The Distance from Me to You (28 page)

“What about all the
I love you
s?” Sam said, his voice flat.

“They're exactly why I'm doing this,” she said. Her voice came out in such a whisper, for a moment she wasn't sure he'd heard her. But then there was a gesture, almost imperceptible, a slight movement in his jaw, as if he was thinking about nodding.

“It's not like I'm saying we'll never see each other again,” McKenna said. “Because I hope we do, Sam. I can't say how much I hope we do.”

He started to shake his head, but changed his mind and nodded, looking at her very carefully. Then he put his hand on top of hers, his palm easily spanning the giant fist of both her hands.

McKenna gathered a little more strength. She couldn't continue much longer. Part of her was disappointed that Sam wasn't putting up more resistance to the end of the two of them. The other part knew the reason. So she went ahead and said the last of it.

“It's too soon to plan our lives around each other right now.”

• • •

Sam had been determined, from the moment McKenna walked in, to not let on how weak he still felt, how shaky. He wanted
to seem like himself, the guy he'd been before he'd talked her off the trail. Before he'd almost killed them both. He wanted to seem like Captain John Smith, someone who could survive, someone who could save her, instead of someone who needed saving.

Which was kind of tough when you were sitting in a hospital bed, wearing a dress that tied in the back.

And on top of that, here she sat, handing him a new life on a silver platter. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever seen an actual silver platter. Probably at Mack's house they had drawers full of them. But he couldn't let himself think that, the sort of knee-jerk and dismissive attitude that had kept her at bay for so long. All he wanted to do at this moment was pull her closer.

And here she was, calmly telling him she had her own life to live.

Sam picked up her two hands—together they only made one tiny fist—and brought them to his mouth. He kissed them. How could her hands feel so soft after everything they'd both been through?

All he wanted to do was talk her out of it. He knew it wouldn't take much. He knew she loved him, a lot. It was all over her face. It was all over everything she'd done for him—getting him a job and a place to go. Not only saving his sorry-ass life, but working to make it a lot less sorry.

Thanks to her, he'd finally have a place to go. He wished that place could be with her. But he understood if it couldn't. At least for now.

“Hey,” McKenna said. “Life is long. You know? Who knows what'll happen down the road.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He laughed a little, hoping he didn't sound bitter. “We'll keep in touch. We'll be Facebook friends.”

“Sam.”

“Or maybe I'll be the first person with a GED to get a scholarship to Reed.”

“Wouldn't surprise me a bit,” McKenna said. “And I would love that.”

“Oregon. Plenty of hiking trails for us to wander off of.”

“Or stay on.”

“Right,” Sam said. “Next time we'll stay on together.”

After all his fantasies about taking care of her, rescuing her, she was the one who'd rescued him. So if the thing he had to do to pay her back was let her go, he could handle that. This was no time to be weak. Wasn't that what he'd always wanted, to know that she would walk away from him if she needed to? Because he loved her. Someone, somewhere, must have done something right. Because Sam knew what he had to do for someone he loved.

“Thank you, Mack,” he said.

“You're welcome, Sam.”

And then they kissed, their bodies not touching, the most concerted effort to keep that good-bye to nothing but lips. Only after the kiss did McKenna run her hand over his head, brushing the hair off his forehead. Sam wondered if any other face in his life would ever be as beautiful or as important.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”

And still he let her walk out the door.

He waited until her light footsteps had retreated down the hallway, the gentle swing of the outer doors opening and then closing. And then he did what he hadn't done in a million years, not since his mother had died: he cried.

It felt good. It felt purging and healing and very honest. Like these tears had been coming for years, forever, for a lifetime. And now the one thing painful enough to break them loose had finally happened. One more thing he'd have to thank McKenna for if ever he had the chance to see her again.

On a clear
, crisp day in the Smoky Mountains, after three days of showers and regular meals, McKenna returned to the Appalachian Trail. It was the first day of November, and she had her phone fully charged, and protected by an outer case. Her pack was slightly heavier than it had been, stuffed with warm clothes and a healthy supply of food. Her parents drove her in their rental car to the trailhead, and hugged her good-bye. They didn't say anything admonishing like,
Be safe
, or,
Use your head
. They just said, “Good-bye,” and, “Have fun,” and, “We'll see you in a few weeks—but you'll text tonight. Right?”

“Right,” McKenna promised.

She headed onto the trail without turning around to see if they stood watching her go. She just walked. One foot in front of the other. The mountains stood silent in the distance. Not cruel or uncaring. Just there.

She walked past the spot where she had seen Walden. Just over there were the two trees where Sam and then she had crashed off the trail. All these days later there was nothing remarkable to mark the spot; fallen leaves covered any footprints
they might have left, and there were no broken branches. McKenna didn't stop to contemplate. She just walked straight past, noting the white blaze on the birch tree just four steps beyond.

She walked. Feeling so much stronger than that day not so long ago when she had tried to scale Katahdin. And at the same time knowing that she was drawing from the same well of strength she'd had then, deep inside her, and that the well would flourish always, as long as she was smart enough to listen to the inner voice of reason that came with it.

