Epilogue
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Monson, Maine
September 2008
The postmaster does not think we’re special. He’s seen so many hikers pass through. We’re just two more.
“You’re lucky,” he says, handing over our last supply package and a stack of mail. “Not likely to snow.”
Shray sent a postcard he drew of Aubrey and me carrying packs on a trail in the woods. There’s a card from The Aster that everyone signed: a cartoon bear on a mountain top with the words Congratulations, Graduate arched above him. Someone crossed out Graduate and wrote Hikers . Inside are little notes of encouragement from Bee and Sam, Hans, Carlos, and Tommy Tom. Gus and Shorty just wrote their names. Eddie wrote: See you soon.
The resupply box has been cut open and re-taped. Inside, on top of our freeze-dried stroganoff packets and all those Sour Patch Kids we can’t stomach anymore, there’s a newspaper clipping about the fire. A photo of the house in black and white newsprint—burnt to the foundation, only a few charred support beams still standing.
Somers Fire Department chief, Thomas McQuillan Sr., says the exact cause of the fire is unknown, but appears be electrical in origin.
You can see straight through to the backyard. My favorite tree is still standing.
Stapled to the clipping, printed out on regular paper with a shitty laser jet, pixelated Jam is holding pixelated Coriolanus up to his face. They are cheek to cheek and Anus isn’t happy about it. Underneath, Jam wrote, in his scratchy script, that after a battle with a raccoon and a frantic trip to the vet, Anus is an indoor cat at the Olbrichs’ house now. Mr. Olbrich hasn’t noticed his presence. Jam is taking allergy pills he got from Dr. Singh.
Aubrey touches the picture. She’s crying. I feel awful that I’m not, but only for her, because it sucks to cry alone. The sky and ground are swirling together, and I stumble, trying to get my bearings again. I hope it looks like sadness instead of relief.
“Thank goodness…,” Aubrey says, still at the edge of tears, “… that Coriolanus was at Jam’s when the fire broke out.”
I hug her. She is wiry and muscled in a way I haven’t noticed just from looking at her. The change has been gradual. We have walked so far and climbed mountains and seen stars we didn’t know existed.
“Thank goodness,” I say, and wipe at a smudge of dirt on her cheek with my grubby hand, accidentally making it worse.
Aubrey tucks the picture and the article into the top pocket of her backpack, carefully, as if it could be possible for us to avoid crumpling anything.
I take the heavier food for my own pack, even though I think Aubrey might be stronger than me now. We break down the box. Aubrey runs back inside to ask the postman to recycle it for us. When she comes back, her eyelashes are still wet.
“Thank goodness we weren’t there when it happened,” she says. “We’re lucky.”
“We are,” I say, squinting in the sun. “Very lucky.” I tap the side of her boot with mine.
She leans into me for a moment, then stands up strong. Hoists her pack on her shoulders like it weighs almost nothing, and we walk away, back into the woods.
In six days, we will climb Mount Katahdin. After that, we can go anywhere.