Chapter 10 #3
She nodded. “Nothing serious. Just hasn’t had time to heal.” She prodded at it, wincing. “Turns out bandaids and wishful thinking aren’t a comprehensive medical strategy.”
“You draining it or letting it be?”
She looked at me with those pale blue eyes, assessing. “You a medic?”
“I’ve done a lot of walking in boots,” I said.
I thought back to my time in the Infantry before I went into Special Forces.
In both taking care of your feet had been a very high priority.
“Drain and dress works better than hoping they’ll heal on their own.
And you want to use mole skin over it, not a bandaid.
Prevents the rubbing that caused it in the first place. ”
“Where do I get some mole skin?”
“You want me to take care of it?”
Claire hesitated, then nodded. “You’re probably right. And if you’re wrong, at least I'll have someone to blame.”
“Wait one,” I said. I got up and scrambled back to my small camp site. Pulled my first aid kit out. I noticed Maggs hadn’t followed me. I got back up there. Maggs was next to Boone. Relaxing.
I moved closer, bringing my kit with me.
She extended her foot without comment, and I worked in silence for a moment, draining the blister with practiced efficiency.
Her feet were a mess—not just the fresh blisters but old calluses, the kind that came from years of standing.
Garden work, maybe. Or restaurant kitchens.
“A lot of time in boots,” she said. “You were military?”
“Army. Long time ago.” Not quite a lie, though my actual role had been considerably more complicated than that. “Back when my knees worked fine and I thought sleeping on the ground was normal.”
“My husband was Navy.” The words came out flat, automatic. Then she caught herself, and I watched the correction form on her lips. “Is Navy. He...” She stopped, closed her eyes briefly. “He was Navy.” She let out a bitter laugh. “You’d think after ten months I’d get the tense right.”
I kept my hands steady, applying the bandage with careful pressure. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a fire.” Her voice had gone distant, and I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to the void surrounding the mountaintop.
“Ten months ago. I was at the grocery store. Arguing with myself over olive oil, of all stupid things. Like the universe really cared whether I bought the twelve-dollar bottle or the eight-dollar one.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Spoiler alert: the universe did not care.”
I finished with the bandage and sat back, giving her space. Maggs had settled next to Boone, her head resting gently against his shoulder. The old Lab's breathing was steady, almost peaceful. “You have clean socks?” I asked.
“I’ve gone through all—” she stopped as I pulled a fresh pair out of my coat pocket. Clean socks are almost as important as having a firearm.
“I’ve got plenty. The one thing I pack a lot of.”
She nodded her thanks and put one on. Then gingerly slid her foot back into the boot. “Oh. That feels so much better. Can I keep the other sock to change out?”
“Good idea.” I’d interrupted her and I didn’t know whether she was going to continue her story. Maybe she’d made a mistake in the first place, letting something so personal slip.
But she went on.
“Ken—my husband—he was home with our son.
Danny. Our daughter was visiting, she'd just gotten engaged . . .” Claire continued, staring at the dogs.
“Danny was twenty-five. He had just finished his master's degree. Engineering. He was so smart, Max. So damn smart he could explain quantum physics.” She gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Of course, he still couldn't figure out how to load a dishwasher properly.” Her hands were trembling now, fingers twisting the wedding ring she still wore.
“And Mary—our daughter—she taught elementary school. Second grade. She had this way with kids, made everything into an adventure. Storytelling.”
She fell silent and we both sat there, looking outward, not at each other.
When she spoke again, her voice was harder.
“Boone was Danny’s dog. He got him as a puppy when he went into high school.
Boone was on the back porch when it happened.
The firefighters found him there, howling.
” She looked at me. “Sometimes I think he’s the only one who really understands. That we’re both just still howling.”
I felt a surge in my chest, surprising me with the visceral strength of the reaction.
I’d been around and seen so much death. But this tragedy recited on a mountaintop in Georgia, slipped past the wall of detachment I’d built.
I didn't say anything. This was just a woman bleeding grief into the mountain air, and the only thing I could do was bear witness. I didn’t want to hear it, but she needed to say it.
Maybe for the first time. To a complete stranger.
