The devil works hard but the manager of Lake View Hotel works harder. I figured amidst all the chaos of the damage it'd be days before I heard anything from them but it's Sunday morning and I have an email already, only a day after the storm.
Dear Charlotte Miller,
We are deeply sorry that your stay with us has been cut short due to extensive damage caused to the hotel during the storm on the morning of August 5th. A refund equal to the balance of your remaining stay (10 nights) has been processed to the original payment method and should be reflected in your bank account in 3-10 business days. We apologize for the inconvenience and we do hope this unavoidable Act of God does not negatively impact your review of our hotel and your stay. Unfortunately due to it being the high season, we have been unable to arrange alternative accommodations within Fisher. If you have any questions or concerns, please reply to this email or call me on the number below.
Regards,
Ben Phillips
Manager, Lake View Hotel
Fisher, ID
I send Ben a quick reply to thank him for the refund and to assure him that I've made my own arrangements, and a weight lifts off my shoulders to know I'll have the money back by the time I leave. Which means I can afford a ticket to Los Angeles to see Gaby and Tay.
Hey, I text, thinking about what we talked about (meeting in LA when I leave Fisher) - @gaby is there a day you can get there when you're free Tay?
I switch to my browser and check flights. I could leave my car here, take the bus to Boise, and get a two-hour flight to Burbank for a hundred fifty dollars, return. Then come back here, pick up my car and...
I don't know.
Drive to South Dakota, I guess. Live with my mom for a bit, get a job somewhere in Rapid City doing literally anything to make a bit of money while I figure my life out. It's not a great plan, but it's the best I have.
I'm free whenever!! Tay says. I mean my schedule is PACKED during the week I literally get like 3 hours a day to myself lol BUT my weekends are free-ish!
What is free-ish, I ask.
I joined a Saturday morning book club and Danny & I do Saturday date night but that ain't gonna get in the way of you coming here! So any weekend you want, you can come.
She then adds, & you can both totally stay with us!! We have a sofa bed and a weird little room that's, like, bigger than a closet but too small for a bedroom?? I can squeeze an air mattress in there I think!
Awesome!! @Gaby when are you free? The best for me is the 18th-20th? I could stay a few days longer here with Lou (if she'll have me) and fly in on the Friday night? I text, fingers flying over the keys as excitement builds. I've never been to Los Angeles. Never been to California. Fisher is probably the closest I've ever been and it's still two states away.
Gaby isn't online. I check the time - it's eleven here, ten in San Diego. She's probably at work, in the middle of some important meeting. I exit the group chat, leaving the message to marinade, and I pull on Lou's Boise State sweater over the closest approximation to a running kit I could find in the dresser. Bright turquoise yoga pants and a black tank top with wide arm holes, exposing the sides of my sports bra, which is mostly ornamental. I don't have enough boob to need support so half the time I go bra-free, but not when I run. I've had chafed nips before - not worth it.
I slept in later than usual. It's ten o'clock and Lou's lessons have already started for the day. I can hear her being kind and patient with the young girl who arrived twenty minutes ago and I don't want to interrupt so I scrawl a note on a piece of paper towel — gone for a quick run, taken a banana (will replace) — and I eat the banana as I stretch.
The state park that almost completely bisects the lake is on Lou's doorstep. Well, it's a half mile walk away. I found a fanny pack in the dresser, the perfect size for my phone and a bottle of water and a spare banana, and I feel like a local as I head to the start of the trailhead. The whole loop is just over six miles, through the woods and around a marsh and back again; I ran it for the first time when I was fifteen and Cole went with me and it took me almost an hour. My stamina's better now; I can do six miles in forty-five minutes, but I'm not aiming for a personal best today. I'm aiming for the overlook at the tip of the park, where the woods give way to a picturesque view of the lake from the edge of the basalt cliffs.
I should have got up earlier. It's going to be a hot one today. August is pulling all the punches so far, swinging wildly between heatwave and thunderstorm, and I already know that one twenty ounce bottle of water is not going to be enough to keep me from collapsing at the end in a sweaty, dehydrated pile. I hope there are water fountains along the route.
It's cool amongst the trees, at least. I keep my pace even as the trail starts to climb — at its highest point, the overlook, it is almost a hundred feet above the lake — and by the time I get there, the halfway point, my mile average is just over seven minutes. But now I have a stitch in my side and a cramp in my calf and I'm almost out of water and it's all I can do not to give in to the temptation to jump into the water from the overlook. I'm not stupid. It's a crazy high jump and I know how shallow the water is down there. Every parent who vacations in Fisher has some local legend horror story of kids getting killed or paralyzed by hijinks in the park. As far as the internet can tell me, none of the stories are true.
I rip out my earphones and collapse on the ground, already dry after yesterday's deluge. There's a handful of people milling about but no-one pays me any mind, the dumbass runner who pushed too hard when she has barely taken any exercise in the last couple months. I lie there for ten minutes, breathing hard, until I'm able to lift my head and prop my weary body up on my elbows and appreciate the view. Town looks so far away, a speck in the distance. It's about four miles as the crow flies, far enough that I can't see the beach, can't make out Lou's dock. All I see is the blue of the lake, the lighter blue of the sky, the white of the puffy clouds and the foam kicked up by the jet skis and boats.
