Bitterroot

Chapter 6

The next evening we pull into our campground in Murdo, South Dakota feeling worn out from another long day on the road. We'd traveled another seven hundred or so miles along the border of Nebraska and Iowa, finally hitting I-90 in South Dakota, the long stretch of road that would take us most of the way to Darby. My back and legs were aching from being trapped in the back seat all day. It's already dark when Gable finally backs the trailer into our spot. The excitement and adrenaline from day one is officially tapped out and everyone moves quickly through our chores. Even though we're all road-weary and ready for sleep, no one is ready to be confined inside again so we end up beside a fire once more tonight. We've pulled out the camping chairs and are seated in a circle staring at the flames, Willow on my left and Gable on my right. Though we've been together all day, his nearness now out in the open has my skin buzzing. I remember the warmth of his touch last night and my heart hurts. I wonder what he's thinking about, I want so badly just to ask him what he's feeling. I don't realize that I'm staring at him until he looks up and meets my eyes. He winks and I feel a little of the ice between us melt. I give him a shy smile and go back to studying the fire.

Sometime later, Gable rouses us all from our thoughts when he announces that he's heading to bed and the rest of us follow suit. We say goodnight to the boys as they head for their hammocks hanging across the interior of the trailer and Willow and I retire to the camper.

I'm pulling a soft t-shirt and a pair of floral boxers out of my duffle bag when Willow says, "This is weird for you isn't it? Him being back there and you in here?" She rifles through her suitcase, but peeks at me over her shoulder. "I mean, not that I approved of that whole sleeping arrangement in the first place," she adds, trying to lighten the moment.

I shrug and pull the t-shirt over my head. "Yeah. It is. But I guess this is just the beginning of things that are going to be off this summer." I sit down on the narrow bench and pull on the sleeping shorts.

"Yeah," she says, pulling on a pair of flannel pants covered in pink ladybugs. "But I feel like it's going okay, don't you? Not too awkward once we got going yesterday."

I nod. "It definitely could have been worse. I just hate this feeling of formality that we have between us now. Like we have to be super polite and can't joke around with each other."

"I'm sure it'll get easier," she says. I hope it does.

We climb up onto the thin mattress lining the floor inside the nose of the trailer. It's only slightly softer and my body hurts just thinking about another long night.

"Good night," Willow says turning onto her side.

"Good night, Wil," I say. After a few minutes, my friend's breathing grows deeper, but I slide my locket back and forth and stare at the familiar metal ceiling long into the night.

There's nothing I can do to stop the blood, so much blood. I feel like the life is being drained out of me and I'm helpless to stop it. I awake with a jolt, dry sobs stuck in my chest. I haven't had that dream in a long time and it takes my heart several minutes to slow, my mind several minutes to come back to the present. The camper in the trailer, Willow breathing beside me, Gable and Mitch sleeping on the other side of the metal wall. It wasn't real, at least it wasn't real today. Suddenly I'm so, so tired, my eyelids feel like sand bags. And then I'm lost to the darkness again.

On day four of our great journey west, the morning greets us with her wide blue arms stretched out in every direction over Butte, Montana.

"Only three more hours, ladies," Mitch says when he pokes his head through the camper door. "Up and at 'em!" Willow and I are sprawled out on our mattress, both unwilling to be the first to surrender to the morning. Our western trek across most of southern Montana yesterday passed unceremoniously but left me sore in places I'd forgotten I had. I was so ready to be settled at the ranch in my comparably cozy bunk and out of this miserable trailer.

Willow rolls out of bed first, giving the trailer a jolt when her feet hit the floor. I follow suit and a few minutes later we're trudging to the bathhouse in our flipflops and bed clothes.

"I look rough," I say, staring at my haggard face in the dull mirror. My hair is taking the messy ponytail to the next level this morning and there are some interesting creases on my cheeks.

"You look about as rough as I feel," Willow jibes and bumps my shoulder with hers. I stagger a little and give her my best I-haven't-slept-in-three-nights glare. She rolls her eyes and heads to the bathroom stalls.

A splash of cold water on my face somewhat revives me. I take my time washing my face, letting the citrusy scent of my soap wake up my senses.

When we head back to the camper fifteen minutes later we're dressed and somewhat more presentable. The boys have somehow managed to load King, pack up the campsite, and look like Gap models in the meantime. They're leaning against opposite sides of Gable's truck, arms propped on the edge of the bed, gabbing about something. Gable's long legs are clad in my favorite jeans and they fit him just right. He's switched out his flip-flops for boots today and my heart flutters a little as I take him in.

Willow lets out a cat-call and they both turn to look at us. "It's about time," Mitch hollers, making a show of looking at his wrist which is naked of an actual watch. Gable flashes that perfectly asymmetrical smile at me and my stomach flutters a little. We've traveled so far in the last three days, but here we are exactly where we started.

"Let's get this show on the road," Gable says and we load up for the race down the backstretch.

We journey on across Montana toward the western border and when we're almost to Idaho we hit highway ninety-three. That's when we know we're almost home. In Sula we meet the Bitterroot river and she leads the way, running alongside us like an alabaster carpet all the way to Darby.

When we get our first glimpse of the Bitterroot Mountains piercing the western sky my heart takes flight, soaring up over her craggy ridges all the way to the snowcapped summit of Trapper Peak. On the eastern side of the valley the Sapphire Mountains roll off into the distance, verdant and soft, an alarming juxtaposition between the sister ranges, and us enveloped in the middle. The sky above us is big and blue just as advertised and cotton-ball clouds cast shadows on the ground.

We pass a sign for Lake Como and I know we're getting close. Gable rolls the windows down then and the brisk Montana air whips around us carrying the scent of fresh mountain water and lodgepole pines.

Finally we see it. The log sign with an axe perched on top welcoming us to Darby and advertising Logger Days in mid-July, one of our favorite outings. The whole town comes out for a festival celebrating logging traditions with lumberjack competitions and a grand carnival. I can taste the cotton candy just thinking about it.

The actual town of Darby proper is just a short stretch of shops and a few worn out houses. We pass right through, waving at the Candy Shop and the Mercantile as we pass. Mitch has his head out the window like the Labrador he is and Willow looks like she might be considering doing the same. She flashes me a toothy grin, her hair flying, and all of the road weariness just washes away with the breeze.

On impulse, I lean over Gable's seat in front of me and lay a hand on his shoulder. "We're here," I whisper in his ear. It's the first time we've touched since our first night on the road. He nods and looks at me in the rearview mirror. His smile doesn't quite reach his emerald eyes.

I take my hand away and sit back in the seat just as the Bitterroot Valley Ranch sign comes into view.