The Way of Women (10 page)

“Oh, Harv, I miss you so. The final precheckup is the twenty-sixth. Do you think you can stay through for that? Then maybe we’ll know the actual beginning date.”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask. But I hate like anything to miss a day. You need every penny.”

“We need you more.”

He couldn’t argue with her. By that time it would all be over. He closed his eyes against the pain.
If only I could see them one more time
. “I know. I know. I’ll see what I can do. Goodnight, Mellie. Hug each other from me.” He hung the receiver back in its cradle.

Harv snapped himself back to the present. The rain on the windshield and the tears that soaked his eyes and soul blurred the curving road. He tapped the brakes; the corner ahead was coming up much too fast. He slammed the gears downward, double clutching and pumping the brake at the same time. The cab skidded. Eighteen tires screamed out their fury. “No!” His
mind echoed the screaming tires. “Not yet!” He hit the gas at the last moment. His back and shoulder muscles corded with strain against the buck of the wheel.

He manhandled the rig around the curve, the trailer fishtailing behind him.
Thank you, God, that no one was coming
. He’d been all over the road, including both shoulders. He eased the vehicle down until he could stop by the side.

Fear’s acrid stench filled the cab. Harvey wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his flannel shirt. His heart pounded. The blood pulsating around his skull and the rasp of his breathing drowned out the engine at rest. He slumped with his forehead resting on his hands at the top of the steering wheel. Would he be able to overcome his body’s instinct to survive?

Blast if he knew.

He shook his head as though the weight was more than he could bear.

I have no choice
.

B
ut, David, you know going up on Mount St. Helens is against the law.”

“I know.”

The weariness in his voice and the slump of his shoulders drew her to him. Katheryn Sommers knew from long years of experience that her man was near the end of his tether. She pulled out a kitchen chair and gently pushed him into it. Her strong fingers massaged his rigid muscles. She tried again. “I know you’ve been through …”

“Hell?”

“Uh-huh.” Her fingers prodded and pinched. “But I just don’t feel right about this camping trip. That mountain is too unstable. Pictures show the Toutle River flooding already.”

“No one knows for sure when, or even if, she’s going to erupt. She’s been blowing smoke for weeks now. Besides, if I don’t get back up there, maybe I’ll be the one who blows.”

“I know but …”

“No more buts. You know I don’t spend enough time with Brian.” David Sommers leaned back against her healing fingers. “He’s growing up without me, like the others did. How many times have you told me that yourself?” Katheryn winced at the accusation.

“I know.” Katheryn caught herself before she added another “but.” They had been over and over this argument the last two nights.
Lord, help me change his mind
. “Look.” She brushed a lock of shoulder-length auburn hair back behind her ear as she struggled for some kind of compromise. “You know how glad I am that you’ve taken this time for Brian. And for yourself. But what if you went to Mount Rainier instead?” She could tell by the set of his shoulders that her arguments were useless.

“Katheryn, my love.” He turned and grasped one of her hands in his. “I can’t explain this connection I have with Mount St. Helens, but you know it’s been that way all my life. How many times have I gone to her and always come back renewed? Right now, for sanity’s sake, I
need
to go back there. Call it reverting back to childhood or whatever, but somehow any peace and the restoration of my life are bound up on that mountain. I have to go back. Now.” His voice cracked on the final word.

She knew any further argument was useless. While he couldn’t define his need for the mountain, how could she explain the tiny, inner rodents that gnawed with shrieks and chitterings every time she thought of him leaving? Sane and rational reasons she gave for his behavior did nothing to disperse them. Besides, Governor Dixie Lee Ray herself had ordered the mountain closed. She had established a red zone that made it illegal for anyone to penetrate the boundaries without special permission. David knew all this; they’d dogged it to death more than once.

“How are you going to get in? There are roadblocks all over.”

Her husband shook his head. “You think with all the time I’ve spent on that mountain I can’t get past roadblocks? She’s so crisscrossed with logging roads it would take every trooper in the state of Washington and the National Guard combined to close it all off.” He rose and wearily stuffed the last of the supplies in his backpack.

“You about ready, Dad?’ Eleven-year-old Brian bounded into the kitchen. “I’m all packed. I put another coat of mink oil on our hiking boots.”

“Sure, Son. We’ll leave just as soon as your mother fixes us some breakfast.”

“You said we could stop at McDonald’s.”

“You’re right.” David turned and gently kissed his wife. His smile belied the bleakness in his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered. He hauled the pack up by one strap and clasped his other hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Grab your gear, Son. Let’s hit the road.”

Katheryn hugged them both before they went out the door. She swallowed useless warnings, her desire to give them a happy send-off paramount in her mind. She would not be the one to cancel their plans, even if she could.

“See you Sunday night,” she called just before they closed the doors on the old blue VW bug. She continued waving until she could no longer see the taillights in the predawn darkness.

She crawled back into bed, grateful for the warmth of the electric blanket. No matter how nice the weather had been, May mornings could be brisk in Seattle. She huddled into herself, not sure whether the shivers were from the weather, the worry, or the petitioning heaven for their safe
keeping. While the warmth eventually relaxed her muscles, sleep failed to reclaim her mind. It leaped ahead of the blue bug to the smoldering mountain.

Brian chattered nonstop for the first hour, filling his father in on all his recent activities. “Mostly”—he leaned back with a sigh—“I’m glad to be out of school today.”

“I’ll bet.” David forced himself to respond. “Hooky for a day always cheers a kid up. You having any more trouble with that big, rough kid? Ah, what’s his name?”

“You mean Kenny?” Brian drew the name out, derision evident in the tone. “Na-a-a. He got suspended for a while. Now he plays it cool.”

“Meaning?”

“Huh?”

“Cool. What do you mean by that?”