“The things people say to you after something like that.” She shook her head.
“I was never religious so all the people telling me they were in a better place? Well, screw those people for projecting their beliefs on my tragedy. My family is dead. Gone. The best thing I heard spoken was by a firefighter. He just said it was fucked up. Just that. Fucked up.”
I didn’t say anything, although I agreed with his assessment.
“People kept telling me it would get better," she said. “That time heals. That I needed to start living again. Because apparently there’s a fucking timeline for grief, and I’m behind schedule.” She looked at me then, and her eyes were fierce.
“But I don’t want to live again. I want my family back.
” She trailed off, her gaze returning to Boone.
“Claire—”
“I should let you get back to your camp site.” She put the spare sock in her pocket. “Or back on the trail if you plan to move on. You’ve got miles to make, I’m sure. Mountains to conquer, inspirational moments to have, all that trail magic stuff.”
She was giving me an out.
I could push. I could ask direct questions; leverage the opening she’d just given me. But Rose’s voice echoed in my head again: Try reading people for once.
Before I could say anything else a woman, late-thirties or early-forties appeared, dressed in relatively new gear, wearing aviator sunglasses.
Her ruck was small, perhaps a section hiker.
She was lean, her dark face pockmarked from childhood illness and a nasty scar on the left side from the side of the eye down to the edge of her mouth.
I pegged her as South or Central American.
The Trail attracted a number of foreigners to try its challenges.
She glanced at me, Maggs and then seemed surprised to see Claire and Boone with us.
She had some sort of big tattoo on the back of one hand, but I couldn’t make it out.
She paused, seemed uncertain, then turned and headed back the way she’d come without saying anything or even acknowledging us.
Weird.
I turned to Claire. “I’m stopping here for the night. My knees are complaining more than I expected.”
She looked at me with those sharp eyes, and I could see her calculating, weighing whether to call me on it. Finally, she just nodded. “It’s a good place. Peaceful.”
“There’s a level spot not far from where my pack is. Not many of those around here. You need to grab it now. Unless you plan on going in the shelter.”
She shook her head. “I’m not doing shelters. Too many questions. I see the way they look at Boone.” She got to her feet. “Lead on.”
We made our way back off the rocks. I moved slowly, pacing it for Boone.
I pointed out the spot, and she simply nodded and dropped her ruck there.
I unpacked the gear I’d need for the night, moving slowly, deliberately.
Maggs settled near Boone, and the two dogs dozed in a patch of late afternoon sunlight.
Once her tent was set up, Claire sat with her back against a big rock, her eyes closed, but I could tell from her breathing she wasn't asleep.
It felt comfortable, though. Other hikers were drifting into the shelter, but we were far enough away that there was no interaction. We could hear their voices, echoing out of the open door and empty windows of the stone building, but not make out the words.
When the sun started to set, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, she spoke again. “You’re wondering why I’m doing this.”
“It’s your business.”
“But you’re wondering.”
I met her gaze. “Yeah. I’m wondering.”
She looked at Boone, sleeping peacefully beside Maggs.
“He’s all I have left of Danny. Boone and Danny were section walking the Trail.
He couldn’t take enough time off for a through hike, so he took it as he could.
Started in Maine. Last section he did ended at Fontana Dam.
He really wanted to do Fontana to Springer.
I’m taking Boone to finish the through hike for Danny.
And Boone.” She pointed at her ruck. “South to north because I want to end at the dam. I’ve got some of Danny’s ashes.
I want to spread them in the water there. ”
I just nodded.
She shrugged. “It’s a stupid thing, I guess. I don’t know. I have to do it.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. I wanted to ask ‘and then’ but it wasn’t my place. Plus, last year I wouldn’t have been able to answer ‘and then’ during my first through hike attempt.
So I didn’t. I just sat there as darkness fell, listening to two dogs breathe.
The sun disappeared. Claire’s voice came low, out of the darkness.
“You’re still here,” Claire said quietly into the darkness.
“Yeah.”
“Most people would have run by now. Made it a big deal.”
“I’m not most people.”
“You’re weird, Max.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, Claire.”