
Vermont and New Hampshire
Miles 300 to at least a million according to my legs
Tye never came back. #poof #gone.
What happened to the guy who professed his love to me? What happened to #goals and #thatATlife?
Apparently, being rejected on the Appalachian Trail wasn’t in his life plan.
According to my calculations, he’d hiked about three hundred miles with me. A mile for almost every day we were together.
Stuck between anger and acceptance on the grief scale, I still wasn’t sad.
No Tye meant I was completely on my own. No more car service waiting at designated locations for rides to hotels. No more meals delivered to our GPS coordinates by drone or one of Tye’s unpaid interns.
I really missed the yummy food.
What did that say about my feelings for Tye?
I’d thought I loved him and he loved me. Looking back, maybe the only real things about our relationship were the photo ops.
Hiking gave me a lot of time to mull over our history. The relationship I believed was a fairy tale was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Superficial. Good vibes only. No substance.
For all he knew or cared, I could’ve been eaten by bears. Or broken my leg and slowly succumbed to the elements in a crevasse, vocal cords shredded from screaming for help. Or tragically bled out in a ditch a few yards from discovery.
I wondered if he’d feel guilty when reading about my death in the Times. I hoped my father would write my obituary. Despite being an engineer, he had a lovely way with words. Mom would probably mention all six of my engagements and zero weddings. Quel shame.
For the rest of the first week hiking solo, I occupied myself with imagining my funeral and who would attend. Would all of my ex-fiancés bond over the bland but elegant canapés? Would my father insist on an open bar and generous pours of whiskey, more for his own sake than as a tribute to me? Would Campbell weep over my casket?
I imagined family and friends huddled together, politely and quietly sobbing in the rows toward the front of the little church on Fifth Avenue. My grandmother’s funeral was there, and in keeping with Perry family tradition, I knew they’d choose the same location for mine. I always loved the gothic stone building tucked among the skyscrapers.
Sure, I could’ve stopped hiking at any time. Could’ve quit and phoned someone to take me back to the city or out to the beach house to heal both my real and mental wounds.
Instead, fueled by sadness, a healthy reserve of spite, and a side of shame, I kept walking. As long as I was on the AT, I could avoid the rest of my life and whatever fallout had been created by Tye’s proposal.
Evading any and all direct contact, I only turned on my phone to text Campbell proof-of-life selfies before quickly shutting it off. I didn’t even call my parents or sisters. Back in Massachusetts, I’d sent them a group text letting them know my plans to keep hiking. Probably best for me to keep out of sight. There was nothing my family hated more than a scandal.
At an outpost somewhere in Vermont, I discovered a box full of supplies from Mina waiting for me along with the other hikers’ packages. Another box showed up in New Hampshire. Made me wonder if she’d scheduled them before Tye bailed, but there wasn’t a box for him when I asked.
Grateful for the new trail shoes, fresh underwear, socks that couldn’t stand up by themselves, and food, I sent her thank you texts to let her know the packages had been received. I avoided saying more because any dialogue might have led to asking other questions about things I was better off not knowing.
I don’t think I would’ve survived The Hundred Mile wilderness without my fairy godmother.
August
Maine
Day 72
Mile 895
Yesterday, I summited Mount Katahdin.
After hundreds
of miles up and down the White Mountains, over rocks and along ridges, I finally reached Maine.
Scrambling over and crawling through boulders for the mile of Mahoosuc Notch was no joke. Staring up at a granite wall, lashed with metal rungs to aid in the vertical ascent almost had me quitting. This wasn’t hiking anymore. I’d become a rock climber. My hands and knees still bear the evidence of the madness.
I even made a few friends along the way, my own trail family, AKA my tramily. As they celebrated completing all 2,190 miles on the mountain’s peak, I snapped their pics and smothered my feelings of being a fraud with smiles.
Instead of wanting a trophy or a ribbon for the nine hundred miles I had hiked, I only had one thought.
Finishing what I’d started to prove to myself I could.