She was lucky.

Dangling from the front of her pack were her whistle and pepper spray. Also the good brass compass, which Walden had taught her how to use. From now on at any given moment, she would know what direction she was headed in, no battery charge or cell tower necessary.

• • •

Fifteen miles, an excellent pace, especially for the first day back. McKenna felt the usual euphoric relief at slipping off her pack. She set up her tent, then pulled on her new fleece sweats and old wool cap, her old fleece jacket. She had a down jacket, too, in case it got bitterly cold over the next weeks. But for now, even with the setting sun and altitude, she was fine without it.

While the water on her stove boiled, she unpacked a bag of freeze-dried pad thai and some baby carrots. Before she ripped into either, she took out her phone and texted her parents,
telling them she was okay, and how many miles she'd walked, and where she was camping. She'd promised to do so every night. Fair was fair.

Tomorrow they'd be driving Sam to the airport.
Take good care of Sam,
she typed, though she knew they would. The thought of Sam with her parents raised a little lump in her throat, and also a few tears.

There wasn't much time, though, to cry. Because just then there was a rustle in the woods, and a panting burst of fur, and who should be standing in front of her, wagging and drooling, but Hank. McKenna threw her arms around him.

“Hank!” she said. “Thank you. Thank you for saving our lives.”

He wagged his tail some more and licked her face, then sat beside her to share her carrots.

The water boiled. McKenna dumped in the dried noodles. The sun had set and McKenna shivered a little, scooting closer to Hank.

“Listen up,” she said. “You're going to sleep in my tent tonight. Got it? And you're not going to run off.”

Hank thumped his tail, happy at the sound of her voice, and at his portion of pad thai, a full half, served in his own bowl.

It was good to be alone. And at the same time, it was nice to have company. In the tent Hank settled in at her feet. McKenna hunkered down in her sleeping bag, condensation from her breath already gathering on the red ceiling above. Her
shoulders ached. Her legs ached. Her body ached. Everything within her was gathering itself up, settling in to rest so she could wake in the morning and start all over again.

There was no question. By this time McKenna knew without a doubt: she would be the one in four who started out on a thru hike and actually made it.

• • •

Hank slept in McKenna's tent every night. He walked beside her all the way to Georgia, right up to the very last mile marker on the Appalachian Trail. McKenna had to hike up Springer Mountain to reach it, and there at the top she signed the first trail registry of her journey, at the southern terminus.

“I made it,” McKenna wrote as she spoke the words aloud to Hank. “I hiked every single mile of the Appalachian Trail.”

In the registry, she added the date she'd started, and then checked her phone for the date she'd ended. Then she walked back down the mountain. Hank followed. He was even there when she came back from getting the very last stamp in her passport book at the Hiker Hostel in Dahlonega, sitting patiently like a dog who was not only tame, but trained.

“I made it, Hank,” she said again. “Can you believe it?”

She'd already texted her parents and told them she'd be renting a car instead of using her plane ticket to come home. Which still meant getting to the car rental place. Somewhere along the way she'd have to find a vet where she could get Hank his shots. She'd have to get both of them a cheeseburger—she was starving—not to mention a hot shower (or in Hank's case,
a bath). And probably she should buy a leash and a collar. They were back in civilization now.

But before all that: McKenna sat down on the ground and put her arm around the dog. Her parents would be so happy to get the news that her hike was over. She had done it, she had arrived safely, and she was stronger than she'd ever been in her life.

The adrenaline she felt at the thought of it all was nearly enough to make her shoulder her pack back on and head to the trail to walk—all the way back to Maine.

But for now, the walking was done. She'd been strong enough to succeed, to live. She was an official thru hiker. Now she just needed to find out if she was strong enough to survive and thrive out in the real world.

“I'm pretty sure I am, Hank,” McKenna said.

The dog cocked his head. And McKenna heard a voice in her own head, clear as anything she'd heard in her life. A wry voice, full of good humor, a dose of bravado, and—most notably—love.
You know you are, Mack,
it said.

McKenna pushed herself to her weary feet, picked up her pack, and headed off to face the rest of her
life.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

McKenna's route on the Appalachian Trail is fictional. If this book has inspired you to hike any portion of the AT, please use an official guidebook such as
The Appalachian Trail Thru-Hiker's Companion
by Robert Sylvester, or
The A.T. Guide
(Northbound or Southbound) by David “Awol” Miller. Further information about planning your hike can be found at the Appalachian Trail Conservancy website, www.appalachiantrail.org.

Wishing you safe and happy
travels!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to
Peter Steinberg for arranging this opportunity. Working with Pete Harris and Claire Abramowitz was more fun than anyone should be allowed to have, and I am so grateful that they trusted me with this story. Thank you, Shauna Rossano, for your grace and patience, you are the smartest and loveliest of editors. And thanks to Jen Besser, Chandra Wohleber, and everyone at Penguin Young Readers
Group.

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