At the Trailhead

The window was open a few inches—she’d needed the night air to clarify her thoughts. She closed it now, though mostly out of habit, since she wouldn’t be returning to feel the cold permeate the small apartment.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said, her voice quavering even in that one syllable, then picked up her things. They left together without speaking further, lingering only long enough for her to lock the door behind them. He led the way as they descended purposefully down the single flight of narrow stairs in the low light. Her eyes remained on the shoulders of his down jacket. She was surprised that it was him, that he was the one she’d called from the junker phone she’d bought. He’d come without hesitation.

He’d grown up here too, though his family had moved away a decade ago, once he’d left for the city. They’d been next-door neighbors, friends by happenstance, most of their childhood. He’d been a gentle boy, nice. Some of the other kids had seen him as being scared of doing things, but she’d known even then that wasn’t true, that he was just better than they were at anticipating consequences. She herself had been more like the rest of them, foolishly accepting dares and then having to limp home broken or cut. Saying no had never seemed like an option. The first of her bad choices.

Now she fell into step with him along the unlit side street, alert for any signs of life, but the windows of nearly all the houses were dark and no cars passed. She didn’t have her own car. He didn’t have one either, because he didn’t need one. He’d caught the packed commuter train to town that evening, then approached her building on foot once full darkness had set in, as he’d told her he would. There hadn’t been much time to work out how she would leave, once she’d realized she needed to. Their conversations had been brief, their communication like muscle memory.

After about a mile, the pavement ended and the ground underneath their feet was the grass at the base of the mountain. In the moonlight, she could see that where the turf thinned, the recently melted snow had made a mess out of the trail, which started to rise gradually in front of them. Stepping carefully, they managed to avoid the deep mud.

This path wasn’t unfamiliar to her, but she hadn’t been on it in years. A few yards on, though, when walking single file became necessary, she took the lead. He yielded to her wordlessly.

At the marked trailhead they stopped, and she adjusted her second-hand backpack, tightening its straps so it wouldn’t shift. She looked up past the treetops at the late-winter night sky. Neither of them reached for the registration clipboard attached to the wooden kiosk they stood next to. In the stillness and seclusion of the open air, they spoke softly.

“I’ve got food, coffee, and water for tonight. And I packed a few supplies in case we need to rest briefly along the way—a wool blanket, candles and matches, that sort of thing.”

She nodded, with only a small movement of her chin. “Thank you.”

“We shouldn’t run into anything too scary up there. Unless you’re afraid of the ax murderer in the woods.” He smiled a bit, the left side of his lips twisting slightly upward. She just looked at the ground to keep herself from crying. His kindness was almost unbearable.

“We’ll try to make a bit of noise so as not to surprise any animals.” He paused. “Though not too much noise, of course.” Now he looked down at the ground, as if he felt her shame. He allowed a moment of silence before he began talking again.

“Stick to the edges of the trail. Less mud there, and more leaves. The temperature is dropping, so we’d risk leaving behind perfectly preserved footprints if we walked in the middle. Although a lot of hikers come through here, so the prints could be from anyone.” He looked off into the darkness for a second, seeming to consider something. “Of course, we don’t even know if he’ll look for you here, or at all. But best to play it safe.” He rubbed his gloved hands together, for warmth, then ran a bulky finger along a line on the map that had been posted. “We’re heading north tonight.”

“And then west and then north again,” she whispered, like a young child who had memorized her favorite story. 

“That’s right.” He gazed at her for a few seconds, and she thought, Don’t look at me like that. “By late morning we’ll emerge two towns over and stop for breakfast. I’ve arranged for a friend to pick us up there. We’ll be all right. You’ll be all right. Just hide your hair.” He smiled gently, and shyly reached his hand out toward a curl but then lowered it again before he could touch her. “Let’s get going.”

“Yes,” she said. “He’ll be home in a few hours. I want to be far away by then.”

“You left your cell phone behind?” he asked, confirming.

She nodded. “Destroyed and disposed of it. The contract even runs out in a week. I’ve left nothing behind for him to hold on to, even unpaid bills.” She gave a small laugh that felt bitter in her mouth. She knew, though, that the sweet aftertaste would come.

“You ready?” he asked.

“I think so.” She had more to say, but she left it at that for now.

They began the climb.