The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  I get the feeling that she’s taking it easy on Rain Man, and that if I’d suggested hiking together, I would’ve gotten a much less careful reaction.

  It’s Rain Man’s turn to nod. “Well, the offer’s there if you need.”

  “Thanks. That’s cool of you.” She points to the darkness. “I’m gonna go pitch my tent. Thanks for the food, Rain Man. It was even better than people say.”

  “Aww.” Rain Man waves away her compliment. “When you’re hungry, anything tastes gourmet.”

  “Nah. You’re the real deal.”

  His eyes well up, but he turns toward his tent, and she’s gone as quickly as she got there. I watch her leave, memorize the trail she took, completely aware that I’m going to go try to find her next note graveyard. I know it’s wrong, but that knowledge doesn’t stop me from planning it.

  Rain Man grabs his pack. Going to his tent I guess, and I’m standing here, all alone in the middle of the woods hanging on the silence like I would hang on someone’s next word.

  I stare at Ghost’s tent without even meaning to. I stare at how the glow of her lantern lights the orange and blue flaps of her tent. Her tent is close, on the same flat area that is designated for camping. The land is set aside so that the woods along the trail can be preserved. I can see her silhouette. She’s sitting, maybe cross-legged. Her back is bent and she’s leaning forward. I imagine her notebook in her hand. The angle looks about right. Ghost is writing in that book of hers, I’m sure of it.

  “Give her a blanket,” Rain Man says, startling me because I hadn’t heard him approach.

  “Huh?”

  He points to her tent. “You saw how blue her lips were. She’s freezing, and she doesn’t have the right gear, but she’s too proud or stubborn to ask. But do it.”

  I jog to Ghost’s tent. I hold the blanket in my outstretched hand. “Hey,” I whisper.

  “What do you want?” She holds the flap closed and her voice sounds a little shaky. Did I scare her?

  “It’s just me,” I whisper. “I’m leaving this for you.”

  Her hand grabs the blanket and then retreats inside again. I run back to my tent and get inside, turning on the light, so she can see that I’m not anywhere near her. She opens the flap of her tent and her arm pokes out and waves to me. I turn out my light so she’ll think I’m going to sleep and not watching her.

  I stare at her light and her shadow, how she is hunched over, writing. I think about doing some of my own writing. My fingers find the notebook Emily gave me before I left for the trail. She always said I had a story in me dying to get out. I used to joke, “No wonder my head hurts.”

  I reach into my pack for my phone. 8:30 p.m. and I’m exhausted. I spray the area under my sleeping bag, then get out my insecticide wipes and start wiping down the outside. I climb in and watch until Ghost’s light goes off. Then I roll over and put on my headphones and am asleep before the first song is over.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, I hear Rain Man zip up his pack. “Morning,” he says as I poke my head out of my tent. “She’s gone already.” He lifts a mug of whatever he’s drinking and points in the direction where Ghost’s tent should be.

  I figured she would leave early, but I’m annoyed with myself for sleeping through her departure. I stand, wrap my arms around my back, and scratch like a bear. I reach into my pack for my camp shovel.

  My trek into the woods complete, and actually a minor success, I wind back to where her tent was. Rain Man’s blanket is folded, with a note pinned to it.

  Thanks. My clothes are dry now and I’m fine.

  Something about the I’m fine irritates me. Like a burr in my skin. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s presumptuous of her to believe I care, or if it’s because I do care and that’s not always easy for me. I’m only trying to be a nice guy. I walk back to my tent and find Rain Man still drinking his coffee. Time to make mine.

  “You gonna get moving soon?” Rain Man asks.

  “I might hang here for a while.”

  He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d do that, but he doesn’t ask. It’s part of life on the trail I can totally get behind. The privacy thing.

  “Okay. See you around, Wild Thing.”

  “Yeah. See ya.”

  He starts to leave, but stops. He hands me a yellow walkie-talkie-looking device. “I’m giving away all of my wife’s gear. It’s a waste to keep it in a closet. This is a satellite phone. Call this number if you need anything. It can get and receive text messages too.”

