All That We Carried Page 4

  Her solution was to get back to school as soon as possible. Her classes offered the distraction she needed. Melanie had gone the other direction. She dropped out of school, spent two years emptying and selling their childhood home with Aunt Susan’s help, and then fell into a pretty severe depression that Olivia had never truly known the scope of, though Aunt Susan kept sending her emails that hinted at it and suggested that Olivia may want to get in touch with her little sister.

  But getting in touch with Melanie meant having to face all of the emotions she had been avoiding. And it meant dealing with her rage over the fact that Melanie had betrayed them all by forgiving the guy who’d caused the accident and who’d walked away unscathed. Using law school as a convenient excuse, Olivia managed to avoid her family and her memories for years. Until Melanie came after her.

  The move north to Petoskey helped Melanie begin to break out of the hold depression had on her, but even Olivia had to admit that it was starting a blog that really made the most difference. A blog that became a YouTube channel that became a life coaching business. Melanie got better and had apparently made it her mission in life to get other people better too.

  Olivia knew that was what this trip was about. Melanie had arranged just the right combination of things to force Olivia to face the past—a long car drive, a remote hiking trip, music from their childhood in the CD player. In the end, Olivia had acquiesced to Melanie’s harping. But she put her foot down on the location. Melanie had wanted to return to Pictured Rocks to finish the hike they had started ten years before. But there was no way Olivia would ever set foot on that trail again. She knew she’d recognize the exact spot where that ranger had appeared out of the trees to tell her the worst news she would ever receive. She would go hiking if it would get Melanie to leave her alone. Just not there. Never there.

  They pulled up to the main-office cabin at 10:08 p.m. Though the rain had been lighter much of the way there, they’d hit another downpour a few miles from the motel.

  “Stay in the car,” Olivia said. “I’ll check us in and get the key.”

  She dashed out, arms above her head to fend off the torrent, then yanked on the front door to no avail. A man of about sixty wearing a robe was rounding the front desk. He hurried to the door and turned the lock, ushering her in.

  “Oh, come in, come in! I’m so glad to see you made it.” He tugged lightly on Olivia’s arm and shut the door behind her.

  A woman, also in a robe, came out from behind the counter. “We were so worried.”

  Olivia wiped the wet hair from her face and was about to speak when she found that she couldn’t. A lump had risen suddenly in her throat, and she felt—absurdly—like she was about to cry.

  “Oh! You’re soaked!” the woman said, rushing into action. She snatched a towel from the cupboard beneath the coffee maker and handed it to Olivia as the man pulled her farther into the room. “And you’re limping, you poor thing.”

  She was?

  “Where’s your sister?”

  Olivia pointed out the door. “Car,” she managed. What was wrong with her? She stood in courtrooms with people who had done despicable things to their fellow human beings—deceptions, beatings, rapes, murders—and had never had a problem controlling her emotions. Why was it so hard to check into a stupid little cabin?

  She took a deep breath. “We’re here. And ready for bed.”

  “I bet you are,” the man said. “Willa?”

  The woman pulled a key from the wall behind the counter and pointed. “It’s the third one down. The lights are on for you. Wanted you to be able to see it in the dark.”

  Olivia nodded. “I’m so sorry we kept you up. It wasn’t my intention to arrive so late. I had it all scheduled out and—”

  “Nonsense,” the man broke in. “You can’t schedule everything. Weather will have its way.”

  “Bernie, what about the road? Don’t forget that,” Willa said.

  Bernie shook his head. “No, these girls are going west, to the Porkies, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Olivia said, surprised to realize that she wasn’t at all upset about this man referring to her as a girl. “What road?”

  “It’s nothing,” Bernie said.

  “It’s not nothing,” Willa protested. “Up in Houghton they’ve had roads washed clean away today by this storm. Had no rain all summer—dry as a bone out there—then all this rain all at once. Ground can’t keep up with it.”

  “But they’re not going to Houghton, they’re hiking the Porkies,” Bernie said. Willa seemed about to speak again, but her husband cut her off. “The road out there is fine. The trail may be another matter. But maybe it won’t be so bad. It certainly was a dry season. Now let’s let these girls get some sleep.”

  Willa gripped Olivia’s hand. “Do be careful out there. I worry so much about hikers, especially if you don’t have any men in your group.”

  Olivia laughed at that. “Oh, don’t worry about us. We’ve managed so far without men. I’m sure we’ll be just fine.” She gave Bernie a wink, which he returned. “Well, I better get back out to my sister. Oh! When do I pay? We’ll be getting out early tomorrow morning.”

  “We’re up at six, dear,” Willa said. “Now go get some sleep.”

  “Thank you, again, for staying up so late.”

  “No problem,” Bernie said. He unlocked the door for her, and she rushed back into the car.

  “Everything okay with the room?” Melanie said. “You were in there a long time.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia said. “We just got talking. They’re a nice couple.”

  At that moment she knew why she’d found it so hard to speak at first. Bernie and Willa looked to be about how old her parents would be now, and they had been up late, worried and watching for her and her sister to come in out of the storm.

