Meet Me at the Summit

by Mandi Lynn

  “It’s just the laptop they took?” Lori asks.

  I’d done some research on my phone before calling Lori, and it turns out only 13% of car break-in crimes are solved, so I consider the laptop gone for good. I’m lying in bed, my phone on speaker, staring up at the ceiling as we talk.

  “Yeah, the police said the bus is bold and that makes it a target, I guess.”

  Lori sits long enough that all I hear is her breathing. “I’m sorry, Marly,” she finally says.

  “There’s nothing to do now but sit and wait,” I say, pacing around the room. I haven’t eaten much today besides a bagel from my stash of food, which is running low anyway. I’ll have to go out soon to restock, but for now the plan is to stay in the motel.

  “When will it be fixed?”

  “I don’t know. Once it is though, I’m going to drive straight home. Maybe rent cheap hotel rooms to sleep in, so I don’t have to sleep in the bus overnight.”

  “Wait, what?” Lori says, her voice a mix of surprise and worry.

  “I don’t want to sleep in the bus anymore,” I say. In my head, there are thousands of reasons why not to sleep in the bus. If it’s too ostentatious and paints me as a target, I don’t want it.

  “But, Marly,” Lori says, pleading.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I say, ending the conversation there.

  Lori pauses. “Okay, you’ll call me?”

  “I will.” I hang up, keeping myself locked in the room for the rest of the day.

  Between Lori and Dylan, I barely have a break in silence throughout the next two days. They’re both constantly asking me questions about what I’m up to, and if I got an update from the police and the mechanic, but neither of them asks about the trip.

  I end up ordering pizza and having it delivered to my room in an attempt to stay within these four walls. After a couple of days eating delivery, I give in and make a trip to the grocery store to get some actual food.

  I make my grocery trip as quick as possible, calling an Uber to bring me back to the motel.

  “This room?” the Uber driver asks, pulling up in front of my door. The same door Dylan is standing in front of, his face buried in his phone. He’s wearing a huge backpack, the type you’d use for an overnight camping trip, and it’s stuffed just enough for it to be able to zip closed. I blink, assuming I’m seeing things.

  “Yeah, this one,” I say, staring at Dylan.

  He glances up when the Uber parks, and smiles when he sees me. I get out of the car and move to the trunk, pulling my groceries out from the back. I glance at Dylan as he walks over to me, taking the bags from my hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, face stunned and mouth wide as I walk side by side with Dylan to the door of the motel room.

  “Want to open the door, so we can unload these? I’ve been standing here for a while.”

  I pull my room key from my pocket and unlock it quickly, letting Dylan in. He puts the groceries on the little desk in the room, and all I can do is stare at him, trying to fit a puzzle together when I don’t have all the pieces.

  “How?” I ask, my voice almost a laugh.

  He takes his time to put my fruit and meat in the mini-fridge, and by the time he turns around, my mouth is still hanging open, and he’s grinning widely at me.

  “Lori Facebook stalked me,” is all he says, walking past me and sitting on the bed.

  “What?” I say.

  “Well, I was already thinking about coming out to visit you to keep you company. And then Lori messaged me on Facebook one day, saying you wanted to go home, and that I needed to convince you to continue your trip. I told her I wanted to fly out and visit, and well… she managed to get your exact location—” he says, looking around the room and smiling at the bright ’70s décor.

  I laugh at myself, realizing now how obvious it was when Lori wouldn’t stop asking where exactly I was staying, including my room number. “She said she wanted to know in case I went missing so she could file a police report,” I say, shaking my head.

  “For someone who watches so many true crime shows, I was surprised she wanted to give me your room number,” Dylan says. “Anyway, I figured I’d start my travels in Missouri instead of New Hampshire.” He sits back on the bed, his hands holding himself up.

  “I’m leaving once the bus is fixed,” I say, looking down at the ground to avoid seeing if I’m disappointing him with my answer. Seeing Dylan here is about the last thing I expected, especially after Stacey specifically told me not to assume he would follow me. But that’s exactly what he’s doing.

  “I don’t care about the road trip,” Dylan says, his voice low. “I came to make sure you’re okay.”

  I glance up, and Dylan’s eyes are pleading in a way that can only mean he’s genuine about what he’s saying. Crossing the room, I sit next to him on the bed, our arms brushing up against each other. “I don’t think I can do it anymore,” I tell him, shaking my head. I don’t want to cry, but I can feel the tears bubbling there under the surface, waiting to spill over the edge. “I want to keep going in the bus, but I don’t think I can.”

  In truth, I was just beginning to fall in love with the bus. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t travel alone, but there’s no denying the love of being able to move from place to place to explore new corners of the world.

  “Don’t think about it too much right now.” He shifts to wrap an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I lean into his body, relief flooding over me, knowing that at least for now, I’m not alone. I fight back that cloud of anxiety hovering over me. The thought of going back in the bus terrifies me, and I’m not altogether sure how to make it feel safe again.

  “How’d you get here?” I ask, finally pulling away just enough to see his face.

