Prologue
Robin emerged from the tent into thick, diffused gray light with absolutely no idea of the time. It had to be somewhere around 6:00 a.m., but instead of morning’s first warm glow, their camp was blanketed by low-lying clouds. The quietude that surrounded her was nothing shy of eerie. No birds, no wind, complete stillness.
Afraid to make any noise herself, she delicately removed her backpack from the foot of the tent. Digging to the bottom of it, she pulled out a small orange box, a canister of butane, and a small pot. A few feet from the tent by the split log bench, she cleared a level area and set up the ultra-light stove she had bought on a whim during her last year in college. I knew one day this thing would come in handy, she thought. The foggy chill in the air brought her thinking back to the first time she met Bryce.
* * *
It was a rainy afternoon in May when she thumped onto the huge log-beamed porch of the High Peaks Information Center, dripping from head to toe. Stomping the mud from her boots, she took off her rain jacket and gave it a good shake so it wouldn’t drip all over the floor inside. There should be enough time to un-stuff my backpack and dig out something warm and dry to wear before the class begins, she thought. Her morning hike had been much colder than anticipated.
Robin wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this session, it was a survival class that focused on the weather and how quickly it can change in the Adirondacks. Previously she’d been to classes on mushroom identification, Understanding What You Can and Can’t Eat; and on animal tracking, patterns, and behavior, Hunt or be Hunted.
The High Peaks Information Center was rustic and spacious. Built by mountaineers in the late 1800s, it had been used as a bunkhouse and shelter during the summer months when workers cleared and developed over 150 trails throughout the Adirondacks. The HPIC’s huge timber beams evoked both hardship and community. One could just imagine the stories told and the stalwart characters that once occupied the great space.
She pushed the creaky screen door open and entered into the main room, feeling a blast of heat from the massive stone fireplace. The sweet smoky smell that permeated the air reminded Robin of her grandfather, and the scotch he would sip. With a sweeping glance across the room, she realized she was the first to arrive. Heading past all the chairs to the back of the room, she systematically hung her pack, rain gear, and her hiking poles on a peg on the back wall. Having finished the morning hike up Mount Jo, she was looking forward to a seat, a snack, and completing this last class, which would finish up the requirements to earn her mountain stewardship.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. A man came out from behind a counter near the souvenir and supply section of the building. He gestured toward a table in the front of the room displaying: pump thermos containers, a basket of Clif Bars, brochures, and a pile of papers with information on the next lineup of classes.
“Coffee? Hot chocolate?” he offered.
“Oh thanks, that’d be great,” Robin answered.
He then approached her with an extended hand, which she thought was awkwardly forward. She obliged and offered hers back.
“I’m Bryce,” he said.
“Oh hey, I’m Robin. Are you leading the class today?”
“No, not at all!” Amused, he continued, “I’m covering a shift for a friend who works here. He got banged up on a hike yesterday; one I recommended for a first date, so I feel pretty guilty.”
“Ouch, which mountain?” she asked sympathetically.
“Cascade. It’s a great place to catch the sunrise. About a two hour hike up. Have you been?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“How about Mount Marcy? It’s the highest peak and one of the longest hikes.” He looked for her interest and continued. “Some people camp from a quarter way in, to anywhere below 3500 feet. Here’s some info…” he gestured again towards the table.
Robin didn’t want to share with him just how much she knew about the high peaks. Feeling a little coy herself, since realizing he was flirting, she inquired, “What happened to your friend?”
“Oh, he slipped and gashed his leg open; needed nine stitches.”
Music suddenly erupted from his pocket. Da na na na na. It was the famous riff from George Thorogood’s Bad to the Bone. Da na na na na.
He fumbled for his phone.
“Ah, it’s him!”
And as if in slow motion, he looked deep into Robin’s eyes and gently touched her shoulder softly saying, “Please excuse me.”
Spinning on one foot and turning back towards the supply area, he scurried away. Resuming his position behind the counter, he glanced over at Robin and smiled in a way that made her wishful.
She felt a rush of heat steam up from under her collar. Standing somewhat dazed at the table, she mindlessly pumped herself a cup of hot chocolate, grabbed a Clif Bar, and made her way to the back of the room. She thought, I don’t need any brochures, I have a year’s worth of mountains outlined in my head. The last thing I need is literature to weigh me down; my research material already does that. But then rethinking things, she returned to the table. I’ll just grab some anyway so he doesn’t think I wasn’t listening.
