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The speck of white was solid but crumbled easily between his fingers, turning into a fine powder. He studied it curiously.
“Spackling,” Kay said, crumpling the empty pastry bag into a ball and throwing it into the kitchenette wastebasket. “Long story. Let’s go.”
She led the way to the interview room with a spring in her step and a straight back. Rushing through the hallway that led to the interview room, she looked over her shoulder as if to see whether he was still behind her.
Where else would he be?
FOUR
TRIP
“Seriously, man, you’re starting to piss me off.” Pete wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. “Who knew you could be such a trailer?” He trotted ahead, his guitar still balancing casually on his right shoulder as if to show how easy the hike was, then turned around and walked backward, just to give Bryan his middle finger.
The three young men could’ve been brothers. Wearing what they’d agreed was appropriate attire for the hike, they’d planned ahead with a shopping spree at the Metreon as if they needed more ripped jeans and buffalo plaid shirts in red and black, with some gray mixed in there in Bryan’s case. They were going for the lumberjack look, the entire trip the outcome of a sports bet Pete had won against his two best buds.
Pete had been born with the hyperactivity gene, per his mother’s own words. In Zack’s opinion, the man had ADHD, with a spotlight shining brightly on the H. At twenty-one, he had incredible stamina and the drive to constantly move, to exceed his own limits. Unfortunately for the more common Zack and Bryan, Pete was also very lucky and rarely placed a bet unless he was certain he would win. His two college pals were yet to figure that part out, and he routinely engaged them in bets they subsequently lost. It was so easy it should’ve been illegal.
Pete never bet on money because he didn’t need any. In a moment of sheer inspiration several decades earlier, his grandfather had sold everything he owned and bought Apple stock. One simple yet legendary action carried rippling consequences that covered generations, the most remarkable being the family wealth that was built based on that single decision. Told at family reunions over and over, the boldness of Pete’s grandpa was often referenced as an act of inspired lunacy.
No. Whenever Pete placed a bet, he wanted company on some outdoor activity he had planned, and he needed leverage to reel Zack and Bryan along. He enjoyed spending time with them, but the two had to have been the laziest, sorriest, screen-addicted couch potatoes he’d ever met.
Zack was well-built, his shoulders broader than Pete’s from countless hours of weightlifting at the Embarcadero Center gym. Pete believed he secretly wanted to become a movie star, but Zack never admitted to having such dreams. He was nicely ripped. His bare abs were showed off proudly because Zack rarely buttoned his shirt, even if the mountain morning was chilly. Maybe he could lift weights like a pro, but he couldn’t hike worth a damn. He lacked conviction.
At least he didn’t whine like Bryan did, on his phone all the time, falling behind and running out of breath when he tried to catch up. They’d been climbing for about two hours, and Bryan had already stopped twice for a break. The last time they stopped, he rolled a joint with unexpected dexterity, and they smoked it like it was a secret ritual, with long puffs and smoke held in their lungs for a second or two, to numb the pain, in Bryan’s own words.
The three-day outing Pete had planned was nothing an old woman couldn’t handle if she put her mind to it. They had driven in the night before from San Francisco, where the three were sophomores at San Francisco State. They had enjoyed a good dinner at the hotel, followed by beers on the patio, while Pete strummed his guitar and sang, oblivious to the tourists that slowly and silently gathered to hear him play.
They stayed up late enough for Pete to struggle to get them out of bed in the morning, but he managed to get the show on the road after all. They were supposed to climb the mountain on the slope under the chairlift, then on the rocky crest he’d learned was called Wildfire Ridge. Seemed the views from up there were spectacular. Then they’d climb down and spend the night at the same hotel, take a boat out on Silent Lake and fish the next day, then drive back home in the evening.
A loud yelp and Bryan landed on his butt, holding his leg. “Oh, shit,” he moaned, rubbing his knee with both hands right where the fabric of his denim was torn, and a thin streak of blood appeared.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked, stopping and swallowing a curse. It would’ve been easier to hike with a toddler.
“Yeah,” Bryan replied, looking around him as if he’d lost something. Reaching into the grass-covered boulders to the side of the trail, he fished his phone and carefully checked the screen. “Whew, it’s not broken.”
Pete rolled his eyes. “There goes my last hope.”
Zack chuckled.
“Screw you,” Bryan said. “Both of you.” He picked himself up and ran his hands over his clothes, brushing off a few blades of grass. “This is not my thing, all right?” He undid another button on his shirt. “Really, what the hell is wrong with air conditioning and someCall of Duty, huh?”
Pete wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He’d started climbing, eager to enter the woods and start scaling by the vertical wall of the ridge, one of the few Class Three hikes within driving distance. He cringed as he envisioned what Bryan would say when he saw that section. Of course, they could also climb the entire way on the soft, grassy slope stretching under the chairlift, but where was the fun in that?
When he reached the edge of the woods, Pete stopped, propping his hands on his hips and taking long, deep breaths. The air was perfectly crisp, the morning sun burning through whatever fog still remained and giving him tan lines at the edge of his sleeves. The California blue sky was perfect, not a cloud in sight.
Seeing how far behind Zack and Bryan had fallen, he looked around for something to sit on and found a moss-covered boulder. Tapping the rhythm with his foot against a log, he started singing Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.” His voice carried over the valley, the happy tune meant to encourage his friends to move faster.
They both gave him the bird with broad gestures and off-key hollers.
Unabated, he kept on singing. By the time they caught up with him, they were both singing along with him, cheering and hollering.
Eager to keep going, he stood, but Bryan laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Play us another one, bro. I need a minute to catch my breath.”
Of course, he did. Resigned, he thought of another song. Then he vocalized the first few notes from another classic they all loved, “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life.”They sat and listened quietly, as they always did when he sang that tune and a few others.
A few moments of silence followed after he finished theDirty Dancinganthem. He stood and stomped his feet a couple of times, ready to go. Zack and Bryan followed suit with groans, Bryan’s quite loud and sprinkled with oaths.
The wooded part of the trail was dark and ominous, the thick layer of fir needles absorbing every sound they made. At their left, a chasm opened gradually, the blue granite wall almost vertical, several thousand feet high.