  “Plane,” he says. “Tickets are cheap when flights are trying to get rid of seats last minute.”

  “What about your job?” I ask.

  “Laptop is in my backpack. I’ll have to get some work done tonight though, if that’s okay with you?” he says, smiling.

  I smile back with a nod.

  We watch movies for the next couple of hours. Or at least, I watch movies. Dylan sits on the other side of the room, his laptop open at the tiny motel desk while I lie in bed watching TV. We aren’t talking, but just knowing he’s there puts me at ease. At least until I get a phone call from the mechanic that’s working on the bus.

  “Hello, Miss Price? I’ve got your bus here. We just got the new window in and finished installing it. You’re all set to come and pick it up.” His voice is chipper.

  “Oh, thanks,” I say, my own voice less than enthusiastic.

  Dylan sits up, leaning against the headboard, watching me and piecing the bits of the conversation together.

  “Did you want to pick it up today or tomorrow? We close in the next hour or so, so you’d have to come soon if you want to pick it up today,” the man says.

  I look over to Dylan, and he mouths the word “Now,” closing his laptop as I watch him.

  “Um, can I pick it up now?” I ask, not eager at all.

  “Fantastic. See you then,” the man says, hanging up the phone.

  “I’ll order an Uber,” Dylan says. “What’s the address?”

  “100 Front Street,” I say, getting up and turning the TV off. “Why do you want to go get it now? We can just wait until tomorrow.”

  “Because tomorrow we’re going for a hike, and it’s easier without needing to worry about an Uber,” he says, looking up at me with a smile that leaves me with a pit in my stomach.

  Chapter 21

  Dylan insisted on sleeping in the bus that night. I told him over and over that we could share a bed, but he deflected it with jokes about making sure the bus was burglar-proof, which wasn’t all that funny. Every now and then, I look out the window to the bus to see
the lights of his laptop still making the bus glow. He left the room around 9 p.m. to finish up some work for the night, and I fell asleep an hour or so after that, the TV lulling me to sleep.

  It’s a knock on my door that I wake up to, and when I answer it, Dylan has his backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “You ready to hike?” he asks.

  I’m holding onto the door and laugh a little at his enthusiasm because I’m still in my pajamas, and the only reason I’m even out of bed is because he knocked on the door.

  “Just let me get dressed,” I say, letting him into the room. I pull clothes out from one of the drawers I had organized my stuff into and get changed quickly in the bathroom.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, pulling my hair up into a ponytail as I walk out.

  “An easy and short hike in Elephant Rocks State Park,” he says.

  I raise my eyebrows and grab my hiking bag off the floor so I can fill my water bottle. “Elephant Rocks?”

  “They’re rocks that look like they’re lined up like a bunch of circus elephants or something. It’s supposed to be nice. Easy, but nice,” Dylan says.

  “All right, let’s do it,” I say.

  Dylan hands me my camera, and we head out the door, Dylan taking the driver’s seat to lead us to the trailhead.

  It’s a longer trip than I’d anticipated. Usually, I’d never drive over an hour for a short trail that will take less time to hike than it does to get there. But it’s a beautiful state park. The trail is paved in most parts, making it wheelchair accessible, and there are a lot of people spread out enjoying their day exploring.

  There are rock formations everywhere, and at some points, the trail goes straight through, rocks on both sides of you. Then comes the part with the elephants. Of course, they don’t actually look like elephants, but the boulders are massive and sitting atop a hill, all of them lined up in a row like they’re about to perform for a circus. There are a few families with kids running through the rocks, and Dylan leads the way to one of the massive boulders, climbing on top and offering a hand to pull me up beside him. We both sit on the boulder with a view of the lake that nestles perfectly around the park.

  “How’d you find this?” I ask. I know for a fact it wasn’t on my hiking list that Lori now has memorized, so she couldn’t have told Dylan about it.

  “This is one of the top suggestions for hiking in this area.” Dylan pulls his backpack off. He opens it up to reveal a bag of trail mix.

  “Barely worked up a sweat, but I’d say it was worth the trip,” I say, dipping a hand into the bag when he offers it.

  “I imagine you’re a bit harder to impress these days with all the wild hikes you’ve been on.”

  “I know what I like,” I say.

  Dylan laughs as he leans back, propping himself up with his hands behind him. We soak in the moment, just the two of us, without saying a word. There’s a breeze in the air that takes the edge off the hot summer day.

  “How long are you staying?” I ask, more curious for myself than for what Dylan’s schedule looks like.

  He pushes himself up until he’s sitting straight again, facing me.

  “I guess that depends on a few things,” he says.

  I wait for him to say more, but he just watches me until I break away from his gaze. “And what’s that?” I say, looking off at the lake.

  “When are you getting back in the bus?” he says.

  I meet his gaze again, and he’s waiting for me to say something. I know exactly what he wants me to say, which is that he wants me to get back in the bus tonight and drive off to the next camping location right away. After all, we both have somewhere to be in a week and a half.