  I stare at the phone in my hand.

  “Nobody can track you with that, if that’s what concerns you. Not unless you want them to. But it’s good in case of an emergency. You and Ghost look like you need someone to look out for you, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  I don’t mind, which is weird for me, because that kind of thing usually gets to me, but Rain Man feels different. Like a person version of Max. Or maybe it’s just his Dad vibe? And maybe, just maybe I’m jonesing so much for some Dad-ness in any form I can find it. Which makes me feel a little bad for Mom, to tell the truth.

  Rain Man hits the trail and I watch him go, a little sad to be alone again, but that feeling is very fleeting and almost immediately replaced with the strong desire to search for Ghost’s notes. How hard can that be?

  • • •

  By noon I’m kicking myself for thinking that finding Ghost’s little burial sites would be easy. I’ve gridded the forest floor in my mind. Searched each possible square of land within two hundred yards of where she pitched her tent.

  Nothing.

  Well, not nothing. I did find one actual cathole, which is not what I wanted to discover while digging, but maybe that’s what I deserved.

  I’m drinking some water by the brook when it occurs to me that maybe she didn’t bury any more notes. A panicky feeling comes over me. What if it was a one-and-done situation? I’ll never know what she was burying and why.

  I picture my social skills teacher telling me I can’t control life, as burning regret grows inside me like a volcano ready to erupt. The feeling is too much to contain. I think of all the times I screwed up. How I didn’t know about Max. How I didn’t say anything about Dad’s heart. How I continue to create this wake of destruction around me that is now affecting Mom. Shame infects me, and I’ve got to get it out.

  I stand on top of a rock and let the scream erupt. Then I scream again and again. No one rushes in to wrap me in a blanket, even though I can almost feel Dad’s arms holding me to his chest. Rocking me like he used to during one of my legendary freak-outs or meltdowns when I was little. He’d press me to him, and I’d listen to his heartbeat. Dum dum. Dum dum. Dum dum. Dum. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. I was so dumb. How could I not know there was something wrong with his heart? The pattern was there, screaming at me to fucking pay attention.

  I scream some more. Scream about Max. About Dad. About not knowing how to save either of them. And then I sit on the rock, shaking. My cheeks are wet, and I realize that I’ve got no more fire in me. I splash my face with water from the creek, careful not to swallow any. The thought of giardia makes me wipe my mouth out with the bandanna I’ve got tied to my shorts. The same one that will theoretically be purified by the UV rays of the sun. The sun that bakes me and makes me feel warmed and loved and liked, maybe. Dad is looking down on me. That he’s sending me his love.

  That’s when I decide the trail is making me a total idiot. Making me believe in things that aren’t true. Can’t be. Then I see it. A small area of disturbed dirt to my left with boot marks the size of Ghost’s feet. Of course. She wouldn’t have to bury her notes away from the water. It’s not pee.

  I scramble down from my rock and dig up the note. This one is torn in three parts. I hold it to the sun. I can make out three words. He. And then knew it. Ghost is writing about some guy who
did her wrong. Perfect.

  That nasty sensation of jealousy worms its way into my stomach and I want to catch up to Ghost to make certain she’s not with that guy she’s writing about, even though I’ve only seen her hiking alone. I know that’s probably not a normal reaction, but I also know she’s miles ahead of me. By the time I reach her, I’d be too tired to do much but stiffly wave at her. So, I head back to my camp, pack up my tent, and start walking.

  • • •

  I hike at a very brisk pace. The sun is strong today. The tree canopy protects me from most of the glare, and it’s not like I’ve got to start using sunscreen yet, but I definitely wish the trees were closer together or that the sun was behind a cloud. Too much of a good thing is still too much. Em and I used to say that all the time. Usually after our gorge fests on Oreos or Doritos or both. She’d look me in the eye and say, “Regret is a terrible thing.” She’d say it with a really serious, Mom-like face and then we’d both lose it, cracking up so much it’d make our stomachs hurt even more.