  Olivia quickly pulled the car away to where the floodlight could not illuminate her face and then idled slowly toward the third cabin on the left. She parked as close to the door as possible, glad she’d packed a separate bag for this overnight stay so she wouldn’t have to lug her pack in through the rain. In less than a minute, she and Melanie were inside with their things, shaking the water out of their hair and taking in their new surroundings.

  The room was small, only about the width of a double bed and two nightstands. Along one wall was the door to a tiny bathroom. Another wall was lined with a small refrigerator topped with a microwave, a narrow sink, a two-burner stovetop, and a petite table with two chairs, above which was a laughably out-of-place flat-screen TV. So maybe they did have streaming up here.

  Olivia dumped her stuff on the table and turned on the TV. She didn’t have to search for the local news and weather channel. It must be what everyone watched before they left for the day’s adventures. Footage of the flooding up in Houghton was terrible, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. She scanned the ticker for anything that included the Porcupine Mountains. She heard Melanie moving about behind her—using the bathroom, brushing her teeth, changing into pajamas. The ticker repeated itself three full times. Nothing new.

  Finally, Olivia turned around to find Melanie snug under the covers, writing in a journal. She could read no anxiety on her little sister’s face. In fact, Melanie smiled contentedly as she scribbled away.

  “What are you writing?” Olivia said.

  “Oh, just notes about the day.” Melanie looked up. “Did the news have anything on that motorcycle accident?”

  Olivia had nearly forgotten the accident. “I don’t think so.”

  “I tried to see if I could find anything before we left Marquette, but the only articles about accidents were years old. And you know there had to be more than the one accident in all that rain. I don’t understand how search engines work. Maybe there should just be one website where all accidents are reported and then followed up on, so you can find out what happened after the accident.”

  Olivia wished she would stop saying the word accident.

  “I
t could be like the Weather Channel. But, like, the Accident Channel, you know?”

  “I’m getting ready for bed.” Olivia disappeared into the bathroom. Since she was already all wet, she might as well take a shower. The tiny stall was tight quarters for someone as tall as she was, and the well water smelled faintly of sulfur, but the towels were soft. She slipped into clean pj’s and took a moment to savor the feeling. Soon she’d be grimier than she had been in many years.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Melanie had switched from her journal to a book. Olivia got into bed and tried to look surreptitiously at the cover.

  Melanie tipped the cover toward her. “It’s about a man who hiked the Appalachian Trail solo after he lost his wife to cancer,” she explained. “It’s really good.”

  Olivia turned away and switched off the lamp on her side of the bed.

  “Do you want me to turn this off?” Melanie said.

  “No, you can read.”

  “Do you want me to read to you?”

  “No. I’m going to sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t stay up too late,” Olivia said. “I have my alarm set for seven o’clock. Enough time to check out, eat, and get to the park headquarters to check in when they open at eight. If you have to take a shower tomorrow morning, make it quick.” She kneaded her pillow, laid her head down, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would come quickly.

  Sleep would not.

  six

  MELANIE THREW THE CAR into park in the small dirt lot at the Government Peak trailhead and turned to her sister. “Here we are! Right on schedule.”

  Per Olivia’s desires, they had rolled in to the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park visitor center at 7:58 a.m. and were waiting outside the door when it opened at 8:00. They checked in, received their backcountry camping permit, and got an update on the weather—fine but on the cold side—and trail conditions—a bit soggy in places. The rivers and waterfalls would be running high, but nothing insurmountable. Melanie made the four-mile drive to the trailhead in silence as Olivia frowned over her map and made some last-minute notes. And then they were there.

  “This is so exciting,” Melanie said as they unloaded their packs and poles. Olivia had insisted they both have a set of hiking poles because they would technically be hiking in mountains, though anyone who had hiked in any major range would laugh at what Midwesterners considered mountains. According to Olivia, they’d scale one of the highest peaks in the park today, at a measly 1,850 feet.

  An orange hatchback roared into the small gravel lot, parked at an obnoxious angle, and spit out three loud people and an empty beer bottle, which none of the three stooped to pick up. Two guys and a girl in their early twenties, dressed as though they were going to be Instagramming their trip.

  “Day hikers,” Olivia said with just a touch of derision. “Let’s get moving fast so we don’t have to hike near them.”

  The hatchback opened, revealing three brand-new packs. Not day hikers.

  “Maybe we should let them go on ahead of us,” Melanie suggested. “They look pretty fit.”

  “And we’re not?”

  “I mean, we’re not decrepit yet, but it’s not like we’re running marathons or anything. And you were complaining about your hip.”

  Olivia approached the noisy trio. “Excuse me.” No one heard her, or if they did they were ignoring her. “Excuse me!”

  They stopped talking and looked at her like they’d never seen another human being before. “Yeah?” the girl said, challenge in her voice.

  “Are you hiking the backcountry?”

  “Yeah,” one of the guys said.

  “I’m just wondering if we might be going the same way,” Olivia said, pulling out her map.

  The guy gave his friends an eye roll and leaned in. “This where you’re going? The stuff in pen?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going that way too. At first. Then we’re skipping over this way to the lake.” The other two already had their packs on, and the girl handed him his while never taking her narrowed eyes off Olivia. He pulled it on and snapped the belt across his stomach. “Why?”

