The next day, both of them dying of alcohol poisoning, she had accompanied Gina to her fiance's funeral, attended by the same three men who'd been at John's, as well as about six hundred other close personal friends and acquaintances of David Freeman's, who had evidently been somebody important, although Michelle had never heard of him.
But the connection between the two grieving women had become strong. They'd gone on their first hike together- a couple of miles around Tilden Park in Oakland-last January. A few weeks ago they'd walked the Bay to Breakers race. Getting in shape. Having some fun. At least once every two weeks they went out to dinner, usually at someplace Michelle would recommend.
The first time, they'd gone to Jeanty at Jack's. Michelle had shown up in her usual camo gear and afterward felt like a bit of a fool. Gradually, she rethought her style, or lack of. Recently, both women had taken to dressing up for these dinners. Even in San Francisco, where the odds did not favor single women, to say the least, they would almost always have the clear opportunity to meet men. Offers to buy drinks. None of these advances had gone anywhere, but they were flattering nonetheless. Nonthreatening.
Michelle wondered what in the world she had been so afraid of.
And knew the answer, of course. Everything. Her funky, stupid hide-me clothes. Hiding out in the corners of restaurants and libraries. Communicating by email. The small, familiar world of her small, familiar apartment.
Now, well into early evening, the two women had been hiking in long shadows for an hour or more when they came around a bend in the path and found themselves suddenly squinting into the sunlight that reflected off a field of ice that covered the entire trail.
"At least now we know why we haven't seen anybody coming the other way," Roake said. She unshouldered her pack and took a long drink of water. Grimaced. "This iodine pill thing. I don't think I'm getting very used to the taste."
"I stopped using it," Michelle said.
Roake stopped in mid-drink. "Then why am I still gagging on this stuff? I thought there was giardia"-a particularly unpleasant intestinal parasite-"everywhere up here."
"There is, I suppose. But my dad used to hike up here all the time and he never used it, either. And never got sick." She shrugged. "If I've learned anything the past year, Gina, it's that the world's a dangerous place. It's never really been safe, although it's comforting to pretend it is. But really there's risk everywhere. Might as well embrace it and enjoy the days. So I'm going to drink the goddamned good-tasting, non-iodized water."
Roake took another pull at her canteen, made another face. "Will you think I'm a wimp if I don't?"
"Absolutely." A big grin. "But who cares what I think? You do it your way; I'll still like you."
Michelle stood up, brushed off her bottom, stared at the ice shelf looming up ahead of them. "Talk about risk," she said. "Do you want to go for this? Maybe we should give it up?"
Roake, too, was on her feet. "And miss the best view in the Sierra? I'd rather die trying."
"So we go?"
"Lead on, girlfriend, lead on."