  I suddenly decide I want to be around people, so I scan the guide for a popular trail point. Neels Gap is doable and has lodging, so there would definitely be people there. I could resupply, recharge my phone, and maybe, if I’m going to be honest with myself, maybe I’ll get another sighting of Ghost. She’s got to be needing supplies, her pack being so light and all.

  Today’s hike feels really hard. It’s not only all the downed trees in this area of the woods, but the trail is also muddy and water is pooled in places. The mud makes each step slippery, but it sucks my feet into the soft ground too, cementing them with each step. Water seeps into my boots. I can’t stand the feeling of walking in wet socks. My cell phone, even with the spotty coverage, is still helpful. Like now, it tells me there’s more rain predicted tonight, lighter than last night, but I’m thinking it’s going to make tomorrow’s hike even worse.

  When I make it to Neels Gap, my legs are exhausted. The trail leads up to this big stone building where I’ve read there are laundry facilities, a resupply store, and a hostel. I want to stay here so bad but I don’t know where Ghost is and I want to catch up to her.

  My eyes are drawn to the pairs of boots hanging in the surrounding trees. As I tilt my head back to see them, I actually stop walking. My mind itches to count them, label them, sort them. Each pair must mean something, and it’s maddening not to know what. This is the kind of thing I could usually get lost in, but now I’ve got more than quirky obsessions on my mind. I want to find the girl. Weird.

  I walk through the breezeway. The stone walkway gives me this strong nostalgic feeling, like I’m supposed to be here. Like here is safe and homelike. There are rooms for rent with green trimmed windows in the stone-faced building. I’m tired and it would be nice to shower. There’s something about this place that calls to me.

  I enter the hostel, and the clerk at the desk is a woman, older than Mom, with strawberry blond hair. She’s got freckles on her face and patches of her skin are super white. Soft wrinkles and creases form around her mouth. She reminds me of my grandmother who lives in California, who we see once a year. Twice this year though, with the funeral and the unveiling. That thought sneaks up on me, and I feel like I could fall over backward from the impact, but the woman speaks to me. “You want a bunk or a single, sweetie? We only have one of those left. You’re lucky to get anything with the weather getting bad.”

  “Single, please.”

  I hand her money, and she gives me a key. It’s almost like summer camp. The fun kind. Not the miserable one Mom made me go to. I know everyone has these amazing summer camp memories, but I never did. Mom was convinced Emily and I had to go to separate summer camps. That was the first mistake. Then the food sucked. The bugs sucked. No electronics. No books. Just outside “fun.” All the freakin’ time. The director called Dad when she found me in the library, which was this tiny room with damp books, their pages gone warped like when your fingers prune for being in the water too much. I was hidden in the closet trying to read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but the books kept making me sneeze. When she tried to get me to come out, I screamed at her and threw books. I kicked and tried to burrow deeper into the closet. Eventually she gave up and went away. Two hours later, Dad showed up. He didn’t look upset. He just asked, “Should we get fries on the way home?”

  That’s how Dad was.

  “Hey, Dylan,” a voice I don’t recognize calls to me. It’s my friends from that first night.

  I raise my hand to them.

  Drew and Lenny jog over. Drew claps me on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I’m obviously a brilliant conversationalist.

  “We’re staying here for a few days. There’s a nasty storm predicted for tonight,” Drew says. “Best to listen to Mother Nature and take a break from the trail when the weather gets like that.”

  I look around. There are a lot of hikers gathering. Boots sit outside of rooms, airing out. Socks also. I think about finding the Laundromat, but I want to catch up to Ghost. Does she know about the bad weather?

  “Trail’s already flooded in parts,” Drew says. “We’re waiting for Emerson to get himself human enough to go eat. Pirate’s cooking sloppy joes tonight. They’re supposed to be his specialty.”

  Lenny scowls as usual, but this time it feels like it’s directed at me, and honestly maybe he has a right. I’m rank from the trail, “ripe” as Mom used to say. He doesn’t say that, instead he says, “You better go clean your swassy ass up too. Pirate doesn’t serve scrubs.”

