All Over the Map

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

I keep my eyes on the road. Every mile gets prettier as the highway winds past a small town peppered with outlying lodges that could each be their own postcard, and we enter another scrubby stretch of road with a couple of cars ahead.

“Sequoia National Park Ash Mountain Entrance Station,” Mia reads aloud. “That’s a kiosk up ahead.”

“That means we have to pay.” My stomach sinks. Every stop we make, every taco, every refueling, all chip away at my bank account.

The prices come into view. “Thirty-five dollars for our carload,” I read aloud.

“Not bad,” Gabe says.

“Not bad for the guy who isn’t paying.” I don’t mean to snap, but I can’t keep the edge out of my voice.

He leans forward to pin my gaze in the mirror. “You mean for the guy who couldn’t pay even if he wanted to because his wallet got stolen?”

I don’t answer. He’s right. There’s nothing to say.

“You were so excited about this at lunch,” Mia says. “I mean, it’s the biggest tree in America. One of the biggest in the whole world. It has a name. General Sherman. You love the dumb heritage oak on the school lawn. This doesn’t seem like something you should miss.”

It’s the roots. That’s why I love trees. The taller the better because the deeper the roots go. It’s not like my obsession is a mystery. “You’re right,” I say. “We’re going.” I can always switch to the cheaper gas and skip snacks if things get tighter.

When we reach the station at the entrance, the ranger manning it pokes her head out and smiles. “Getting here kind of late in the day, guys. The park closes in less than two hours.”

“Will we have time to see the tree?” If it’s going to cost us $35, it better be worth it.

“Sure,” she says. “And don’t worry, your admission is good for seven days, so you can come back tomorrow on the same pass. Good at King’s Canyon too.”

“I don’t know,” I say glancing over at Mia. “We have to get on the road right after this, and this isn’t in my budget.”

“Your trip, your choice,” she says with a shrug.

“You’re only coming to see General Sherman?” the ranger interrupts. She’s youngish, probably not thirty yet, and blonde with a friendly face.

“Yes. Kind of an impulse. But I can’t justify paying that much for such a short peek. Sorry about that. I’ll pull around and head out.” I’m irritated with myself for the wasted detour.

“Don’t worry about it,” the ranger says. She takes a quick glance at the empty road behind us and leans closer. “This late in the day, just go on through. It won’t hurt anything.”

“Really?” I say, hardly daring to believe my luck.

“Really. Just promise me you’re not up to shenanigans, and I’ll put up the gate.”

“No shenanigans!”

She gives us a nod. “Enjoy. It’s about thirty minutes ahead of you. Normally you’d have to park and take a shuttle from the museum, but the lot closest to the trailhead should be emptying out now. Just pass the museum and watch for signs to the next parking lot.” She raises the barricade arm and waves us through.

We drive another eighteen miles and the sequoias grow taller and thicker as the signs point us toward General Sherman. I spot the museum the ranger told us to pass, and I’m already signaling to turn in when Gabe mutters a soft, “Whoa.”

By far the biggest tree we’ve seen so far stands in the middle of the museum parking lot. A handful of other cars litter the lot, but I don’t see any people around. I park and we all climb out to examine the tree more closely. It’s huge. Bigger than huge. You could stack at least ten of the Sandovals’ house on top of each other and it still wouldn’t be as tall.

A giant burn mark streaks down the front of it. The mark alone has to be at least three times as tall as I am. The tree soars so high it hurts my neck to peer up at it.

“This is called the Sentinel Tree,” Mia says, reading a sign. She gapes at it. “If this isn’t even the main attraction, I can’t wait to see what General Sherman looks like.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Gabe is already heading back to the Jeep.

“Wait,” I say, and he pauses. “We shouldn’t rush past this awesome thing because there might be something even cooler down the road. We have a cool thing in front of us right now.”

“I agree,” he says, walking to stand beside me and stare up at the Sentinel. “But you don’t have a lot of time if you want to see Sherman.”

