The van hit a bump. Josh said, “Hey, I dropped part of my cupcake!”
“Sorry,” said Bill. His voice was soft and anxious.
“No problem,” said Josh, leaning over. “There’s more where that came from.” And he held up a second pack he’d bought.
“Katie said she was going to make us a snack,” said Melinda. “It’ll be ready when we get there. Baked apples with raisins. Banana boats with nuts and chocolate and marshmallows. Maybe deep-dish peach cobbler, cooked in the coals. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”
“Katie’s a good cook,” said Bill. “She never could teach me how, but she tried, bless her. She was teaching Gillian, though, and Gillian was getting pretty good.”
Josh said nothing.
Melinda said, “That’s nice, Bill. That’s really sweet.”
Not having a child of her own, Melinda couldn’t fathom the anguish at the death of a child. Gillian Flory, seven years old, had been killed by a drunken, hit-and-run driver who had slammed into her on the sidewalk in front of the Florys’ house six months earlier. No one had been caught or convicted. Katie still grieved, but her stoicism helped keep her rational. Bill’s grief, however, had the man walking an edge that was sharp and dangerous.
It was Melinda who had talked Bill out of suicide two week after Gillian’s death.
Melinda poked Josh in the shoulder. “You aren’t going to have room for Katie’s snack after eating that.”
Josh swallowed a bite of the chocolate cupcake, turned around, and grinned. There was chocolate on his tooth. “I always have room.”
“Watch to the left,” said Melinda. “The dirt path to the site will be any minute.”
They watched. The van bumped along, spraying gravel dust out behind it, dipping around curves and smacking potholes. And then out of nowhere a man stepped into the roadin front of them. He turned and stared like a deer caught in headlights. His black hair was greasy, his eyebrows as bushy as a bear’s. Over one shoulder was a fishing pole and tackle bag. In the other arm was an ax.
Bill stomped the brake and laid on the horn. The van shuddered and skidded to a halt.
Bill’s head shot from the window. “Get the fuck off the road, asshole!”
Melinda’s heart jumped at Bill’s shout. The man in the road squinted then sauntered off into the trees.
“Goddamned moron,” Bill said. His shoulders began to shake; his voice was tremulous. He sounded close to tears. “Goddamned inbred insipid moron. Why don’t people look?” All three sat for a moment. Bill’s breathing was heavy and loud, like a steam engine roaring. His neck was flushed red. Josh caught Melinda’s hand and gave it a squeeze. After a long moment, Bill said, in a near whisper, “I m sorry.”
“No problem,” said Josh.
“It’s okay,” Melinda managed. Goddamn it all!
“I want us all to have a good time,” said Bill.
“So do we,” said Josh. “We’re going to have a good time. I promise.”
“Thanks for being our friends,” Bill said. “I’ve never had such good friends as you two.”
Melinda said softly, “You’re welcome.” Goddamn it to hell, we don’t need any scares this week.
Bill pressed the accelerator; the van moved on.
And then the dirt path was there. Bill slowed the vehicle. “Ah,” said Josh. “My bet is banana boats. Please let them be banana boats.”
“I forgot my camera,” said Melinda. She smacked Josh on the shoulder. “You let me forget my camera!”
“Nothing to take pictures of, ’cept lions and tigers and bears.”
“Oh, my,” said Melinda.
Bill steered the van onto the rutted pathway. The branches above were quite low, and Melinda instinctively dipped her head a bit as they drove under them.
The van stopped beside the trunk of a wide sycamore. The three friends hopped out and stretched. A cheerful fire burned in the center dirt spot. A pile of wood was gathered and laid beside the fire. Two tent spaces had been cleared of twigs and rocks.
“Hey, nature girl really does know what she’s doing,” said Melinda.
“Katie?” called Bill.
“Open the back,” said Josh.
Bill reached in and popped the hatch, still staring out among the trees for Katie. His hands crawled slowly into his pockets. “Katie? Where are you?”
Melinda walked past Bill to the campfire, picked up a stick, and lifted the lid of a large pan that was nestled within the glowing logs. Above, a small breeze rustled the leaves and a red-winged blackbird squawked.
“No banana boats,” she said. “It’s peach cobbler.”
“Okay, that’s the next best,” said Josh.
Bill walked to the back of the van, pulled out his blue tent case, and carried it to one of the raked tent spots. “I wonder where Katie is?”
“Probably taking a nature break,” said Melinda. She put the lid back on the pot, then walked to the other raked tent spot, where Josh had already upended their red tent bag onto the ground.
“Well,” Bill said, dusting off his hands. “I don’t remember how to set this thing up.”
“Just wait a few minutes and we’ll help you,” said Melinda. Josh untied the strings and flipped the tent open on the ground. Melinda picked up the stake bag. Bill looked around, his eyes drawn up in concern. “I’ll find Katie. You have your own tent. We can certainly do ours.”
Melinda shrugged. She dumped the stakes onto the pine needles by her foot.
Bill walked through the spiny branches of young dogwoods and disappeared down the knoll leading to the creek.
“Don’t worry. The weekend’ll be fine,” Josh said to Melinda.
“I hope so,” said Melinda as she picked up a tent pole and unfolded it to snap it into place.
From down near the stream, they could hear Bill calling, “Okay, Katie! Finish your business. Your man is a wimp in the woods and needs your cunning to put up the tent!”
“God, I’m glad to hear a little humor coming back to him,” said Josh. “Remember his sense of humor? He used to have us rolling in the aisles.” Melinda nodded.
Down at the creek, Bill belted out a Tarzan howl.
“Listen to him. Maybe we’re going to loosen him up a little too much,” said Josh. “He’ll want to go in to work Monday with a chimp and a loincloth. Won’t the sick people just love that?”
“Would that be considered sexual harassment?”
“Depends on how bad Bill looks in a loincloth.” Josh helped Melinda thread the first pole through the tabs on the tent, then poked the ends through the metal rings into the ground. The tent swayed like a kite.
“Get that other pole,” said Melinda.
Bill howled again.
“He won’t be fit to live with,” said Josh, shaking his head, bemused.
Melinda stopped, and tilted her head in the direction of the creek. The howl was longer this time and didn’t end with the traditional wavering Tarzan vibrato. It held in the air, guttural, clear, and loud.
Melinda dropped the pole.
“What?” Josh asked.
Bill’s howl cut off, then resumed. It was not a shout of playfulness.
“Oh, God!” said Melinda. She stepped forward toward the small trees, her mouth caught in her hand.
It was a cry of torment.
Melinda raced toward the trees, batting branches away and skidding down the knoll to the creek. Behind her, she could hear Josh drop the tent stakes and call after her.
“Bill!” Melinda shouted. She looked up the creek, where water swirled around rocks and rotting branches, carrying leaves and minnows down its course. She stumbled several yards down the creek and saw the top of Bill’s head above a thick jam of logs on the bank.