Funny, this had never been an issue. Until she was out of pre-med, aged twenty-two, she’d been very careful with her behavior around Sully. He was so proud of her, she hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. Then that summer before med school, self-designated as an independent adult, she had a little summer romance at the crossing. He was a biology teacher on summer break, living in his RV for several weeks, studying the flora in the Rockies, and she flirted with him. He flirted with her. They were drawn by common interests and lust and she stayed out all night a few times, cozy in his RV.
Sully had said nothing. Nothing at all. It was as if they’d come to the mutual understanding that it was time for her to lead her own adult life, take responsibility for her actions without his guidance or interference. Silent acceptance.
She found him on the porch with Frank, having coffee and a not very heart-healthy pastry. But she’d been out most of the night and had therefore relinquished the right to comment on his diet choice.
She got a cup of coffee and sat down. “How’d you sleep, Sully?”
“Slept like a rock. Didn’t even hear you come in at three thirty.”
“That was subtle,” she said. Like she really needed Frank in on this.
“Mail run yesterday brought in four packages,” Sully said. “They’re for thru-hikers, so it’s starting. Cal’s in the storeroom moving things around and getting ready for some restocking, making room for the packages that are going to start coming in now—hikers on the trail are moving this way now that the snowpack is melting.”
“Oh.” She sipped her coffee.
“I’d be in there working, but I’m taking it one step at a time. Some of those boxes weigh forty pounds.”
“I’m glad you’re not doing that.”
“You know more about the post office end of things than Cal. Can you go check and see if he’s making sense of the storeroom? Looked like he was doing okay, but...”
“When did he get here?”
“Around six thirty, I think.”
Show-off, she thought. “You give him a raise or something?” she asked.
“Funny. Jackson is starting this afternoon. I’m going to use him Saturday, Monday, Tuesday and then his sister, Nikki, Friday, Sunday and Thursday. No extra help on Wednesdays. Sounds decent, doesn’t it?”
“Doesn’t Tom usually show up on Wednesdays?”
“For cleanup around the grounds,” Sully said. “That’s going to get more important as spring ripens. Few more weeks and I’ll be doing it mostly on my own.”
She wasn’t so sure he’d ever be as active as he once was. It wasn’t just the surgery, it was the surgery plus being seventy. “I’ll go check on Cal,” she said, taking her coffee with her to the storeroom.
When hikers planned to take on one of the long trails like the Colorado or Continental Divide Trail, meticulous planning was required. They couldn’t carry a lot of water with them—water is heavy. They had to know precisely where they could get fresh water along the trail. And they had to try to plan strategic stopping points. They could camp along the trail for four to as many as ten nights if there was plentiful water along the way, but they couldn’t carry enough nourishment or changes of clothing for longer than that. They would plot their trek by towns and campgrounds like the crossing. At the crossing they could get showers, wash clothes, pick up parcels they’d mailed ahead as well as packages sent to them by friends or family. They’d meet with other hikers, share news, drink a few beers, grill some burgers and load up on protein. They’d charge their phones, check their email. They exchanged more than news—sometimes they’d trade off equipment or supplies to both lighten their load and pick up items they needed. They often exchanged books—Sully had a shelf set aside for that. Long-distance hikers didn’t carry more than one book at a time. They’d also do some shopping for anything they’d used up, lost or forgotten—batteries, first-aid items, lighters for campfires, protein snacks, water-purification kits.
Sully had said nothing. Nothing at all. It was as if they’d come to the mutual understanding that it was time for her to lead her own adult life, take responsibility for her actions without his guidance or interference. Silent acceptance.
She found him on the porch with Frank, having coffee and a not very heart-healthy pastry. But she’d been out most of the night and had therefore relinquished the right to comment on his diet choice.
She got a cup of coffee and sat down. “How’d you sleep, Sully?”
“Slept like a rock. Didn’t even hear you come in at three thirty.”
“That was subtle,” she said. Like she really needed Frank in on this.
“Mail run yesterday brought in four packages,” Sully said. “They’re for thru-hikers, so it’s starting. Cal’s in the storeroom moving things around and getting ready for some restocking, making room for the packages that are going to start coming in now—hikers on the trail are moving this way now that the snowpack is melting.”
“Oh.” She sipped her coffee.
“I’d be in there working, but I’m taking it one step at a time. Some of those boxes weigh forty pounds.”
“I’m glad you’re not doing that.”
“You know more about the post office end of things than Cal. Can you go check and see if he’s making sense of the storeroom? Looked like he was doing okay, but...”
“When did he get here?”
“Around six thirty, I think.”
Show-off, she thought. “You give him a raise or something?” she asked.
“Funny. Jackson is starting this afternoon. I’m going to use him Saturday, Monday, Tuesday and then his sister, Nikki, Friday, Sunday and Thursday. No extra help on Wednesdays. Sounds decent, doesn’t it?”
“Doesn’t Tom usually show up on Wednesdays?”
“For cleanup around the grounds,” Sully said. “That’s going to get more important as spring ripens. Few more weeks and I’ll be doing it mostly on my own.”
She wasn’t so sure he’d ever be as active as he once was. It wasn’t just the surgery, it was the surgery plus being seventy. “I’ll go check on Cal,” she said, taking her coffee with her to the storeroom.
When hikers planned to take on one of the long trails like the Colorado or Continental Divide Trail, meticulous planning was required. They couldn’t carry a lot of water with them—water is heavy. They had to know precisely where they could get fresh water along the trail. And they had to try to plan strategic stopping points. They could camp along the trail for four to as many as ten nights if there was plentiful water along the way, but they couldn’t carry enough nourishment or changes of clothing for longer than that. They would plot their trek by towns and campgrounds like the crossing. At the crossing they could get showers, wash clothes, pick up parcels they’d mailed ahead as well as packages sent to them by friends or family. They’d meet with other hikers, share news, drink a few beers, grill some burgers and load up on protein. They’d charge their phones, check their email. They exchanged more than news—sometimes they’d trade off equipment or supplies to both lighten their load and pick up items they needed. They often exchanged books—Sully had a shelf set aside for that. Long-distance hikers didn’t carry more than one book at a time. They’d also do some shopping for anything they’d used up, lost or forgotten—batteries, first-aid items, lighters for campfires, protein snacks, water-purification kits.
