The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  “Hey, how are you doing?” I call into her tent.

  “Uh.”

  “Is that a good uh or a bad one?” I listen outside the door of her tent. “Hey, can I come in? I’ve got soup, and I’m starting some coffee.”

  “Okay.”

  I stick my head in. She’s buried under the covers and still shivering in her dry clothes.

  “We need to check your ankle.”

  “It’s okay. It hurts like crap, but it’s not broken.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know, okay?” She shivers some more.

  “What about your ribs? Your lungs? Let me check.”

  She pulls the covers up higher. “No. I’m fine.”

  I put out my hand, palm up like surrender. “Look, I’m not trying anything. I promise. We have to be sure you didn’t break a rib or anything.”

  I’m holding the soup, and there’s really no room to put it down, so I’m hovering, my butt hanging out of the tent, which makes me almost laugh. If Emily was here, she’d definitely laugh at how ridiculous I must look, but laughing for no apparent reason in this difficult moment might piss off Ghost. It would probably piss off most normal people, so I don’t.

  “I’m sure I didn’t break a rib. And I’m starved. So the soup sounds good.”

  “It’s from Rain Man. Homemade ramen.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That sounds amazing. And not only because I spent the last four hours stuck under a tree.” She pushes herself up, and I watch her face and listen carefully. She makes noises like she’s sore, like Dad did after running or working out too hard at the gym. But I don’t hear any acute pain noises.

  I hand her the soup. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen, also sent by Rain Man.”

  I leave her tent and open my backpack. I grab the bag of Liqui-Gels and bring the coffee with two packs of sugar, because I’ve got no idea how she takes her coffee. She’s sipping the soup. “Rain Man is the best.”

  “Agreed. Here.” I hand her two Liqui-Gels.

  She nods. “Thanks. Really.” Some color has returned to her cheeks.

  I hand her the coffee. “This too, if you can.”

  She holds up her hand when I try to hand her the sugars. “I take it black.”

  Like my heart. Dad’s laughter comes to me.

  I must have made a face because she asks, “Did I say something wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. My dad did also, but then he’d say, ‘I take it black. Like my heart.’ Which was a stupid joke because my dad was the nicest person on the planet.” This is the most I’ve talked about Dad, especially to a stranger, since he died. I wouldn’t even speak with that counselor. Or the guidance counselor. Or my behavior therapist. Nobody. Just this girl.

  “That’s sweet. Your dad sounds great.” She brings the cup to her lips. “God, I love coffee.”

  I put my hand over my heart like she did when I talked about the Where the Wild Things Are.

  She laughs. After a couple of sips she says, “I’m really tired.”

  “You need anything else?”

  She waves me away. “Nah. I’m good.”

  “Okay. Good night…” I almost call her Ghost, but I’m not sure she’ll like that.

  “Sophie.”

  I smile. “That’s a nice name. Good night, Sophie.”

  “Good night, Wild…”

  “Dylan.”

  “Wild Dylan?”

  “Just Dylan.”

  She hands me the cup and her soup bowl and rolls over.

  Before I even make it all the way outside, I can hear her breaths shift into sleep breathing. The woods are quiet with no one else here. Only Ghost and me and the sound of the drizzling rain. I heat another packet of food, this time the chili, and drink the rest of Sophie’s coffee. It’s weird that drinking out of the same cup and using the same bowl doesn’t freak me out. Instead it makes me feel sort of warm inside.

  I rinse the dishes and pack out our trash, and then get ready for bed myself.

  By the time my body hits my sleeping bag, I’m this weird combination of exhausted but too hyped to sleep. I look at the ceiling of my tent, listen for sounds outside that seem alarming. I hear none. My eyes shift toward Sophie’s tent, which is still dark. Should I go check on her? Should I go see if she’s okay? I roll over, face her tent full on.

  Then this weird thought comes out of nowhere but hits me hard. I could go through her backpack while she’s sleeping. I can almost hear Emily’s voice urging me on. We rummaged through Brad, Abby, and Christian’s stuff all the time. But they sort of asked for it, lording over us with their earlier-in-the-alphabet birthright and all. What a weird family. But this time, those battles and Emily and my tiny mutinies feel fun and sweet and make me miss them all more. Even the older cousins.

  Back to Sophie’s backpack. My curious nature sort of demands I act, but she trusted me with her real name. It seems like she doesn’t do that very often, so I don’t want to break her trust. Instead, I stare at the ceiling of my tent, thinking about the girl sleeping in the tent next to me. About how I’m changing my ways, even though leopards aren’t supposed to be able to change their spots. I think about Dad and how he’d be proud of what I did tonight, and that I’m glad that, wherever he is, he knows that. And all of that makes not breaking into her backpack and reading her secrets feel like the right choice. Mostly.

  Chapter 12

  The sound of sobbing outside my tent wakes me. I sit up and listen hard. I’m in the dark, there’s crying. I hear crying. But that doesn’t make sense. Does it? My eyes strain to see past the thick darkness. I try to force my vision to make out details, but none surface. I push on my head, which feels like it’s stubbornly guarding secrets, like where the hell I am, what I’m doing, and who could be crying. Then I realize. I’m in my tent. On the Appalachian Trail. With Sophie. Oh crap. She’s the one crying.

