The Distance from Me to You (3 page)

McKenna leaned forward
from the backseat, placing one hand on Courtney's shoulder and one hand on Brendan's. “I almost died when my dad opened the hatch. You were so smart to put your pack there! Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, I have a dad, too,” Courtney said.

McKenna sat back as Brendan drove down Broad Avenue. She let out a long breath of relief. All this past week, and especially last night, she'd had trouble sleeping because she'd been so worried about her parents putting a stop to her solo trip. So she'd barely had a chance to worry about the solo hike itself. Finally on the road now, Courtney dressed convincingly in hiking boots, she could almost believe they were going together as originally planned. But then Brendan pulled into the parking lot at Flat Rock Brook, where Jay sat waiting, and McKenna had to face the reality. Courtney was staying here in Abelard.

McKenna's stomach did an uncomfortable roll, full of jittery air, and she reminded herself that anxiety and exhilaration were close cousins. It was up to you what you wanted to call it.

• • •

It took seven hours to drive from Abelard, Connecticut, to Piscataquis County, Maine. As she and Brendan made their way, McKenna kept her eyes on the woods by the highway, thinking about how long it would take to walk this same distance. By the time McKenna's hike brought her back to Connecticut, she'd wouldn't even be halfway done with the trail.

As they drove along the coastal route in southern Maine, McKenna buzzed down the window so the sea air could waft in.

“Hey,” Brendan said. “I forgot to tell you, I booked a hotel.”

“You did?” McKenna's hair escaped its ponytail and fluttered in her face.

They'd never worked out what the structure of their good-bye would be. McKenna had assumed they'd spend the night together, but figured it would be in sleeping bags in the back of his mom's van. Brendan's dad was head of neurology at a hospital in New Haven, and he had six children from two different marriages. Lots of resources, but they were spread thin. It wasn't like Brendan to splurge on a hotel.

“I thought you'd want one more night in a bed before you hit the trail,” he said.

“Sounds great,” McKenna said. In the three months she and Brendan had been together, they'd never slept in the same bed, and both were still virgins, although they'd come pretty close to changing that a couple times.

When they got to the Katahdin Inn and Suites, McKenna let Brendan hoist her pack out of the back of the van.

“Wow,” he said. “You're sure you can carry this thing?”

“I can,” she told him, trying not to sound defensive.

They checked in and headed to the room. There it was, one queen-sized bed. McKenna had never spent the night with a guy.

Brendan reached out and clasped her hand. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Definitely,” she said.

• • •

River Driver's Restaurant was full of outdoorsy-looking people in various degrees of un-wash. Some still had wet hair after what might have been their first shower in days or even weeks. Others looked like they'd just come directly from the trail to the table. McKenna wondered if there were any thru hikers about to embark on the journey south. Most likely not, as thru hikers made up a small percentage of AT hikers, and most of the ones headed to Georgia would have started, wisely, at the beginning of June.

Brendan ordered a steak and McKenna ordered the summer-vegetable pasta.

“Carbo load,” Brendan noted when her plate of pasta arrived, but McKenna had ordered it mostly because it would be a while before she saw fresh vegetables again. She'd packed her stove, but she wasn't much of a cook. Originally they'd decided Courtney would be the one in charge of cooking, but since she'd be eating alone, McKenna figured she could sustain herself on minimal trail meals and then splurge when she got to a
town. Along with freeze-dried camping meals of various sorts of noodles, she'd packed a hefty supply of turkey jerky, dried fruit, and granola bars.

About halfway through dinner, the waiter stopped by to ask if everything was okay.

“Great,” Brendan said. “Could I get a Molson?”

“Sure. Got an ID on you?”

“Oh.” Brendan fumbled a little. “I think I left it in the hotel room.”

“Sorry, bud,” the waiter said, and retreated.

McKenna looked at him suspiciously. Usually Brendan said no to beer even at parties. She wondered again if he was planning something momentous for tonight.

Brendan shrugged, just embarrassed enough that it was endearing. She watched him dig back into his steak, his dark hair flopping across his forehead, his cheeks still pink from the waiter's rejection. It was so sweet and considerate of Brendan to drive her up here, stay with her, keep her secret. Really, he was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe tonight
should
be the night, whether Brendan had planned it or not. She was almost eighteen. Maybe it was time.

