The Middle of Somewhere Read Free

found Liz lying on the couch, a heating pad on her belly.
    â€œCramps?”
    â€œNo,” Liz had said, staring at the rug. “Worse.”
    Valerie had assumed she’d had a miscarriage, not an abortion, and Liz hadn’t corrected her. Next to her deceit of Dante, it seemed minor. Valerie had made her promise she would tell him, but when Liz ran the conversation through her mind, she panicked. If she revealed this bit of information, the whole monstrous truth might tumble out, and she would lose him for certain.
    â€œI will tell him. And I’ll make sure I’ve got room to run when I do.”
    â€œHe’ll understand. It’s not like it was your fault.”
    Liz’s chest tightened. “Val, listen—”
    â€œCrap! I just noticed the time. I’ve got a call in two minutes, so this is good-bye.”
    â€œâ€™Bye.”
    â€œDon’t get lost.”
    â€œImpossible.”
    â€œDon’t fall off a cliff.”
    â€œI’ll try not to.”
    â€œWatch out for bears.”
    â€œI love bears! And they love me.”
    â€œOf course they do. So do I.”
    â€œAnd me you. ’Bye.”
    â€œâ€™Bye.”
    Liz put the phone away. She checked the zippers and tightened the straps on both backpacks. On a trip this long, they couldn’t afford to lose anything. Besides, a pack with loose straps tended to creak, and she didn’t like creaking.
    Dante was still chatting. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed her a boyish smile. She pointed at her watch. He twitched in mock alarm, shook hands with his new friends and hurried to her.
    â€œLeez!” He placed his hands on her cheeks and tucked her short brown hair behind her ears with his fingers. “You’re waiting. I’m sorry.”
    She was no more immune to his charm than the rest of the world. The way he pronounced her name amused her, and she suspected he laid it on thick deliberately. He had studied English in the best schools in Mexico City and spent seven years in the States, so he had little reason for sounding like the Taco Bell Chihuahua.
    â€œIt’s okay.” She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “We should get going though. Did you get the forecast?”
    â€œI did.” He threw his arms wide. “It’s going to be beautiful!”
    â€œThat’s a quote from the ranger?”
    â€œ
Más o menos.
Look for yourself.” He swept his hand to indicate the sky above the pines, an unbroken Delft blue.
    Things can change, she thought, especially this late in the season. Her original permit had been for the Thursday before Labor Day. It could snow or hail or thunderstorm on any given day in the Sierras, but early September was usually dry. She’d had to surrender that start date when Dante insisted on tagging along, because he didn’t have a permit. They were forced to take their chances with the weather, two weeks closer to winter.
    And here it was, September fifteenth. A picture-perfect day. Dante’s beaming face looked like a guarantee of twenty more like it.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    When he’d first seen the elevation profile of the John Muir Trail, Dante said it resembled the ECG tracing of someone having a heart attack. Up thousands of feet, down thousands of feet, up thousands of feet, down thousands of feet, day after day.
    â€œYou’re going to love Day One in particular,” she’d said, pointing out Yosemite Valley at four thousand feet, then, twelve miles along the trail, their first night’s destination at ninety-six hundred feet.
    He’d shaken his head. “Impossible.”
    â€œDifficult, yes. But entirely possible.”
    He’d argued that since they would arrive at Tuolumne Meadows the second day, and could easily drive through the park and pick up the trail there, they should skip that nasty climb.
    â€œThat would be cheating,” she’d