“Stand in front so I can take a picture,” orders Mia. “Then you can study it later.” I hurry to the short section of fence directly in front of the burn mark. She holds up the camera, then frowns at the screen. “Missing something. Get in there, Gabe.” He strolls over to stand beside me. “Good. You can see the scale better. Except this is a boring picture. Do something.”

“Like what?” I ask, but Gabe throws his arm around my neck and pulls me against him while he flashes a peace sign.

“Is this ironic and goofy enough for you?” he asks.

“Smile, Kendall,” Mia says. My face has frozen in surprise at finding myself tucked against Gabe’s side. Goosebumps break out on my arms again, which annoys me. A lot. I swallow and steal a look at him, but he’s staring at the phone with a fake smolder, so I do the same and give Mia my best duckface. “Got it,” she says.

I slide away from Gabe, take my phone back, and get us back on the road until we reach the car park the ranger mentioned and find the trail to the tree. It’s wide and paved, gradually descending and winding for a half mile through shady woods full of birds and squirrels, until it curves and opens up to a clearing, and suddenly, I see it.

The tree.

“Whoa.” It’s my turn to say it as I stop stock still on the trail, barely noticing the trickle of visitors passing us in the other direction.

“Whoa,” Mia echoes. “That’s insane.”

We passed giant sequoias on the trail all the way down, but General Sherman soars above them, the red of his bark deeper than the other trees. Several trees near him are almost as tall, but none are as wide. If the tree by the museum was huge, he is massive.

Gabe wanders to the information display, and Mia runs to the other side of the tree to examine him from there. I head straight for the low rail fence that surrounds him, stopping again to stare up. The patch of sky above is the washed-out blue of late afternoon, and I drop my eyes to the trunk again, trying to understand it.

The texture reminds me of a shriveled ginger root, wrinkled and whorled. Its lowest burl is still taller than my head. I wish I could touch him, but the closest the rail fence ever gets is still just beyond arm’s reach, even a long arm.

If the oldest man in the world could be turned into a tree, this is exactly what I would expect him to look like.

Well, if he were a giant.

“It’s over two thousand years old,” Gabe says, coming up on my left. “That’s pretty cool.”

“How can anything live that long? It must have a massive root system.”

“Weirdly, no,” he says. “Their roots are shallow. That’s why they fence it off, so people can’t pack down the soil around the roots and keep it from getting nutrients.” He pulls out his phone as he talks, looking something up. “It’s water that does it. That’s why they have shallow roots. They need to soak up every drop of rain. And then I guess their bark is really good at keeping out insects and resisting fire—” He looks at me and breaks off. “Why do you look bummed?”

I stare up at the tree, then down to the roots again. “It’s dumb.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, slowly. “Tell me why you look disappointed. I promise not to make fun of you.”

I shove my hands in the pockets of my shorts and knock the fence rail with my shoe a few times. I don’t want to explain that I’ve had a life metaphor implode and it makes me sad.

“Barrows. Come on.”

“It’s no big deal.” I stare at the trunk, unable to make eye contact with him. I haven’t been able to since the braid. “I’ve always had this thing about trees. Like how they grow strong because of deep roots, and ever since Mia mentioned the world’s biggest tree, this whole time we’ve been driving, I’ve kind of been thinking that it’s like this . . .” I pause to search for the word.

“Symbol?” Gabe suggests.

“Sign,” I say. “A sign that this tree happens to be on my way to meet my sister, a symbol of finding my own deep roots. And it turns out the roots are shallow.”

“Maybe there’s a better metaphor here.”

“Yeah. Like I need a crazy-thick outer shell if I want to survive.”

“But this guy didn’t just survive.” Gabe nods toward General Sherman. “He thrived. So maybe the lesson is that sequoias always grow in groves. Always surrounded by other trees. Maybe that’s your metaphor.”

His nearness distracts me. I want to stare at him, keep him talking so I can watch his lips move. I turn away from the fence. “Maybe,” I say. “I’m going to go see if I can find any new metaphors from Mia’s angle.”

I don’t glance back, but I can feel Gabe’s eyes on me until I disappear from his view on the other side with Mia.

The weight of his eyes is not my imagination. But I don’t know what it means.

I only know what I want it to mean, but I’ve been dead wrong about him before.