  I race to unzip my tent, and go to hers.

  “Sophie. Are you okay?”

  She’s mumbling and crying. I can’t make out what she’s trying to say, if she’s even using words.

  “I’m coming in.” I don’t wait for her answer before pushing open the flap of the tent.

  Sophie doesn’t look up. She’s curled, the sleeping bag, blanket wrapped around her. “Sophie?”

  She shivers and mumbles some more, and I know that’s not good. I put my hand on her forehead. She’s freezing. I should have made her put on a hat. “Sophie, do you have on socks?”

  She doesn’t answer, just curls up tighter.

  “Hey, Sophie. We’ve got to warm you up, or I’m going to have call for help on that sat phone Rain Man gave me. Okay?”

  She nods, at least I think she nods. I take it as a nod, so I press a little further. “I’m going to my tent to get you a hat and my sleeping bag. I’m going to hold you. I won’t try anything, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you’ve got to warm up. This is dangerous.”

  Sophie whimpers and I don’t know if she understands what I’m saying, but I get going, because all of those websites I read discussed hypothermia. This is serious.

  It takes me five seconds to get the stuff I need and return to her tent. I bend down and put the hat on her head. She doesn’t fight me, and I’m glad for that. Next I unzip my sleeping bag. “I’m going to lie down next to you, Sophie. I’m going to warm you up. Okay?”

  She says something I don’t understand, but I hold open her sleeping bag, and cram my body in next to hers, trying really hard not to hurt her ankle. I reach behind me and throw my sleeping bag over me, wrapping my arms around her shivering body. Emily always said I was unnaturally warm, like my body temperature ran higher than everyone else’s. Sam said it’s because of my swimmer’s metabolism. I don’t care why I’ve got this fire in me, I’m just glad I can use it to warm Sophie
.

  My body wrapped around hers, I put my hands over hers. They’re so cold. She shakes and shakes. “You want me to tell you a story?”

  She nods.

  “We’ll start with Where the Wild Things Are and go from there.” I start to recite the book. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but her body relaxes. I go all the way through that story and half of The Death of Yorik Mortwell, before she stops shivering. “That’s it, Sophie, you’re warming up. Good job.”

  We stay like this, me telling her the stories that are cataloged in my brain for no good reason except that I read them so many times, the words are now imprinted in my mind. I never thought my memory was so useful before, but now I’m glad I have it.

  I’m not sure what time it is, but almost three quarters of the way through Yorik Mortwell, Sophie’s hands are warm and she’s breathing easy, sleepy breaths. I hold her and finish the story, not that I think she’s listening, but because I like to finish what I start.

  I guess I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, the sun is out. I’m not sure I should move, because I don’t want to wake Sophie, but she says, “I’m awake.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I unwrap and extract myself from the sleeping bag. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Definitely. Not sure about the ankle though.”

  “I hope you’re not mad I stayed with you last night. You were so cold…”

  “You saved my life. Thank you.”

  “Do you think you need a hospital? Rain Man gave me a sat phone. I could call for help.”

  “No. I think I just need to rest.”

  “And to eat. Rain Man sent meals.”

  Sophie covers her stomach. “I’m starved.”

  “I’ll go make breakfast. Oatmeal or chili?”

  She laughs. “Better start with oatmeal. But I don’t have…”

  “I’ve got tons. I picked up a resupply package in Neels Gap.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll save me from a snake or a bobcat or something.”

  “Dylan? Thanks.”

  I nod. “That oatmeal is not going to make itself.”

  She smiles and wraps herself tight in the blankets.

  Outside, it’s barely drizzling, but it’s cold and the moisture hangs in the air. It’s nice to have something to do. Make oatmeal. That’s pretty easy.

  I fire up the stove and pour the oatmeal and water into a pot. I wait for it to cook while I warm up some coffee. Enough for both of us. Sophie peeks out of the tent. “You need help?”

  “Nah. I’m almost done.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna…” she points to the woods, shovel in hand.

  Is she going to bury another note? I focus on the task at hand, trying not to watch where she’s heading. She’s back in a couple of minutes. Her face looks skinny and pale. Her eyes are sunken. All of which makes me worried. “You need to eat.” I hand her the oatmeal and a mug of coffee.

  She sits on a rock. “Thanks. What about you?”

  Has she eaten enough to have to dig a hole to poop in? Or did she just bury another note?

  “Dylan?”

  I must be staring off into space. I do that sometimes. “Oh, right. I have to wait for the bowl and mug.”

  “You can use mine.” She points to her pack. “It’s in the front part.”

  “I didn’t want to go into your pack without asking.”

  She nods. “Oatmeal’s good. Coffee’s better.”

  “It’s instant.” I return with her dishes. I stir the sugar and fake creamer in mine and start to eat my oatmeal while my coffee mixes. “I would kill for a mug of fresh brewed.”

  “So, Wild Thing…”

  “We’re back to trail names?”