It's stunning. This is how people are supposed to live. We're not designed for cities. All that hustle and bustle, the crowds, the concrete. It's not natural. This is where I belong. In nature. Where I can run in a forest and look over the water and see the stars at night. No constant rumble of traffic. No airport nearby. I've loved living in Austin for the last six years, but it's not where I want to stay. I can't wait to see my friends in Los Angeles, but I can't imagine that being my home. I want this. Countryside. Peace and quiet. I have the sun on my face and a breeze in my hair and I can see snow-capped mountains in the distance.
"Hey! Charlotte, right? Are you okay?"
I twist around at my name, scuffing my elbows in the dirt. Riley from the coffee shop is standing over me in airy running shorts and one of those complicated sports bras with a thousand straps, a water bottle in one hand and her phone in a band around her arm. "Oh, hey," I say, sitting up and dusting myself off.
"Hey." Her smile is big and bright. Lou's right; she is the spitting image of her mom. "You were looking kinda dead there."
"I'm a bit out of practise," I say, "and my proper running kit got ruined in the whole tree on the hotel thing."
Riley's face falls. "Oh, shit. Yeah, Mom mentioned. That's crazy. Scary, too. She said you're staying with Lou?"
"Yup. She's been amazing. I was not ready to drive to South Dakota so she kind of saved the day." Only now that I'm standing do I notice the benches overlooking the lake. Riley nods to one and we take a seat. She's barely sweating, not even the slightest bit out of breath as she reties her curls into a tighter bun.
"Lou's awesome," she says, bending over to redo her shoelaces too. "What's in South Dakota? I thought you guys were from, like, Montana or Washington or something?"
"Montana originally. My parents separated a few months ago"—look at me, getting better at saying it—"and Mom's moved to South Dakota, so that's where I'll probably end up after this vacation if I can't work something else out."
"So you're hanging around town for a bit longer?"
"A couple weeks," I say with a shrug, and then I add, "Maybe longer. We'll see. I don't have any plans. Nothing set in stone."
"Want a running partner while you're here?" She sits up straight and swigs her water and looks at me with big hazel eyes, forehead slightly scrunched in the face of the sun. She has Julia's freckles, though neither of them are anywhere near as freckled as Lou.
"That'd be cool, if you're serious. I don't wanna hold you up though." I gesture at her, taking her in head to toe. "You look like you run a five minute mile. You're not even sweating."
Riley lets out a burst of laughter, her eyes shining. "Oh god, no, I do not run a five minute mile. Eight, maybe. More like nine. I walked the last mile and I've been sitting in the shade for the last twenty minutes."
"Oh, thank fuck. I was starting to feel really inferior."
"You are not inferior. You are getting sunburnt, though." She's wearing a sling bag across her body that she swivels round from between her shoulder blades to her chest and unzips to reveal a treasure trove inside. Sunscreen and snacks, lip balm and a charger and a case for her airpods. She passes me the travel-sized sunscreen; I squirt it onto one index finger, use the other to dab it onto my cheeks and rub it into my skin.
"Thanks. I really need to go to the store and replace all the stuff that was in my hotel room." I cover my arms, too, and the exposed patch of my chest. "Lou's yoga pants are way too hot for running and my sneakers are on their last legs."
"There's an athletic store in town," Riley says. "Off Park Street, between the vacation rental agency and the butcher. It's pretty good, they've got a decent selection. My boyfriend works there and I'm sure I can persuade him to give you his staff discount."
"That'd be awesome. Thanks, Riley."
Still sitting on the bench, she stretches her arms and waist. "No problem. I could take you, if you want? They're open 'til four today and Robbie's working."
"Oh, no, don't worry about it, I can drive over later."
"Seriously, it's no problem — I'm parked at the bottom of the trail, just outside the entrance. I mean, if you wanted to cut your run short, anyway. I don't want to get in the way of your routine, but you're right, those sneakers are kinda past their sell by date."
I show her the small but growing hole in the right sole. "You think?"
Riley gasps, absolute horror on her face. It's a miracle my foot hasn't been impaled by a rock or a stick. "Okay, I'm taking the choice out of your hands. I am taking you to get new shoes whether you like it or not."
"Well, I can't exactly say no to that."
"Good." Her beam is infectious; I find myself mirroring it and wondering if we could become friends.
"We should check the thrift stores too." Riley swigs her water and takes a protein bar out of her bag, stretching out with her elbows on the back of the bench. "There's always great stuff at the end of the season when the tourists start going home and donating all the shit they don't want to take with them. I swear, some of them buy all new gear just for the summer and they give it away when they leave. Crazy." She shakes her head as she eats. "I'm not gonna stop them, though."
I don't point out that I, technically, am a tourist too and she doesn't seem to notice. Staying with Lou makes me feel like a weird sort of in between. I don't belong here, but I'm not just passing through. "What's it like, living here year round? How is it out of season?"
Riley shrugs. "Quiet, but in a good way. I love it. Wouldn't live anywhere else. I'm not cut out for some high powered important life — I just want to make coffee and hang out with my friends and my family and read on the beach. Simple stuff."
My heart pulsates with envy. "You're living the dream."
She turns her smile on me. "I really am, aren't I? I recommend it."
"Living here? Or living simply?"
"Both." She stands and offers me her water. I don't question it, stealing a generous glug. Not enough to rehydrate, but enough to stave off imminent disaster. "Race you to my car?"
Damn it. I can never resist a challenge, even if my body could do with a longer rest. "You're on."
*
what's your sport of choice? unlike charlie, i am in no way a runner - i much prefer a gentle dog walk!