  “I mean, I guess I could start driving home tomorrow. That’s when the motel reservation runs out. I was going to renew it if you were staying in town for longer.” He never said exactly when he was going home, and part of me fears that him flying out here means that he can’t come to New Hampshire for our hike. It’s a question I don’t want to ask.

  “I’m not staying in town,” he says, and I try to ignore the drop in spirit that comes with that information. “I’m actually on my way to New Hampshire,” Dylan says, giving me a sly grin. “I wanted to drive, not fly. You see, there’s this girl I’m supposed to meet up with to go on a hike. But I thought it would be more,” he looks up to the sky, letting the words hang in the air before turning his gaze back to me, “romantic to drive there.”

  “Stop,” I say, even though I’m smiling. “You’re not actually going to do that.”

  “I think I might, but it really depends on the girl, if she’ll let me hitchhike with her,” he says, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  I’m looking down at the ground at our feet, but I can feel his gaze on me. I lift my head and play along. “What would the girl need to do?”

  He leans back, pleased I’m playing along. “Well, she had a really bad experience with her bus being broken into. I don’t think she feels safe sleeping in it anymore.”

  “Or traveling alone,” I add, quickly.

  “Or traveling alone,” he agrees. “Which is why I thought it would be a good idea to travel with her. Because I know she can travel alone, but I’d feel better if I knew she was safe.”

  “But it might not help the girl feel safe,” I say.

  He bites his lip and scoots a little closer to me, so our shoulders are practically touching. “I can be persuasive sometimes,” he says, looking at me in a way that would make most girls swoon. Me included.

  I shake my head, and I watch him as he moves to sit closer. All I have to do is shift my body to lean against his chest, but I keep that tiny gap between us. We haven’t kissed since he flew out to visit me. It’s something we’re clearly both aware of, and the only thing stopping it from happening is me. Maybe it’s because part of me fears Dylan is only here out of pity and that our relationship still has an expiration date. Or maybe he’s here because he misses the novelty of travel and meeting new people. When that thought hits me, I push it away.

  I spend a long time looking at the surrounding rocks, and I can admit that if I let my imagination go wild, the boulders do look like elephants marching in a row. It’s easy to imagine a little circus in front of us, so I let that dream take me.

  “I want to finish the rest of the road trip with you,” Dylan says after a long silence.

  I glance over, trying to unwind what’s going through his head. When I don’t respond, he continues.

  “You asked how long I was staying, and the answer is, I’m not going home for a while,” Dylan says, but then he looks down and shifts until he’s facing me. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m staying with you. I want you to get home without having to buy hotel rooms along the way.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.

  “I don’t,” he says. “But I want to.”

  I open my mouth to say something but then pause. I can’t make sense of Dylan or what he’s thinking. I have so many questions but can’t get myself to say the words. It’s not the questions I’m afraid of, but the answers Dylan might give me.

  I push myself up from the rock until I’m sitting straight. “Have you…” I regret the words before they even come out. “… dated a lot of girls?”

  Dylan’s put off by the subject right away, his eyebrows scrunching in as he watches me. “I mean, I guess it depends how many you consider a lot,” he says.

  Yup. Bad question to ask, but now I’ve dug myself into this hole, so might as well just go for it.

  “I was talking to Stacey, and she said you’ve dated a lot of girls, and then you just break up with them out of nowhere.”

  “You talked to Stacey?” Dylan sits up beside me, eyebrows raised, and he looks off to the side, running his hand over his face.

  “She wanted to know if we w
ere going out,” I admit.

  Dylan doesn’t respond, and for too long, he’s sitting with his hands running over his face. He’s leaning away from me, looking off into the distance. I can feel the anger radiating off his body, but I’m not sure if it’s toward Stacey or me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to think of a way to change the subject again.

  My voice breaks him away from the anger, and he turns back to me. “I’ve gone out on dates with a lot of girls, but I can count on one hand how many of those relationships were serious. I was traveling a lot, and at first I tried to make it work, but long-distance was always an issue, so I broke it off.”

  I sit there, hands curled in my lap, looking at my feet. I didn’t want to have this conversation. If long-distance was always the issue, then why were we sitting here now, two people who are doomed to have a long-distance relationship?

  “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at Stacey,” Dylan says.

  I glance up to find him watching me, his mouth turned down.

  I know Stacey overstepped, but I can’t help but be thankful because she was right. Maybe she didn’t have all the facts, but she was right at the core of things: Dylan can’t do long-distance relationships. After already having lost so much in the past year, I can’t afford to grow attached to Dylan just to say goodbye again.

  “If that was always the issue, what makes you think we’ll work?” I ask.

  We’ve never talked about the future. Most days we’ve lived in a blissful bubble, ignoring the fact that our homes are so far apart.

  Dylan glances over, surprise painted on his face as if he’d never thought about it. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I would say I didn’t try to make it work before, but that’s not it. I did try.”

  I look down, sure at this point there’s nothing that can be said to fix us.

  “With the other girls, I was the one traveling. When I left to go to the next place, I just wanted to enjoy that new place. It was hard to keep up with someone who lived in a different state. I was always busy, and I couldn’t be on the phone as much as I needed to be.”