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“No worries,” I said. “I don’t mind. You can bring down the mood all you want with me.”
Lark looked over at me and we fell into silence. Had I said too much?
“I appreciate that,” she said. The lights dimmed and it was time for the movie.
* * *
“The moral ofthe story is, don’t trust your husband,” I said as we walked out of the theater. Even though I’d washed my hands in the bathroom, they still had the distinct smell of movie theater butter. I swear, the smell had sunk into my pores.
“Or maybe you shouldn’t marry your older music teacher,” she said.
“Both can be true,” I said.
“I feel like we’re throwing both husbands and music teachers under the bus,” Lark said, unlocking her car.
“I’m okay with that,” I said as I got in.
It was early afternoon and I could tell Lark was a little restless.
“Was there anything else you wanted to do?” I asked.
“Scream,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if she was joking.
“Go for it,” I said.
Lark shook her head. “No, if I’m going to scream, I want to do it somewhere dramatic, like the top of a mountain.”
I looked at the exits on the highway and said to keep going when she reached the one to take us back to Arrowbridge.
“Okay, but you’re going to have to tell me where we’re going,” Lark said.
I told her which exit to take, and we drove twenty minutes more until she saw the right town. Once we were off the highway, I directed her through a picturesque tourist town and then into the driveway for a state park with a campground and hiking trails.
“I didn’t say I wanted to climb a mountain,” Lark said as we got in the line of cars going by the ticket booth.
“We don’t have to climb, you can drive up,” I said, pointing.
“Oh, good,” she said.
We paid our fee and Lark followed the other cars up the steep and winding road that took us up the mountain. It was nice they kept it plowed even in the winter so people could still enjoy going up. I was sure there were some brave souls that hiked in the snow, but it sounded like a bad idea to me.
“I’ve never been camping,” Lark said. “My mother wouldn’t stay in anything less than a five-star hotel, and the idea of pissing in the woods might have given her a stroke.”
“I’m fine with nature walks and even a hike, but I don’t do camping unless I’m staying in a camper that’s so nice it might as well be a house. No tents.” I shuddered at the thought. I had a little tent I used at the beach to protect my skin from the sun and to give me some privacy when I took beach naps, but that was only for a few hours. I couldn’t get comfortable in a tent. I needed room.
“Camping in a camper sounds nice. Some of them are pretty fancy,” Lark said, and we reached the summit of the mountain and the tiny parking lot. She parked and we got out and followed other people along a shoveled path to a rock they seemed to be interested in and taking pictures of, and on.
“That’s the official top,” I told Lark. “I came here a few times with school. Forcing a bunch of fourth graders to hike a mountain was a terrible idea, but they did it every year.”
“My school never did anything like that,” she said. “We went to a lot of museums and so forth.”
“I would have preferred the museums over the poison ivy rash and twisted ankles,” I said.
Lark climbed up on top of the rock and I got out my phone.
“Okay, now pose,” I said.
She gave me the finger. “If you take a picture of me, I’ll flush your phone.”