She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way around the table and then back to her seat.
Just then, the door creaked open and a few hikers walked in. A fog seemed to roll in with them. Now she could smell the cold, wet air.
Settling into her seat and wrapping her hands around her cup, she peered through its steam over towards the counter. He’s pretty hot; he’s got awesome hair, she thought. Long, sun-streaked, kind of wild... Jeez, I hope he’s not one of those man-bun types. With curiosity, she continued to daydream, slowly slurping her hot chocolate as a steady flow of hikers came in.
One particular group shuffled across the room in a cluster, making their way to the table up front. Like uncivilized buffoons, they made a mess of things with sugar packs ripped open and drink stirrers flung about. I bet they’re stoned, she thought. There go the Clif Bars! Then it dawned on her. There was a full moon bonfire later that night, famous for bringing out the stoners. She remembered seeing posters throughout town and at the guide house when she first pulled in.
Quietly sitting in the back of the room, she recalled being at one of those bonfires—about a year ago—with her BFF Tommy and his college friends. They smoked, she drank, and they spent the night in a lean-to about a mile into the woods. She remembered the chaos of hiking drunk and vowed to never do it again. They all had donned headlamps, and even though the moon was full, it was hard to see the trail through the thick of the pines. Stumbling on an occasional rock and bitten by far too many bugs, she was eager to bury her head in her sleeping bag and be done with the night. But Pauly, one of Tommy’s friends, thought it would be nice to squeeze into the sleeping bag with her. Taking complete liberty, he slid himself right in. Seconds later, he had his hands up her shirt and his lips all over her. Suddenly, being both drunk and disgusted, she lurched up and puked all over him.
By now, the stoned and obnoxious buffoons had made their way through the chairs and halfway down the room. When Robin glanced up, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There, just three rows ahead, someone stumbled. “Oh my God, freaking Pauly,” she muttered to herself in anguish. Slipping and sliding in his own wet drippings, a chair caught him by the ass and stopped his fall, determining where he and his group were going to sit. Thank God he didn’t see me, she thought. She pulled up her fleecy hood, slid down into her chair, and made sure to avoid eye contact.
Sadly, this now meant no raising her hand after the presentation, no questions, no nothing. As studious as she was, she’d rather have unanswered questions than to have to deal with Pauly. Sinking lower and lower, she could almost taste the puke in her mouth all over again.
The slap of the projection screen as it raveled back up brought Robin to her senses, just as the lights of the High Peaks Information Center flashed back on.
Wow! she thought. I’ve never dozed like that. She wiped at the side of her face. Shit, did I drool? Rubbing her eyes, she looked toward the counter for Bryce, but he was no longer there. The monotone voice of the park ranger who led the class must have lulled her to sleep, or was it sheer boredom from knowing most of the class’s content? Maybe with all the research she was conducting and with graduation only a few weeks away, she truly was exhausted, and a mere darkened room was enough to send her drifting off.
* * *
Robin struck a match and lit the mini stove. Emptying her water bottle into the pot, she thought, Voilà, now I can make hot chocolate.
Just as the water began to boil, she heard a zip. Slowly, he rose from the tent, running his hands through that awesome hair. She felt her heart thump, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach, remembering how intimate last night was. He had pleasured her for what seemed like hours. She thought, I can’t wait to tell Tommy.
Bryce stretched as he walked toward her. “I promise you I usually don’t sleep with someone so early in a relationship,” he said.
She zeroed in on the word relationship. She was excited he felt that way and felt herself blush.
“You call that sleep?” she asked. “How are we supposed to hike with so few hours of actual sleep?”
“Hike?” he questioned back. “We can’t go anywhere yet.”
With an extended arm, he fanned the area and pointed toward the trail. The campsite should have offered a sweeping view through the trees and to the valley and brook below, but the fog obscured everything. “If this weather doesn’t clear, we’d be wise to sleep in.”
With that, he stepped up so close to her she could feel the heat from his newly awakened skin. He gently cupped her chin and tilted her head to the side. She felt him breathe her in as he kissed her neck. Speaking softly, he continued, “I’m serious... if it doesn’t clear up, I know what we can do for breakfast.”
