Chapter Twenty-Two
Sommer
Wednesday
Sommer laid her itinerary in the usual spot on the kitchen table, then took a video of herself checking the locks, the stove, the thermostat, lest she second-guess herself out on the trail and spend her hike wondering if her cottage was on fire or the raccoons opened the door and let her cats out.
With their automatic food and water, and their high-tech robotic pooper-scooper, Sommer’s cats were self-sufficient, but her brother-in-law would stop by on Friday to check and make sure everyone was happy.
This was a four-day backpack, seventy-two miles in all—thirteen up to the first camp that day, thirteen to the summit the next. Then reverse on Friday, getting back to their cars by sunset Saturday and home to rest up.
It was just enough of a struggle to get the heart going.
Just enough beauty to soothe the soul.
Good friends. Good times. Peace.
Sommer tested that she’d locked the front door, then pulled out her phone to call her sister, Sloane, to let her know she was leaving.
“How are the babies?” Sommer fobbed the car unlocked and dragged the door wide.
“I’m convinced these two are both soccer players with enormous feet that kick and kick and kick and kick. My insides are sore.”
Sommer made a stink face. “That’s a horrific image, like you’ve eaten an alien.”
“Aliens. But thanks for that nightmare seed.”
“I’m reminding you that I’m not around until Saturday night. So no having babies until I’m back.”
“That’s why you’re up and out at the crack of dawn.”
“We hope to beat some of the heat,” Sommer said.
“You’re backpacking Sterling Pass?”
“On the White Tail Trail. I won’t be in cell phone reach. Any signs babies want to come early?”
“Zero. None. Zilch. I will be baking these buns for the next month. When do you go?”
“Now. I’m starting the car.” Sommer pressed the button to get her engine running. “The itinerary is on the kitchen table. You won’t need it. I’ll be with Abbie and Marna.”
“Jen and Diane?”
“Jen had to work, and Diane twisted her ankle.”
“The weather looks good,” Sloane said through a mouthful of food.
Sommer looked over her shoulder as she backed out of her drive. “Unseasonably warm during the day, nice and cool at night.”
“Which makes for a lovely campfire. I’m a little jealous.”
“No, you aren’t. The only fire you like is the one in someone’s backyard when you can go inside to pee.
” Sommer looked both ways before backing into the road.
“I always sleep bundled up and warm on a cold night, especially when I’m far from the hospital, and the siren sounds. I’ll hear birds and wind.”
“Have you told Graves and Goth-hound you’ll be gone?” Sloane asked just as Sommer passed the stop sign where the two usually stood and stared at the graveyard.
“I’ve never spoken to him.”
“Why not? He’s tall and broad-shouldered. You’re single.”
“And he probably has a face that only a mother could love,” Sommer deadpanned. “Look, he’s a strange man who brings his dog every day to sing with me. It’s been interruptive and, back at the beginning, felt pretty rude.”
“It’s not interruptive. He gets there at the very last seconds of your practice. He’s not doing you any harm.”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m not offended at all that my singing makes a dog howl.
” Sommer laughed, wanting to end the conversation about Graves and his dog—something about that whole scenario didn’t sit right with her.
It never had. But since he walked up to her house, the feeling had turned heavy and sad, and Sommer couldn’t understand why.
Sommer was glad Abbie was able to let the project go. A little distance from it, and Sommer would hopefully feel that sensation in her chest go away. “Listen, I didn’t want you to worry when you couldn’t get me by phone. And since you have prego-brain, you’d forget that I told you I’ll be gone.”
“What you need is one of those emergency satellite gizmos that you can text on. Some of the new phones have satellite integrated in.”
“I can afford neither. It’s a hike I’ve done before. I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.”
“Do you even know me?” Sloane asked.
“Bye.”
***
Abbie and Marna pulled into the gravel parking area outside of the ranger station and climbed out of their vehicle.
“Hey,” Abbie said as she walked toward where Sommer sat on her hatch with her bare toes spread wide. “Why did you tell us you’d meet us here? The plan was to pick you up.”
“I was treating someone at the hospital and was exposed to pertussis. So just to be safe, I’m going to keep my distance on the trail.”
Abbie turned to Marna.
“Whooping cough,” Marna said. “Neither of us wants that.”
Abbie focused concerned eyes on Sommer. “Do you think you’ll get sick on the trail?”
“Nah, the incubation period is too long. I’ll be down the mountain before anything shows up.
I’m not worried about it. My immune system has developed an astonishing resiliency after so many years in Emergency.
