Gwen's lists are pretty fucking funny, at least to me. By the time she was done creating her rules last night, there were more than fifty, and I can guarantee she won't remember half of them. They seemed to disappear from her consciousness the minute she wrote them down, as though the act of putting them to paper banished the possibility of any of it happening.
After we've stashed our bags in the back of the cab instead of the truck bed, I start the vehicle and Gwen searches for a radio station. When she lands on something she likes, I decide now is a good time for her first rule reminder. There is a good chance she will hate both the rules and me by the end of today. Rule number one is in full effect—do not be nice to Gwen.
I flip away from the station she's picked and set it on something that plays music more to my taste.
"Hey!" Gwen says, and she swats my hand away.
"Rule breaker," I say, and I make a tsking sound. "Rule ten is no physical contact of any sort, and rule number thirty-six, the only one I added to your list, was that the driver gets to pick the music in the truck."
She lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Do you have a photographic memory or something?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I have."
"That's cheating."
"A genetic gift is not cheating—ask any athlete at the Olympics."
"I think I liked it better when you were quiet and anti-social," she mutters.
"No, you didn't." I can say that with absolute certainty. She lived to try to get me to talk.
"No," she says, sliding a glance my way. "I didn't. But what's that saying about being careful what you wish for?"
"You might just get it."
"Why are you so much more talkative?" She twists in her seat to stare at me. "I'm not saying I don't like it, but it's a big change."
"I'm better one-to-one." Partly true, but I've been wondering myself at how much lighter I've felt the last couple of days. Since the boat trip. As if giving myself permission to enjoy something has released a valve I didn't even realize I'd tightened so much. Then deciding to ask Gwen to travel with me seemed to loosen the grip on my emotions a little more.
I've got five and a half months before I go back to the DRC, and while the start of my trip might have been forced, it doesn't mean the rest of it needs to be. Take it one day at a time.
Unlike Gwen, I'm not worried we'll end up in some grand, doomed love affair. Romantically, I've loved one woman—Diana. Experiencing that once was enough. No desire to have it happen again. Emotional turmoil isn't something I crave.
"When we get to Jasper, can you let me off at the entrance for the Sulphur Skyline Hike? Do you want me to put it into your phone's GPS?"
"Go ahead," I say, and I nod at where my phone is slotted into the console. "Are you meeting an organized group there?"
"No," she says, tapping buttons on my phone. "Gonna hike it alone. What are you doing at the park?"
Now? Going for a hike, apparently. Truthfully, I'd been thinking about hiking one of the trails anyway, but if Gwen's wandering around in the wilderness alone, half my brain will be concerned for her safety.
"Not sure what I'll get up to," I say. "See what appeals to me when I get there." Technically, if I let Gwen get a head start and then I trail behind her, I'm not violating rule number four. We'll be engaged in our own activities, it'll just be the same activity at slightly different times.
~ * ~
After I park in the gravel lot, I get out of the truck and follow Gwen to the trailhead map. There are a few other cars in the parking lot, but it's certainly not crowded. In the top corner of the map is a warning about recent grizzly bear sightings. Gwen either doesn't see it or ignores it as she traces the trail with her finger.
"You've got your bear spray?" I ask.
"Right here." She pats the side of her bag.
"Bear bells?"
"Why would I need bells?"
"To warn the bears you're coming. Startling a bear is often what leads to conflict."
"I'd ask how you know, but you probably watched some nature show twenty-five years ago and remember it word for word."
"Thirty years ago," I say. "I was six. It was thrilling."
"You're not coming with me." She points her finger at me. "It violates—"
"Rule number four. I'm aware. I'm adding a new rule. Number fifty-two. If Gwen Johnston puts herself in mortal danger, all other rules are null and void."
"That's not a rule."
"It is now. There are fifty-two rules, and I've made two of them. Music choice and for you not to throw yourself in front of a bear or a serial killer or who knows what else for the next five and a half months."
"What are the chances I'll see a bear? You know what? If I go on this hike, and I see a bear, you can have rule number fifty-two for the next five and a half months. No bear? No rule."
How am I in the position of wishing for a bear encounter?