  “See you in a few,” I say and just like that, I’m back in my room getting ready to shower. I figure the faster I get ready, the faster I eat, and the more likely I’ll find Ghost or Rain Man. There’s this panicky feeling in my stomach when I think of her empty bag and her wrong clothes. It’s weird for me to care about other people so intensely. I mean, of course, I care for my family, but I almost never put their needs ahead of mine. Mostly because they are all older and wiser than I am, and they tell me that all the time. Also, there’s this birth order hierarchy in my family.

  All of the cousins are named in alphabetical order, so we all remember our place. First came Abby, then Brad (my brother), Christian, Dylan, and Emily. That’s why, Em and I, the cabooses of each family, only recognize the alphabet if it’s done backward. Dad was the one who showed us how the back of the train, the caboose, was the best car. He called us his cabooses, and I freaking loved that. I plug in my phone to charge and grab my wallet. Then, I’m out the door.

  I’m glad for the single room, but I’m wishing I had a reason to walk through the bunk areas to see if Ghost is there. I make my way outside where music is playing and the sweet smell of food is delivered by the cool mountain air. I shiver and pull my down vest closed. Is Ghost cold, wherever she is?

  It’s not hard to find the food, you just have to follow the smell. And the people, all shuffling toward this covered outdoor area with a big grill manned by some guy named Pirate. I’m handed a plate by a tan girl with straight blond hair. She’s got chapped lips with some kind of cream slathered on it. Lip gloss, I guess? It’s kind of distracting in a bad way. Still, I take the food because it looks and smells amazing. Drew gestures for me to come over, and I find a seat by them. He hands me a cold beer. “You probably could use this.”

  I take it, grateful for something to numb my mind, not to mention make me pay less attention to my aching feet, which are so happy to be in sandals and breathing.

  The first and last time I had a beer was with Dad. It was after one of the best swim meets I’d ever had. Sam and Taylor, their dads, and Dad and I sat out in our backyard, and Dad made us all hot dogs and hamburgers.

  “I don’t think one beer will hurt these elite athletes, do you, Stan?” Dad said to Taylor’s dad.

  “Nah. I’d say they’ve earned it.”

  Pride bloomed inside me. Or ma
ybe it was the alcohol.

  This time I drink a second. Then a third.

  I reach into my pocket and hand Drew money for my share. He waves it off. “My version of trail magic, dude.”

  We walk by tents that are set up outside, and I look for Ghost, but I don’t see her orange and blue tent. I breathe out. My eyes roam the campground, but she’s not here.

  Emerson smacks me on my arm. “Dude. Dylan’s pink blazing.”

  They all crack up, making me feel like I’m in middle school again, a pack of idiots making fun of me.

  Instead of just standing here feeling like a weirdo and getting mad, I ask, “What?”

  “You’re trying to meet up with a lady.”

  “Or a guy. That’s cool too.”

  “Oh. Yeah. No,” I say.

  “Ha. Which one is it?” Emerson asks.

  “Neither. I’m just worried about someone.”

  “Is this someone a girl or a guy?”

  “A girl.”

  Drew raises his beer to his mouth, drains the bottle. Throws it in a recycle bin we pass.

  Then I spot Rain Man. He’s sitting outside his navy blue tent, looking through a book.

  “I’ll be back,” I say. “Gonna go ask Rain Man something.”

  I’m not two feet in front of him before Rain Man looks up. His smile spreads wide. “Hey, Wild Thing!”

  “You know Rain Man?” Drew asks catching up with me. Then he stares at me. “Wild Thing?”

  “My trail name.”

  “Introduce me to your friends, Wild Thing.”

  I freeze. Names are the worst. I can never remember them. But I don’t have to worry, because Drew puts out his hand, “Gator.”

  I did not know that.

  Lenny says, “Pepsi.”

  Emerson says, “Emerson.”

  Rain Man nods. “Nice to meet you all.” He motions to the area in front of his tent. “Pop a squat.”

  We do.