I began plotting finishing the trail by hiking south from the Delaware Gap. I figured if I could be in Georgia by early November, I’d complete the remaining 1300 miles before winter weather hit.
My schedule allowed me a week off before beginning phase two, and I needed to decide what to do with myself. Go home? Camp at the beach in Maine with the tramily for a week? Book myself into a spa for seven days of non-stop pampering?
Given the chance to sleep in a real bed instead of my tent in the campground, I couldn’t resist booking a room in an economy hotel a block from the water in York Beach, Maine. Lumpy mattress and hard pillows aside, it was heaven.
My new friends were oblivious to my real identity and I liked being anonymous, blending in for once. If any of them had knowledge of Tye’s proposal, they didn’t tell me.
Showered and wearing leggings fresh from the dryer, I called home.
My mother answered right as I was trying to think of what to say to her voicemail.
“Olive? Where on God’s green earth have you been? No one has seen or heard from you in months. If you’re going to disappear, at least have the decency to check in with your mother. You could’ve been kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. Your grandfather was about to rally the troops for a search-and-rescue operation.” Her words came out in a rush.
Before she could spin out of control, I interrupted her. “He can’t actually do that anymore, and even if he could, it would be a gross misuse of military resources and taxpayer dollars.”
“Are you finished? It was a figure of speech. If your sarcasm is intact, I can assume the rest of you is in one piece as well.” Her voice was exasperated but hidden in the nooks and crannies of her tone, I heard relief.
“I’m fine. No, I’m better. I’m doing really well. I summited Katahdin this week. Not only did I walk from Pennsylvania all the way through New England, I’ve climbed mountains—plural. I’ve forded streams and scrambled over boulders. I can build a campfire and filter my own water. I also learned to cook. If you close your eyes and ignore the texture, it’s not terrible.” I rambled, excited to share the little details of the last seventy-plus days of my life.
Her sigh was audible and her disappointment palpable. “Oh, Olive. This all sounds just awful. You poor thing.”
And just like that, my pride deflated like a Macy’s parade balloon the day after Thanksgiving.
“Weren’t you worried?” I hadn’t checked in with her since I left a voicemail a month ago for her birthday. I’d received exactly zero texts from either parental unit since.
“Of course, we were fraught with anxiety over this latest demonstration of your need to rebel. I thought you would’ve outgrown this phase years ago. I should’ve fought harder to send you to boarding school in Connecticut. Your father was always too soft on you girls.”
Leaning against the flimsy wooden headboard, I cast my eyes at the ceiling, willing my voice to remain sarcasm free. “I could’ve been dead or lying in a remote hospital with amnesia from taking a tumble off of a cliff.”
The memory of Tye’s ring box sailing through the air flashed through my mind.
She doesn’t take the bait. “Your father’s been tracking your credit card purchases, so we knew you were alive. Campbell has also been kind enough to pass along updates.”
I chose to ignore the serrated edge of guilt she jabbed into my chest. “Oh, good. Nothing like having my privacy invaded for your peace of mind.”
“He cosigned the card for you in high school. No one is prying,” she said dryly. “When can we expect you home? You know I’m not in the city until after Labor Day. We’re spending this week at the house in Westport but will take the ferry over to Long Island on Thursday to beat the weekend Hamptons traffic. Why we can’t take the helicopter, I don’t know. What’s the point of having access to these things if we’re not going to use them?”
Knowing she couldn’t see me, I closed my eyes and let my head fall back until it was supported by the cradle of my shoulders. Felt good to stretch my neck.
“I’m not coming home,” I declared in a soft voice. Clearing my throat, I sat up. “I’ve decided to hike the rest of the trail.”
Silence greeted me.
Checking my screen, I confirmed she hadn’t hung up on me.
“I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. Probably,” I reassured her.
She sighed. “I don’t know what to do with you. What does your new fiancé say about all of this? You haven’t mentioned Tye once.”
“My new what?” The screech of my voice made me recoil. Either I’d gone crazy or she had.