"I'm hiking this trail," I say. "You want me to hike in front or behind you, I can, but you hiking it alone is not an option."
"I'm stopping at the hot springs. Pack your bathing suit."
From the back of the cab, I grab my water bottle and day pack which does not include a bathing suit, but I'll use my shorts if I have to.
As we start along the trail, Gwen glances at me. "Where does this colossal protective streak come from, anyway?"
Diana. My childhood. My inability to protect my siblings. Being a doctor, sometimes in a war zone. Take your pick. "Always had it." It just hasn't always made a difference.
"You weren't like this on the bus tour, though."
True, but there were a few times where I definitely fought the instinct to interfere. "You had Esther and Colin." This idle get-to-know-you chit-chat is in violation of rule number forty-one. No getting to know each other on a deeper level. But since I'm not the serial romantic, I won't call her on it.
"Why did you spend so much time in your room?" she asks.
"I went for walks and runs." I shrug. "We just wanted different things out of the bus trip."
"Did you get what you wanted?" She peers up at me, and I'm stuck again at how pretty her brown eyes are. Funny, they almost remind me of maple syrup.
"Close enough," I say. "You?"
"I got more than I bargained for," she says with a laugh. "I had no idea I signed up for the retiree bus trip. From one extreme to another."
"What's that mean?" I hook my thumbs around the straps of my pack as the path narrows slightly, and she gets closer to me.
She tells me the story of how she ended up on the mature bus trip, and she's so animated as she speaks that it makes it easy to get sucked into the narrative.
"They thought you were old enough to be a mother to someone their age?" I ask, skeptical.
"Yes!" She touches her face lightly with her fingertips. "Like, is my skin care regime not working? Do I look forty instead of almost thirty?"
"They were clearly a poor judge of age. When I was younger everyone seemed old to me. They were either my age or old."
"I don't want to be old," she cries.
"Is that what this trip is about?" I examine her. To me, she could have slotted easily in beside the early twenty-somethings with no problems. "Are you worried about getting old?"
She purses her lips and keeps walking, as though she's thinking really hard about what I've said. Didn't seem that insightful to me—more obvious. Total resistance to anything that makes her feel grown up. Makes sense.
"I don't think so," she says. "Maybe a little. I don't know. It's more..." She sighs. "All my friends have jobs they like, or they're in a stable relationship, or they're married, or they're married and have a baby. All those things I'm supposed to have or want or strive for, and I've just..." She splays her hands out in a grand gesture. "Never found anything that made me want that. Not a place or a person or a job. I hop from one thing to the next to the next, and I'm never satisfied. Nev-er."
"And that bothers you?" Unlike her, I think I might have the opposite problem. Contentment with everything. Work, eat, sleep. Good enough.
"I'm more aware of it, I guess. My sister was adamant that the fairy tale didn't exist, but I'd say she's living it in England with Ash. They're tight. And happy. Stupidly happy."
"You want the fairy tale?" Puzzling out this conversation is becoming harder than I expected.
"Mmm." She seems to fight a smile and loses. "I think I'd like to sample it. See if I like it. Like tapas."
Instead of responding right away, I try to look past the glibness of her comment. She seems resistant to being taken seriously, but I have no doubt she's being serious.
"You're worried nothing will ever fulfill you completely," I say. "At least not in the way you perceive your sister has found."
"You asked me what this trip was about, and I think it's that—sort of. I've never wanted the things other people want, but I'm not sure I know what I do want instead. Drifting forever from job to place to relationship will get lonely at some point, don't you think?"
"I don't know," I say, thinking about how alone I've been for years. Not drifting, so much as striving with determination for something I'm not sure I can ever reach.
There will always be another person, another place that needs my help. That used to be exhilarating, but right now, it's exhausting. I've been so busy looking at the trees in front of me, that I've missed out on the bigger picture of the forest. "We can have an existential crisis together."
I am pretty swamped right now with the release of Heavy Crown on August 17th (yay!), and I'm working on edits for Miss Matched (coming in 2023 with Wattpad Books). Updates should stay consistent, but they might be a bit shorter than normal until everything else settles down.
Before you go, hit the star.
Update: Friday
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