  “Just curious,” Olivia said. She folded the map and headed back to Melanie’s car.

  The girl whispered something to the guys, and they all laughed. Then they headed into the forest.

  “I guess that settles that,” Olivia said. “We’ll hike behind them and hope we don’t catch up.”

  Melanie picked up the beer bottle and tossed it in the back of her car. “Little early in the day to be drinking, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Your car’s going to smell like beer when we get back,” Olivia warned. “But I guess there’s no trash can, so . . .” She trailed off.

  Packs were hoisted and straps were clicked into place, then Melanie locked the car and tucked her keys into a side pocket.

  “You have your water, right?” Olivia said.

  “Yes.”

  “And your food.”

  “Oh! No, wait.”

  Olivia sighed and dug Melanie’s keys out of the pack. “What were you going to eat?”

  “Calm down, we didn’t leave it.”

  “We almost did.” Olivia quickly transferred the food to the food bag and the food bag to the pack that was still on Melanie’s back. “What about this box back here? What’s in there?”

  Melanie opened the other back door and grabbed the box before Olivia could open it. “Nothing. Just some stuff I wanted you to go through after the hike.” She shoved it across the back seat, where it landed next to the beer bottle.

  “What is it?”

  “Just stuff. You’ll see. Later. Let’s get going. This trail isn’t going to hike itself!”

  Olivia locked the car and stuffed the keys back into the side pocket of Mel’s pack. “Okay, disaster averted. Let’s go.” She started down the trail.

  “Wait!” Melanie said, pulling out her phone. “We have to get a start-of-the-hike selfie.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes, of course we do. Stop being so difficult. Take your sunglasses off.”

  “This better not end up on your website.”

  Melanie snatched the sunglasses off Olivia’s face and positioned her by the sign for the Government Peak Trail, which indicated several destinations, including where they would sleep that night: Mirror Lake, 8 miles.

  Melanie snapped several pictures, then swiftly thumbed through them. “Come on. Act like you want to be here.” She snapped several more, pronounced them “workable,” and turned off her phone to save the battery.

  “Okay then, let’s go. Sun sets at 7:32.”

  With Olivia in the lead, they started walking. The trail led gently up beneath a canopy of yellow birch and burnished maple. The forest floor was already littered with a mosaic of fallen leaves, and the underbrush was heavy with berries of red, white, and nearly black. Melanie took in the glorious colors, breathed in the sweet scent of decay, and felt lucky—no, blessed—to be in this exact place at this exact moment. A moment that would never come in exactly this way again.

  On any other day, she would have stopped right then to record it in her journal—what she saw, what she heard, what she felt—so that she could go back to it someday when the darkness came creeping in from that place where it always lurked just outside her field of vision. Not that all of the moments she recorded were pleasant. Some were downright painful. In fact, of all the pages of the first journal she’d filled after her parents’ accident, Melanie could count on one hand those that testified to anything other than complete despair. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to return to that journal for solace, to relive those exhausting days of grief mingled with pragmatism, the bouts of crying over some item in the house and then having to decide what to do with it. Save, donate, discard. The slow dispersal of goods dragging out her grief along with it.

  But then, journals weren’t just about the happy days, and anything of significance got written down. Or perhap
s some moments only became significant by virtue of being recorded. The particular patterns and colors of the leaves at this hour of this day probably weren’t important in any sense that Olivia would understand. But to Melanie they marked the beginning of a sparkling new chapter in her relationship with her sister. The one in which Olivia would finally forgive her for the event she recorded at the end of that first journal. The unforgivable sin that had forever rent the fabric of their relationship.

  Melanie hadn’t noticed him at the committal service in the cemetery that day until Olivia pointed him out.

  “What does he think he’s doing here?” she’d said, her voice like granite.

  Melanie followed her gaze to a young man standing in the open passenger door of a car whose windshield still sported the neon-yellow price sticker typical of a certain echelon of used car lots. He was wearing sunglasses, though the day was cloudy, but Melanie recognized the wiry build, tattooed arms, and buzzed dark hair of Justin Navarro. Uncle Craig began walking toward the car, presumably to ask him to leave. But he didn’t have to. Justin got into the car, and whoever was in the driver’s seat drove away.

  Later, on the pages of her journal, Melanie wondered why Justin had thought it appropriate to come and how long he had been there, skulking along the edges of their sorrow. She saw him the next week at the other end of the medicine aisle in the grocery store, and then at the thrift store the week after that, when she dropped off several bags of her father’s clothes. He was thumbing through shirts, and she wondered if she might run into him someday in a parking lot and realize that he was wearing something of her dad’s.

  She’d decided right then that she needed to speak to him. That she couldn’t go on seeing him in town, pretending nothing had happened when both of their lives had changed forever. Yes, it was awkward at first, and Melanie had to work hard to keep from crying, but that first tentative conversation ended with an agreement to meet for coffee the next day. One coffee led to another, which led to meeting once a week, during which the two of them would update each other on how they were doing emotionally and what was happening in their lives.