Chapter 13 #2
“But you know how to raise money.”
“Yes, but I don’t write many government grants.”
“Well, I’m not in the Forest Service either, but here we are.” He stops and turns to me with a hard expression. “Are you saying you won’t do it?”
And ugh, this guy. Adelaide voluntells me to undertake a complex governmental grant process while I care for my sick mom and keep my consultancy alive from hundreds of miles away, and I’m the jerk for hesitating.
“I didn’t say that. But I don’t want you all to think I can save this town from the apocalypse. I have to set reasonable expectations.”
He hitches his backpack higher on his shoulders, dragging his thumbs under the straps. “We’re not looking for a hero. We just pitch in for each other around here.”
I hear his admonishment. I’ve seen the way this town pitches in for each other, and my mom and I have been recent recipients. “I’ll do what I can.”
We stare at each other for a brief moment. Every time he looks at me like this, a flash of electricity pulses through my body, even when my blood is boiling in anger. He looks away first and heads back to the trail through knee-high grasses. I follow, navigating the overgrowth.
Houdini jolts past me and charges up the trail, barking at something in the distance, his hackles raised. Caleb jogs uphill to reach him and scans the area.
My foot is beginning to throb. I haven’t been disciplined about stretching since I got here, because all my routines are out of whack. I take a moment to extend my calf before rushing to meet them, forcing myself to walk without a discernible limp.
The wind picks up in the clearing, tickling the wildflowers and shaking the branches of the pine trees in the distance. The clouds are thickening, darkening, and inching toward us.
“Houdini’s afraid of his shadow today,” Caleb says.
“And it looks like it might rain. We should hurry.” He leads us up the final climb, telling me about the seedlings he hopes to plant and his plans to transition all the buildings to a fire-resistant design like the new sleeping cabins, which are made of faux-wood steel siding and designed to withstand wildfires.
It’s more words than I’ve heard him utter in one stretch. I feel like I should be taking notes.
Finally, we reach the summit, Colibri Peak, which leads to a steep, rocky trail to the east side of Grand Trees Lake.
But what I remember as a barren and treacherous cliff is covered in a thick coat of California poppies and purple lupines, draped like veils toward the shoreline.
The lake’s surface appears obsidian against the darkening clouds.
“I didn’t know how beautiful it could be up here.” I’d only been here in summer, so I’ve never seen it in bloom.
“It hasn’t looked like this in years.” Caleb offers me his open canteen. I take a small sip. When I hand it back, he takes a swig before pouring some into a bowl for Houdini. “We had our first good rain this winter after a long drought. These flowers are celebrating.”
The breeze picks up, and a group of poppies waltz in response. “That should help the trees recover, too, right?”
Caleb shrugs. “Yes and no. The drought damaged roots, made them shallower, and it’s hard for the trees to handle all that water at once.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and snap several photos of the landscape. I can add photos of this view to the applications.
“I have contractor bids and budget figures in the maintenance office. We can grab them on our way down,” Caleb says as I linger over the view.
He leans forward, assessing me. I’m worried I might have something on my face.
“What color are your eyes?” he asks, scanning me like a painting.
I’m struck dumb by the heat of his attention. When I don’t respond, he continues. “I thought they were blue, but now they look green. And when your mom paints them, they’re iridescent and sort of every color at once.”
“I think it depends on the light,” I manage, trying to keep the vibrato out of my voice so he can’t tell what his focus does to me. He holds my stare until my breath falters and I feel my body sway toward him.
He nods toward the ledge, breaking the trance. “Like the lake.”
I follow his sightline. The lake is tempestuous right now—a little surly and mysterious. I appreciate being compared to its power. When I look back to Caleb, he waves me forward and waits for me to turn toward the trail, taking the rear this time.
Caleb and Houdini can probably move faster on the descent, but downhill is harder for me; I have to compensate for all that pressure on my shin and knee.
Caleb jogs off the trail and comes back with a branch, handing it to me for a walking stick.
I want to protest, but it will be helpful. I hate him a little for being right.
As we make our way to the first crop of pines, it begins to drizzle, and Houdini and Caleb hurry down the slope behind me before a roar of distant thunder launches a deluge.
Fat drops of rain slide down the back of my jacket and soak my jeans.
Water blurs my vision before Caleb leads us to a building hidden within a patch of trees.
He rests a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the cabin, while Houdini charges out and paws at the doorknob.
Caleb calls out, “It’s locked,” and chuckles.
“Can he open doors?” I ask as Caleb hunts for the keys in his pocket.
“He didn’t get his name for nothing.”
Houdini releases a long howl as thunder—closer this time—claps overhead.
Caleb swings the door open and waves me in, but Houdini scrambles in first, rushing under the desk at the far end of the space. Caleb closes the door behind us. “Sorry.” He looks me up and down. My teeth are chattering and I must look like a drowned rat. “It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”
It appears to be one of the old drafty counselor cabins converted into an office space, with bare wood walls and narrow clerestory windows along the ceiling.
The perimeter is lined with metal filing cabinets and open shelving, the desk is covered in piles of paperwork, and there’s an entrance to a small bathroom in the corner.
Caleb grabs a couple of towels from a storage shelf and hands me one. I recognize them as the standard-issue beach towels we used to bring to the lake. It smells like mothballs and dust, but I’m not picky. I wring out my ponytail as Caleb does his best to dry himself off.
“I have quotes from contractors in here that’ll help with budgets and pricing.
We can race back to camp as soon as there’s a break in the rain.
” He riffles through a stack of paperwork, collects it into a neat stack, and drops his backpack onto the desk chair to load it all inside. “Okay. I think that’s everything.”
But as he slings his pack over his shoulder, Houdini lets out a guttural cry, and the ground comes alive, rolling under us until I stumble backward, catching myself on the shelving behind me.