She reached across the table and touched his forearm. “I'm really glad you're here with me,” she said.

Brendan looked up. “Me, too.” He nodded toward her half-eaten meal. “You better finish that. Might be the last hot meal you see for a while.”

Just then two college-aged guys of the just-off-the-trail
variety slid into their booth, one beside McKenna and one beside Brendan. Before McKenna could open her mouth, the one next to her held up a silver flask.

“We heard the waiter turn you down,” he said, grinning through many days' worth of stubble. He carried the distinct odor of accumulated sweat and camp smoke, but both guys looked so friendly that McKenna couldn't help smiling. He hovered the flask over her Coke and she found herself nodding.

“Rum?” she asked, a little too late, after a liberal amount had been added to her soda.

“Bourbon,” he said, doing the same to Brendan's drink. “I'm Stewart and this is Jackson. We just rolled in from Georgia.”

“No way!” McKenna said. “You're thru hikers? And you just finished?”

“Yep,” Jackson said. “Started in February. Did some serious winter camping.”

“Wow,” McKenna said. “Congratulations. And you made great time.”

Brendan sipped his drink, looking grateful for the alcohol but ready for their new friends to get lost.

“Oh, that's nothing,” Stewart said. “The record is forty-six days.”

“I know!” McKenna said. “Jennifer Pharr Davis. I read her book.”

She looked over at Brendan triumphantly, wondering if she'd remembered to tell him that the speed record for the AT was held by a woman.

“Of course, she had a team meeting her at intervals,” Stewart said, “so she didn't have to carry much. Not like us.”

“Or me,” McKenna said. “I'm starting my thru hike tomorrow.”

“Yeah. We are,” Brendan added quickly. McKenna started to flash him an indignant look, but had to admit he was probably right to chime in. No sense advertising that she was heading out on her own.

“Wow.” Jackson whistled, low and impressed. “Southbound. That's hard-core. Hope you have cold-weather gear for the last legs. Trust us, it gets cold in those southern mountains.”

“I do,” McKenna said. “I mean, we do.”

“Katahdin's the hardest stretch of the whole trail. You better not have too much more of this,” Stewart said, adding just the smallest bit more bourbon to each of their glasses. “Consider it your first dose of trail magic.”

“Trail magic?” Brendan asked.

McKenna answered before Stewart or Jackson had a chance. “When hikers do things for each other, little surprises and kindnesses along the way.”

“Good thing you brought this one with you,” Stewart said to Brendan, putting his arm around McKenna in a brotherly way. “Sounds like she did all your research.” And then he and Jackson launched into stories of home-cooked meals delivered to shelters by nearby residents, and ice-cold bottles of Coca-Cola waiting in streams.

McKenna smiled at Brendan over the rim of her glass.
See?
she hoped her eyes said to him.
I won't really be alone at all.
There would be people every step of the way, looking out for her and keeping her company. Trail magic.

• • •

By the time they got back to the room, McKenna's belly was so bloated she had to unbutton her shorts before collapsing onto the bed, the bourbon throbbing dully behind her eyes. Last night she'd hardly slept at all, and today in the car she'd still been too excited and nervous to so much as close her eyes. Now the heavy food, the many hours without rest, and the alcohol started to take their toll. She willed herself to stay awake, but the sound of rushing water from the bathroom as Brendan got ready for bed made her eyelids close as effectively as a sleeping pill.

“Hey.”

McKenna started. Brendan was leaning over her, shaking her shoulders gently. “Don't you want to brush your teeth?” he asked, his eyes slightly imploring, his voice just the tiniest bit slurred.

That particular look, full of questions, made McKenna feel surer than ever of his plan for how to say good-bye. Well, what the hell. She was no prude. As long as he had protection—something McKenna had certainly not thought to pack with her compass, trowel shovel, and camping rope. She slipped off the bed and grabbed her toiletry kit.

After brushing her teeth, she splashed water on her face and studied her reflection in the mirror: the smattering of freckles
across her nose, the blue eyes. She searched for any trace of innocence that would be gone the next time she looked, but couldn't find any.

