9. Emma
9
Emma
‘ C amp’ has always been a four-letter word to me - literally and figuratively.
When I was thirteen years old, my mother shipped me off to fat camp for the summer. She was frustrated with her attempts to ‘help’ me herself, and decided it was time to turn me over to the professionals. Up until the moment we arrived, my dad and I were both under the impression that it was a regular summer camp. I was so excited about going to camp, but that faded quickly once I realized it was nothing like the summer camps all my friends were attending.
The whole ordeal ended disastrously, and the word ‘camp’ was rarely spoken in our house after that summer.
After the rafting trip though, it feels a little less like a bad word. I know that spending three days on a motorized raft doesn’t exactly make me Queen of the Wild, but I’m proud that I got through it. When I saw on the website that we’d have to hike nine miles on the last day, I assumed I’d be completing the journey by med evac helicopter.
I’m still riding the high of hiking nine hard miles – and covered in the dirt and sweat to prove it – when the shuttle drops Garrett and I off at a small airport a few miles away.
Getting from the Grand Canyon to Moab, Utah is surprisingly difficult. Roads between the two are scarce due to Utah’s abundance of national parks. Unless I wanted to spend nine hours stuck in a car with Garrett (spoiler alert: I do not), hiring a private jet was the easiest way to go. Garrett suggested it when he realized that driving might set us back a day and force us to miss the next leg of the tour.
Who I am to complain if my boss wants to hire a private jet? Especially when the alternative is a road trip with my least favorite person on earth.
As we’re walking up to the small building, a man in a pilot’s uniform trots up to greet us.
“Mr. North, good to see you,” the man says with a smile.
“Craig,” Garrett nods as he shakes the man’s hand. “This is my assistant, Emma.”
Pilot Craig and I exchange a quick greeting before we all head through the building and toward a small white jet.
Before we board, Garrett turns to the pilot and asks, “I know we booked a direct flight to Moab, but is there any chance you have time for a layover in Denver? I’ll double your rate for the last-minute notice.”
I crinkle my brows at Garrett. Why would he want to make a stopover in Denver? The whole point of taking a jet was to save time.
Craig shakes his head apologetically at Garrett. “Sorry, can’t do it today. I’ve got a full schedule and only so many flight hours left for the day. Wish I could make it work for you.”
“No problem,” Garrett says stiffly before motioning for me to climb the short flight of stairs into the jet.
With every step, my thighs burn and my knees shake. If I’m this sore already, I can’t imagine how I’m going to feel tomorrow with a 25-mile bike ride awaiting me in Moab.
“What was that about?” I ask Garrett as we take our seats across from each other.
“I wanted to drop you off in Denver before the next leg of the trip,” he says, averting his eyes.
“Why?”
Garrett’s jaw ticks before he answers. “I realized that I might have made a mistake bringing you along on this trip.”
“How so?” I ask as calmly as I can manage.
“This sort of thing obviously isn’t for you.”
“Excuse me? Did you not just see me climb my way out of the biggest canyon on earth ? I think I’m holding my own pretty well on this trip so far.”
Garrett sighs and scrubs a hand over the scruff on his cheek. Over the past three days, it’s transformed from a heavy five o’clock shadow to a full-blown beard. It’s unfair how good a few days without a pair of clippers looks on this man.
It’s also unfair how the scruff would likely soften the blow if I were to slap Garrett across the face, which I’d love to do right now.
Did he seriously drag me all this way just to tell me to go home? Is this some weird power trip, or is he just trying to make me feel bad about myself? Like I need another voice in my ear telling me that I’m not good enough. Just when I think that I’ve finally learned to ignore those voices, I feel my confidence waver. Suddenly, I’m the chubby girl getting dropped off at fat camp all over again. I was sent home early then, too.
“I thought you’d be happy about going back to Denver. It didn’t seem like you wanted to come on this trip in the first place,” Garrett finally says. “But it looks like we don’t have any option but to stick out the next leg of the trip together. We can reevaluate after that.”
Translation: He will come up with another plan to send me back to Denver in a few days.
I should be happy, I guess. It’s what I wanted all along: to spend my last few weeks at True North blissfully Garrett-free. Instead, I can’t shake the feeling of being unwanted and unworthy of this trip.
“Is there a restroom on this thing?” I ask with an embarrassing quiver in my voice.
“In the back,” Garrett says, jutting his chin toward the space behind me.
I unfasten my seatbelt as quickly as possible and duck into the little room at the back of the plane.
The jet’s restroom is tiny. I lock myself inside and brace my hands on the counter as I take a deep breath. When I glance up at the mirror, my skin is a shade darker than usual thanks to a fine dusting of dirt resting on top of a layer of sweat. My hair is just as dirty. The lopsided ponytail on top of my head is doing very little to disguise my greasy roots or frizzy ends. And most horrifying of all, my eyes are unmistakably rimmed with tears.
I wonder if Garrett noticed.
The idea of showing even an inkling of weakness around him makes me physically ill. Maybe that’s what got me through nine miles of torture today.
I turn on the faucet, grab a towel from the nicely folded stack beside the sink and get to work cleaning myself up. The result isn’t remarkable by any means, but at least I can move my arms now without wondering if that’s the sound of dirt crunching in my armpits.
After I pull myself together and banish the tears from my eyes, I step out of the bathroom and go back to my seat.
“Everything okay?” he asks in a tight voice without looking at me.
Great. He definitely noticed.
“Yes, fine,” I nod.
“Good.”
Garrett clears his throat and turns his attention to his laptop, which is now resting on the table between us. I take that as my cue to fetch my laptop out of the waterproof pouch that Garrett provided and get to work as well. It might not be the relaxing private jet ride I hoped for, but it’s a welcome distraction at this point.
A few minutes later, the plane’s engines roar to life, and we’re on our way to the next leg of our trip, which will likely be my last.