“We saw the pictures. The ring is lovely,” she said, drily.
“Hold on—what are you talking about? I’m not engaged!” The gnawing unease I’d pushed to the back of my mind after Tye’s disappearance chewed its way through my ability to ignore it.
“Tye shared a picture of the ring on your hand on his account. We watched his proposal to you. I must say, Olive, it wasn’t your finest moment. You looked rough.” She clicked her tongue in displeasure. “Always be camera ready. How often have I said those words to you?”
“My entire life,” I muttered, reverting to being a petulant child. “Tye ambushed me. Do I need to bother saying we’d been hiking for almost three hundred miles when he sprung his stunt on me?”
“He seemed genuine. You were the one acting like a lunatic. I’m glad you two made up. We’ve been following his pictures of your trip since you never share anything with your family.”
Her words sounded like English and made sense individually but, when strung together, were gibberish.
“We broke up the same morning. He left me. In the woods. I haven’t seen him since.” I stated the facts as I knew them to be true.
“Hmm, this isn’t adding up.” She sighs. “Sounds like the two of you should have a conversation and get your story straight. The press picked up the story. Another failed engagement is bad optics for you. You’ll never be taken seriously if you keep dumping fiancés, Olive. Is this how you want to be remembered?”
Legacy. She didn’t say the word, but we both knew what she meant. The Perrys were all about the family legacy.
“Does Grandfather know about this?” I grimaced at the thought.
“You know he doesn’t bother with social gossip, but he’s aware you’re engaged. Again.” She didn’t need to add the reminder at the end, but my mother could never resist gilding a lily.
My sigh of disappointment echoed hers. “I’m not engaged. As soon as we hang up, I’ll call Tye and clear this up.”
“If you need the lawyers, let me know. We keep them on retainer for exactly these moments.”
Nice to be reminded my fickle heart and inability to say no were responsible for the annual salary of more than one attorney.
“Please let us know when you have this settled either way,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“If you change your mind about Tye, it would be nice to hear it from you rather than Page Six.” Ice clinked against glass. Mom enjoyed her wine spritzers the way some women chugged La Croix.
“Trust me—Tye and I are through. I want nothing to do with him. Once he takes down the phot
os and whatever else he posted, the story will fade away.” Exasperated, I knew I needed to end this call before it became a nautilus spiral, winding in ever-tightening circles of frustration until my head exploded.
“We’ll see. Darling, Miranda is here for our tennis match. Call soon. Love you.” She disconnected the call before I could respond. Typical.
Instead of calling Tye, I tapped Campbell’s name. She picked up on the third ring.
“Hello, stranger.” She yawned. “Sorry. Late night.”
“I’m engaged?!” I shouted. “Why does my mother think I’m still with Tye and we’re happily engaged? What the hell is going on?”
“Shh, not so loud. This is what happens when you disconnect from the Matrix.”
“That reference is almost as old as we are.” I rested my head against the headboard.
“Keanu is having a renaissance so it’s relevant again.”
“Can we talk about your Keanu Reeves obsession another time? I feel like my life has split into two realities. On one timeline, I’m engaged to Tye. That’s not real. I never said yes. He dumped me in the middle of nowhere.”
“Open up his Instagram. I’ll wait,” she instructed me.
I followed her orders and scrolled down until I spotted the ring photo. “Given I never took the ring out of the box, I have zero memory of such a picture being snapped. I’m not sure that’s even my hand! What the ever-loving hell?”
“Are you sure? Looks like your fingers.”
“We’ve been friends for decades and you can’t identify my hands?” My voice echoed back at me from the phone.
“I was distracted by the diamond. It’s a pretty stone.”
“I’ll send it to you. Tye left it with me. Hold on … if I have the ring, when did he take those pics?” I studied the hand again. “No, it’s mine, but I swear I never put the ring on my finger. Wait, do you think he took a photo while I was asleep? Before he proposed? He wouldn’t, would he? Super creepy. What if I said no?”
Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1) Page 4