When she came out of the bathroom Brendan was already in bed. He was bare from the waist up, but knowing him, she was sure he wore something underneath that coverlet. McKenna had packed a pair of sweats for sleeping, nothing at all suited to this activity. As another wave of exhaustion came over her, she decided to leave the sweats in her pack.

She flopped onto her back next to Brendan, above the covers, her head on the spongy hotel pillow. Brendan propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her.

“McKenna,” he said. “I've been thinking. We're going to be apart so long. And you know I love you. And here we are. And I was thinking . . .”

“I know,” McKenna said. “I could tell.”

“Is it all right with you? Because if it's not—”

“It is,” she said. “It's totally all right. But let's not talk about it.”

She waited a minute, and when Brendan did not kiss her, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. Brendan was a good kisser, gentle and tender, and they kissed for a while. Finally, he moved his hand from her neck to her waist, and closed it around the hem of her T-shirt.

“Is this okay?” he asked, tugging it with more question than purpose. It wasn't like he'd never taken her shirt off before. It
must have been nerves over what they were about to do that made him keep asking.

“Yes,” McKenna said. She half sat up, to help him get it over her head. Both shirtless now, they kissed a while longer, until Brendan moved his hands to the buttons on her shorts.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, it's fine, it's all fine, you don't have to ask.”

McKenna appreciated the sentiment behind asking. She also liked the bourbon taste in his mouth when he kissed her. And for a while her breathing was appropriately heavy, and her sighs shuddery and involved. At the same time, her stomach was so bloated that it was a little uncomfortable when he leaned into her, and her head was foggy with the need for sleep. The litany of that question, “Is this okay? Is this okay?” became more lulling than seductive.

As if his voice were coming from another room, McKenna barely heard his last “Is this okay?” She couldn't hold on a second longer and answered with a light snore. Just vaguely, she heard him move away, his head hitting the pillow in frustration. She meant to apologize but couldn't manage it before falling into a deep, dead sleep.

The first thing
McKenna saw when her eyes fluttered open was the white ceiling of the hotel room. She felt the tiniest flash of embarrassment over the night before, the barest remnant of bourbon left on her tongue, but it all disappeared in a second as she remembered: today was the day she would start her trek. She jumped out of bed. Lao-tzu said, “A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” Well, so must a journey of two thousand miles, and McKenna couldn't wait to take that first step.

Then she realized she was almost completely naked. She scooped her T-shirt off the floor and pulled it over her head.

Light hadn't yet made its way through the curtains. She looked back toward the bed. Poor Brendan. He still lay sleeping, and she realized she had forgone her opportunity to wake up in his arms, to make up for last night.

She considered this for a minute. After all, Brendan didn't know she had bounded out of bed immediately. She could take off her shirt and crawl back under the covers, wake him with a kiss, and see where things progressed from there.

Outside the window, birds had started their predawn racket, all different songs mingling together. Whatever desire she felt for Brendan was eclipsed by the desire to start her adventure.

Maybe it was ridiculous to take a shower before heading off on a grueling day of hiking the most difficult stretch of the trail. But who knew when she'd have the chance to linger under a stream of hot water, and emerge from a steaming bathroom smelling of shampoo and lilac-scented hotel soap?

When she did emerge:
awkward
. Brendan sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his jeans. McKenna averted her eyes, and then thought that doing so only drew attention to everything that hadn't happened last night.

McKenna pointed to her backpack. “I'm just going to grab my stuff,” she said.

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

She dragged the whole pack into the bathroom before deciding to put on the same shorts and T-shirt she'd worn the day before. What counted for dirty laundry in the real world probably represented the cleanest clothes she'd see on the trail. Her favorite outfit—her pink Johnny Cash T-shirt and skort—she could save for later. She braided her wet hair and zipped her pack, then filled her two water bottles at the bathroom sink.

McKenna lowered her eyes as she stepped past Brendan, who was waiting just outside the bathroom door. He closed the door with a private
click
, and she felt a flurry of annoyance. As much as she cared about Brendan, and as much as she was grateful to him for driving her all the way up here—and
now that she thought about it, he had paid for dinner and she hadn't even thanked him—this wasn't supposed to be a day spent worrying about other people's feelings. Today was the beginning of total independence, selfishly focused on her own well-being. She would need all her strength for this first ascent and her first night alone on the trail.

