Chapter 29 Frannie
Three more cabins and Frannie was done for the day.
“Your sisters are sure pretty,” Vicky said as she stripped the bunk bed of the dirty sheets. “It was nice of them to come see you sing.”
Nice? She wouldn’t call what happened between Claire and Bridget nice. The usual Bridget-and-Claire-against-Frannie had looked a lot more like Claire-against-Bridget. She felt kind of sick thinking about it.
Frannie threw the wad of dirty sheets on the cart outside the door.
Claire and Bridget could solve their own problems, she had better things to think about.
Miracle of miracles, the whole gang had finagled two days off from Twig, and as soon as their shift was over they were going to blow this popsicle stand.
She peeked under the lid of the ceramic pot and choked back a gag. “When do I stop being the newbie and somebody else has to do these?” Frannie asked with a groan as she gingerly picked up the enamel pot and carried it to the door.
“Do what I do,” Vicky said. “Pitch it over the rim of the canyon. No sweat.”
Frannie stared at her. Could you really do that?
Vicky tossed a pillow in place. “There’s a place between the upper and lower falls we call Duck Point, goes right down into the ravine. Get a clean one from the supply shed and nobody’s the wiser.”
“News to me.” Frannie carried the duck down the trail to the narrow strip of trees bordering the canyon rim.
Sure enough, there was a drop-off. She peered over but couldn’t see all the way down.
She thought of all the cabins and all the years the lodge had been there.
There could be hundreds of these pots piled up down there. Maybe thousands.
One more wouldn’t make a bit of difference, would it?
Frannie held the duck over the edge but couldn’t make herself let go.
She thought about how Claire was always talking about how gorgeous everything was in Yellowstone and how they had to keep it that way for future generations and all that junk.
Frannie let out a sigh and trudged to the outhouse.
She kicked herself as she held her breath and emptied the disgusting contents into the disgusting pit toilet.
Back at the cabin, she put the cleaned duck in its spot under the water basin.
“Did you find the place?” Vicky asked, sweeping a pile of dust under the carpet.
“Sure did,” Frannie said. “Thanks for the tip.”
Frannie had been one of the gang since the silly initiation at Dead Savage Spring. That night, Paul drove them back to Canyon with everybody goofing off. When they got back after midnight, everybody piled out of the car. “Race you to the dungeon,” Sam said, and he and Ernie tore down the trail.
“I’m hitting the privy,” Vicky announced, leaving Paul and Frannie to walk down the dark trail together.
At the turnoff for the dungeon, Paul stopped. “You know,” he said, kicking at the dirt path with his toe, “I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, in the hot pot.”
She shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t.” Nobody—but nobody—was going to know how scared she’d been.
“Anyway,” he said, the moonlight lit his face and she noticed that his eyes were really nice, hazel with gold flecks. “The gang’s a lot more fun now that you’re in it.”
“Thanks, Paul,” she said. He turned to go but she stopped him. “Why do you put up with them?” she asked. Sam and Ernie were always mean to Paul, calling him egghead and nerd and making fun of him.
She made out the movement of Paul’s shoulders as he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess having them as friends is better than not having friends at all.”
Frannie felt the pang of recognition. She knew about that.
When their shift finally ended, Frannie and the girls met the boys in the parking lot where Paul was putting the top down on the convertible. He took her bag, stowing it in the trunk. “Me and Jerrylynn get shotgun,” she said and vaulted into the front seat.
Sam scowled, but it was too late. “Hey, why don’t you let me drive?” Sam said to Paul. “Nope,” Paul answered. Frannie was glad—it was about time he stood up to Sam.
“Where are we going, anyway?” Ernie asked as they pulled away from the lodge.
“It’s a surprise,” Paul said with a glance sideways at Frannie.
Frannie gave him a wink. She and Paul had met up after dinner the night before, when the rest of the crew trekked across the bridge to Whittaker’s for beer and supplies.
Yellowstone was packed to the gills, and the chances of getting a campsite in any of the popular places were slim to none.
Paul suggested a place outside the park that sounded cool, and they’d decided to keep it a secret from the others, just to make Sam crazy.
“Hey, nerd,” Sam said. “That’s not fair.”
“Don’t call him that, birdbrain,” Frannie threw over her shoulder.
Jerrylynn played the peacemaker. “We’ll know when we know, Sam. I just want to get away from the crowds.”
“Fasten your seat belts,” Vicky said in her Bette Davis voice. “It’s going to be a bumpy night.”
Paul pointed the convertible toward the lowering sun, and Frannie turned on the radio. This was the life. The wind in her hair, the top down, and the radio blasting. She could die right now and be happy.
“Hey,” Sam said as they passed by the West Entrance and the girls waved and threw kisses to the ranger in the window of the station. “You never said we were leaving the park.”
“We’re leaving the park,” Paul said, and Ernie and the girls erupted in laughter. Sam didn’t laugh.
“Aw, don’t be sore,” Paul relented. “Listen, I know a guy over on Hebgen Lake who works at the fire tower. We’re going to camp there and then go up the lookout tomorrow. He’s got a telescope and everything.”
“Cool,” Jerrylynn said.
“Climbing the fire tower?” Vicky asked. “That will be a blast.”
Even Ernie looked impressed.
Paul had more to say. “This guy says he’s felt some tremors up in the lookout for a couple weeks now, and there’s a fault line north of the lake.”
“What’s a fault line?” Jerrylynn asked.
“Kinda like a crack in the earth,” Paul said.
“Sounds neat,” Frannie said. It really did. She liked hearing about all the stuff Paul knew.
“Sounds lame,” Sam griped. “Bunch of bookworms talking about rocks.”
“If you don’t like it, you can get out any time,” Frannie said. She wished he would. Whatever she’d seen in Sam, she didn’t see it anymore. “How much farther, Paul?”
Paul passed her the road map and she unfolded it over her lap.
She traced the road from Madison to the West Entrance, and then north to a road that wrapped around Hebgen Lake.
She saw Riverside on the map, a tiny dot beside the Madison River, but didn’t say a word about them going right past her sister’s house.
Frannie did a quick measure with her fingertip. “One mile to West Yellowstone, then head north on 191. If we hurry, we can find a campground before dark.”
Paul turned up the radio and Jerry Lee Lewis sang, “Shake, baby, shake.” Frannie laid her head back on the seat, threw an arm around Jerrylynn’s shoulders and sang at the top of her voice, “Shake, baby, shake. I said, shake, baby, shake.”
This was going to be the best night ever.