  “No. But do you realize told me your entire story with that name?”

  I scrape my spoon along the right side of the bowl, take a bite of oatmeal, scrape the left side, take another bite.

  She watches, slightly amused, like Emily would. “First of all, most people are given a trail name. Did you know that?”

  I laugh. “Nope. I guess I screwed it up already then.” For whatever reason that feels so funny, how I could screw up the simplest things.

  “Wait. I don’t mean everyone does it that way. Most people are given trail names based on a habit or something.”

  I take another spoonful of oatmeal and listen to the sound of Ghost reminding me of my failings, only I don’t mind at all. It’s almost like being with Emily. Almost.

  “Some people do give themselves a trail name. Like you did.” She salutes me with her spoon.

  “Yes. I’m very much in command of my trail name-ness.”

  “Back to what I was saying. If you named yourself after that book, you’re essentially saying you’ve run away from home because you’re mad at your mother.”

  She’s uncomfortably close to the truth. Scraping my spoon along the side of the bowl, I reply, “Not necessarily.”

  “I’m pretty certain about this. When you choose your trail name, it’s about your mission, why you’re hiking.”

  “Always?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then I’d be Max, not Wild Thing.”

  She smiles and raises her spoon in protest this time, and I’m struck with the number of different ways the same gesture can be interpreted. The smallest nuance, this time the emphatic stature of her hand, indicating firmness of feeling. “Nice try, but Max is a wild thing. He’s the original wild thing. His mother calls him that. Remember?”

  I take a sip of coffee. “I remember.”

  “So?”

  “So… I could also be paying tribute to the song.”

  She has to cover her mouth not to spray oatmeal with her laugh. “Yeah. No.”

  “Maybe I’m the exception to the rule,” I offer.

  “Everybody thinks they are, but most people aren’t. Or there would be no rules.”

  I wrap my arms around my stomach. “Shudder.”

  She laughs again.

  “So what about your trail name?” I ask, then wish I could take the words back. I’m not sure she likes that people call her Ghost.

  She shrugs. “It’s as good a name as any. I am a ghost.”

  I get chills when she says that. “Why?”

  She rests her cheek in her hand. Her gaze goes to the treetops. “Because I’ve disappeared from my life.”

  I think about the notes she’s buried. I wish I could ask her about them. I wish I could find an excuse to slip away and find her most recent graveyard. Instead I simply ask, “Why?”

  She looks at me. “You tell me your story first.”

  “Yeah, maybe not.” I stare at the ground.

  So she says, “I know. Let’s analyze other people.”

  I perk up a bit. “My friend Gator.”

  “Okay. Gator wants others to think he is strong and fearless, like the reptile.”

  “Pepsi.”

  “Someone who doesn’t want to grow up. Pepsi is hiding from responsibility, for sure.”

  I smile and poke at my oatmeal.

  “What?” she asks.

  “You might be right.”

  “Might? I was right about the bear, wasn’t I?”

  “And I was right about following you.”

  I think maybe I’ve gone too far, then a slow smile forms on her face and she says, “Touché.”

  “Do Rain Man.”

  Sophie takes a drink of her coffee, and looks at her hands, quiet for a moment. “Don’t know. I think his name may not be trail specific.”

  “He’s the exception?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “My mom and Dad and I used to hike together all the time. S
ince I was little. Rain Man and his wife always hiked too.”

  “His wife? What happened to her?”

  “She died last year.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Sophie shakes her head. She wipes a tear, and I figure this is a conversation that can wait. So instead I ask, “What was she like?”

  “She was tough. Sweet. Funny. Everything he deserved.”

  It’s weird to be feeling so sad for this man I’ve just met. I think of Mom. About how hard it must be for her without Dad. I never really thought about it that way before. My phone is in my backpack. I could take it out right now and call her. Sophie’s eyes trail mine and she must figure out that I’m thinking about someone back home because she says, “I can give you privacy.”

  Privacy. The word rolls around in my brain. I think about calling Mom. Should I? Would she listen to me? Or just be so angry she’d simply demand to know my whereabouts and send the police?

  Sophie says, “I’m really tired.”

  “You need to sleep. You look kind of gray.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Your lips don’t have a lot of color. That sounds creepy, but I mean…”

  “I know what you mean. Do you mind if we don’t hike today? Can we do a zero day here at the campsite?”

  “It’ll be my first zero day,” I say. The concept sort of surprises me, and I know without Sophie asking for us to stay here, I would have just gotten going like every other day. Not because I like hiking that much, just because it seems like on an Appalachian hike, you should hike. And now that we are going to rest and stay here, even though it’s completely against my nature, I’m kind of looking forward to it.

  “You have more books? I liked when you read to me last night.”

  I blush. “I always have books.”

  “Aren’t they too heavy to pack?”

  I laugh. “Nah. What do you feel like?”

  She points to her tent. “Can we go in there so I can lay down?”

  “Sure.”

  She gives me a wary look.

  “You don’t have to worry. I swear.”

  “Good. Thanks.” She opens her tent and crawls in.