Still, when Brendan emerged from the bathroom, his hair boyishly combed and his expression extremely uncomfortable, McKenna felt sad and responsible.

“Listen,” she said. “About last night—”

Brendan cut her off, putting his hands on her shoulders. He pressed his forehead against hers, looking relieved that she'd finally brought it up. “No,” he said. “You don't have to say anything. I understand. You weren't ready. I shouldn't have pushed you.”

“You didn't push me,” McKenna said. She could also have added that she
was
ready, or at least she thought she might be. But since his version let her off the hook, and also saved his pride, she just said, “Thank you for understanding.”

He kissed her. “Should we get breakfast?”

Truthfully she still felt full from the night before and she was anxious to hit the trail. But here was Brendan with his puppy dog eyes, needing to do something for her, needing closeness. Besides, she knew she could get the first passport stamp of her journey, Katahdin, at the AT café, which was known for its huge, cheap, and awesome breakfasts.

“Sure,” she said. “Something light.”

• • •

After breakfast, Brendan drove her to Abol Campground in Baxter State Park. The cool New England morning was starting to give way to mugginess. Most days on the trail, she would need to start earlier. Already she could feel a gathering sense of purpose, the need to start covering miles.

Brendan lifted the hatch at the back of the van and pulled out McKenna's pack, staggering a tiny bit under its weight again. Then he looked up at the sky. “We should have checked the weather,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“No, don't,” McKenna said, touching his wrist. “It doesn't matter. I'm going to hike every day rain or shine.”

“Don't you want to know? Whether you need to put your raincoat on or whatever?”

McKenna looked up at the sky, than toward the road as an SUV drove past, filled with a family, a little girl pressing her face to the window to stare at her and Brendan. McKenna smiled and waved at the girl. The park was bustling with people on vacation. She wondered how many of them had brought along their electronic devices—watching Netflix at night instead of the stars, checking weather.com instead of looking at the sky.

“There's going to be a lot of places on the trail where I won't even get reception,” she said to Brendan. “The last thing I want is to be dependent on my phone. Plus, I have to save the batteries in case of emergency.”

Brendan nodded and put his hands in his pockets. In another eight weeks he would be headed to Harvard. McKenna
imagined what that would be like for him. Lots of new friends, new ideas, new everything, including plenty of new girls. She was struck with one of those rare moments of absolute awareness: the next time they saw each other, they would be different people.

“Good luck at school,” McKenna said. “I know you'll do great.”

“Thanks,” Brendan said. “Be safe out there. Okay?”

“You know I will be.”

They kissed. McKenna tried to revel in the hug the way she'd reveled in her last hot meals and showers. But mostly she was just antsy to get on the trail.

“Do you want me to stay until you're on your way?” he asked.

She fought to keep from rolling her eyes. This was not like waiting in the car until she was safely inside her front door. This front door would lead her into the wild world, headed up a mountain. There was no getting safely inside. With every passing second, McKenna became more eager to shed everything about her old life and embark on this new one.

Her first step onto the trail seemed momentous, and strangely private. Thoreau had climbed Katahdin in 1846 and you can bet he didn't set off with anyone waving from a minivan.

“I'll be okay,” McKenna said.

Brendan kissed her again. Then he got into his mom's minivan and drove away.

McKenna stood watching the cloud of dust rising from its wheels, until she was alone on the curb, just within sight of the trailhead.

Two thousand miles. All she had to do was put on her backpack and take that first step. She reached down and closed her hand around one shoulder strap, and hoisted the whole enormous thing onto her back. McKenna had practiced hiking with this weight. It didn't matter that it was crammed full to capacity, with enough food to last her till she got to the first outpost, plus her tent, her sleeping bag, her compass . . . everything on her necessities checklist, plus a few books. She had splurged on her pack, which was ergonomically designed to be carried on the back comfortably, no matter how many extras she'd crammed into it.

As she put a foot onto the trail, excitement made her light on her feet despite the thick straps cutting into her shoulders. She had planned, she had trained. She had prepared as much as she possibly could, both mentally and physically.

She was ready.