“Aw, Dad.”

David chuckled at the pained expression on his son’s face. He’d automatically switched from a father’s questions to an English professor’s questions.
Be specific. Say what you mean. Write what you mean
. How many thousands of times had he said those words or written them on theme papers? Good thing he didn’t keep count. His mind careened off like a rabbit in a maze. What was causing this despair? He’d tried to shrug it off as spring fever, but spring fever had never before brought recurrent thoughts of ramming his car against some concrete abutment. He had so much to be grateful for.
Then why can’t I be grateful?

As they approached the town of Chehalis, David watched the dawn
paint Mount Rainier in glowing pinks, drink dry the fog lakes in the valleys, and strew diamonds in the grass along the concrete roadside. With a nudge of regret he turned his attention instead to the exit signs. They pulled off the freeway at the familiar golden arches.

“Hey, at least wait till we quit moving.” David’s words faded into the door slam as Brian leaped out.

“Sorry.” Brian watched and matched his steps to his father’s as they crossed the parking lot. “I’m sure hungry, aren’t you?”

After half an hour, a stack of pancakes, and Brian’s flock of incessant questions and comments, they were back on the road.

“Dad?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Are you okay?” Brian’s voice squeaked on the last syllable.

David took a deep breath. “Sure. Why?”

“Well, you hardly ate, and …” He screwed up his face, searching for words to convey his concern.

David cursed himself in the recesses of his mind. He’d forgotten how sensitive his youngest child could be. He decided to be honest.

“Brian, you’re correct. Something’s wrong. No, not wrong. Just not right.”
Right, be specific
, the little voice from his shoulder mimicked his words. “I mean.” He took a deep breath and started again. “It has nothing to do with you. Maybe if I knew what was wrong, I could fix it. But sometimes in life there are no immediate answers. You just keep muddling along until the thing either goes away or at least makes itself known.” He paused again. “And sometimes feelings have nothing to do with things. Stuff just piles up and …” Another pause.

“And then you head for the mountain?”

“How did you know?”

“Mom said …” Brian shrugged. “And I watched you, you know, get quieter. You run more.”

Yeah, running it off didn’t work this time either. David reached over and tousled the boy’s strawberry-blond hair, so much like his own used to be, before the gray silvered it. “You take after your mother. She’s one smart woman. Make sure you listen to her.”
Like I should do more often and don’t or can’t
. He swung the car off I-5 at the 504 exit. “Keep your eyes peeled for troopers now. We’ve got to sneak around the roadblocks, or we might as well be camping in Kelso.”

Several miles passed before they caught a glimpse of the Toutle River. David had tried to prepare himself for gray water rather than the milky runoff from snowpack or the crystalline blue of the summer river. Even so, the river shocked him. Roiling masses of concrete-colored water ate away the banks and hurtled stumps and brush ahead to drown in the turbulence around the next bend.

“Dad, look!” Brian turned to his father.

“My God!” David tried to breathe around the rage restricting his chest.
What in God’s name has happened to my river, my mountain?
All the newscasts had not prepared him for the actuality. He had loved Mount St. Helens from the time his father took his firstborn to meet The Lady. Awe and reverence inspired awe and reverence, even in a toddler.

David stopped the car when they reached a high point that gave them a full view of the mountain. His anger turned to agony. He stared at the desecration caused by the ash and steam eruptions over the last two months. Once pristine glaciers now trailed tears of black. Her snow-cone symmetry sank with craters, and her subpeak, Dog’s Head, bulged above
the shale slide. Steam vents shot smoke signals into the stratosphere in a language he could only define as pain.

Neither said another word until David parked the car in a small campground near the river. The trail they planned to take started at the back of the camp.

“You put rocks in here or something?” David asked as he held the blue pack for Brian to slip his arms into.

Glad to have some return to their usual banter, Brian shook his head and grinned. “Nope, I’ve got the good stuff. You got the rocks.”

“You’re right.” David shrugged his shoulders to get the straps in the right places. The weight of the pack settled as he buckled the hip strap. “What’d you do, pack enough for a week?” He worked the pads into place on the shoulder straps. “Friday through Sunday is only three days as I count them. I’m sure we’ll find a restaurant somewhere on the way home.”

“You’ve said, ‘always be prepared for any emergency.’ ” Brian tried to look serious as he quoted. “Besides, I put your camera and stuff on top. I figured you’d want it.”

David lightly slapped the boy on the rear as they turned toward the trail. “Thanks.”

Twilight found them miles up the trail, sweaty, and hungry. David could feel himself easing out of the shroud of despair that had enveloped him the last weeks, maybe even months. His resurgence had started with the first pain in his side as he tried to keep up on the switchbacks. Brian was definitely in better shape than his father. Not one to ask for quarter, David suffered, got his second wind, and felt the internal heaviness leach out with each drop of perspiration.

They pitched the blue nylon pup tent, pounding the stakes through the fir needles into the dirt crust. The small clearing was a hiker’s dream: a fire pit already stone ringed, aged logs for table and chairs, Douglas fir trees to whisper secrets in the wind above them, and a tumbling creek to sing them to sleep.

David inhaled a breath of hope. “Let’s find some firewood.”

Brian’s gentle snores didn’t keep David awake. The rat race in his mind did. That plus the rocks and sticks that lurked under the blanket of fir needles and poked every bone that touched the ground.
On top of everything else, I’m getting old
. That thought was one burden too many.
The ground never used to bother me
. Neither had lazy, uneducated students, grouchy coworkers, class overloads, legislatures that refused raises to university staff, traffic, a house that needed repairs and painting, and insufficient time and energy to do things the right way. Maybe it was time to leave teaching.
To do what?
He rolled a few inches to the left to dodge the boulder grinding into his hipbone.