” Sommer held up her palms. “And, with all this beautiful space around us, there’s no reason for me to expose you to the potential.
” Sommer licked her finger and stuck it in the air.
“The wind is blowing from the west, and the trail is north, so as long as I’m behind you on the trail, the breeze should carry any germs away.
” She patted the front of her pack. “I can mask if you want me to. I have no problem with that.”
“Someone came in coughing all over me last night,” Marna said. “I assume that when you socialize with me, you understand I’m a walking petri dish.”
“A little distance sounds reasonable to me,” Abbie told Sommer, then looked toward the park bathrooms. “I want to try to poop here, so I don’t have to dig holes on the trail.”
“Good idea.” Marna followed after her, calling back. “Coming, Sommer? Need a poop?”
“Thanks so much for your concern.” Sommer laughed. “But I had my daily constitutional already. I’ll wait out here.”
When the women emerged, Sommer was wrapping her big toes with duct tape and stuck more on her heels to protect against blisters.
Marna and Abbie sat on the back gate of Marna’s SUV as they pulled on their liner socks.
“How was your full moon shift?” Abbie asked.
“A nightmare.” Sommer tilted her head to show the bruise on her jaw. “Marna’s hospital took the brunt of it, though.”
“What the hell happened?” Marna asked, pointing to her own jaw. “Did you fall?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Sommer pulled padded wool socks over her liners. If her feet were happy, her trek would be happy. “How about you, Marna, anything interesting?”
“Actually, a once-in-a-lifetime patient came through with something I had only read about in a medical journal.”
“How’s that?” Sommer braced for another anal cavity horror story.
“A guy ate a piece of bread and was falling down drunk.”
Sommer leaned forward to catch Marna’s gaze. “Really? Was it auto brewery syndrome?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Abbie said. “Like you ferment things in your body and produce your own alcohol? That would make for a sad life, limiting yeast. Bread is my best friend.” She turned from Marna to Sommer. “Sorry, but that’s my truth.”
“I don’t know about it being such a bad thing,” Marna said. “Donuts cost a lot less than a case of beer. And if something goes awry, you’d have a get out of jail free card for the judge.”
“Unless you donut and drive.” Sommer popped her eyebrows.
Suited up, the women pulled on their backpacks, closed the vehicles, double-checked that they were locked, and headed out.
On a trail, there were, notoriously, two kinds of hikers: the tortoises and the hares.
Diane, Jen, and Sommer were the turtle hikers—they could cover great distances with heavy packs, but they adopted a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race tactic.
Marna and Abbie were rabbits. They bounded up the trail in bursts. They’d go-go-go, then they’d stop and rest.
When Sommer hiked with more people, that difference was much more manageable. The slow pokes could still take a rest, pull off their socks and shoes to air their tootsies, have a snack, a catnap, a good long drink.
Sommer felt less willing to do that alone, not knowing how far she had fallen behind.
Alone, she felt the push to stay in the same general range as her friends.
And though they’d offered to slow their pace, Sommer had shooed Abbie and Marna along. She was enjoying this stretch of solo hiking.
The trudge, trudge, trudge up the often-steep slope got Sommer’s heart beating fast.
The sensation of the exertion felt cathartic and healing.
In the ED, her adrenaline got her blood racing, and she’d pant, looking for more oxygen to feed her system as she tried to help her patients.
It was good to know that her heart could beat for fun things as well as emergencies.
Out there, exposing herself to the smell of the trees, the green all around her, and the quiet, her pumping blood was good medicine.
Today had been particularly quiet. No one else was on the trail, which was normal for a Wednesday. They’d hiked for a while, snacked, and lolled for a while. Thirteen miles wasn’t tough over a whole day.
All day long they’d been accompanied by the whoosh of the stream somewhere to the west; other than that, the birds and forest creatures seemed to be hiding away from the first hot day of the year.
Sommer had rolled her hiking pants up to be shorts, but sweat still streaked her legs and dried in the breeze.
They weren’t far from where they would be camping.
It would feel good to put her pack down and set up her tent. Today was the heaviest day as Sommer packed in all her food and water.
Each day would become lighter and easier; she just needed to pace her water consumption to last all four days, especially in this heat.
Up ahead, she could see that Abbie and Marna were rounding the trail off to the west and stopped.
As Sommer caught up to her friends, she found them standing with their legs wide, conferring.
“What’s up?” she called.
“Wipe out,” Abbie called back.