If We Make It Home Read online

  For the first time in years, I need to be comforted, but the only people who have ever done that for me are gone. Hope is buried somewhere over the hill beside me. I know she’s not really there, but as far as my needs go, she might as well be.

  And Daniel … How long has my husband been gone?

  Ireland and Jenna are all I have left. But twenty-five years on pause has done irreversible damage to our friendships.

  I’m alone in a cemetery. God, help me.

  When I stand, I have to use the car to gain balance. My legs shake and my muscles have gone weak. I ease my way to the trunk, pop it open, and deposit my purse. The elegant arrangement of stargazer lilies, roses, and carnations fill the air with their sweet scents. I pull the flowers to my chest, inhaling. This is all I have to offer, and it’s too late for Hope to enjoy them.

  Keeping my weight balanced on the balls of my feet so my heels won’t sink, I make my way up the path covered with damp wood chips. The air is fresh, the ground moist with the rain from last night. At the top, I see one other person. She’s near the location I’ve been told is Hope’s.

  When the figure shifts, I see it’s Jenna. Instinct has me taking a few steps in reverse. I come around the back of a wide fir tree, blocking most of my body from her view if she turns around.

  Jenna kneels on the ground. Her knees must be wet. In her hands she holds an uneven bouquet of wildflowers. I look down at my own offering. It’s a floral masterpiece. Hope would have hated it. Jenna took the time and energy to pick her flowers by hand. And she probably took the time to remember moments with Hope while she collected the blooms. She’s here as an act of selflessness.

  I’m here out of desperation.

  The scent of my flowers has turned sickly sweet. It makes my head spin and my stomach waver. I don’t belong here. And I don’t belong where I’ve come from either.

  Where do old Bible-teaching women who’ve lost themselves in well-meaning but pointless lives go to die?

  I drop the flowers on a grave near my feet, wipe my damp eyes, and sneak away before Jenna sees me. At the car, I open the trunk and retrieve my purse. Before I get behind the wheel, I check my phone for any messages. There’s a text from Daniel.

  “I can’t get the gate open.”

  I think I hear my heart crack open.

  Chapter 7

  VICKY

  Rich coffee scents welcome me to the next step of my adventure, but I don’t think any amount of caffeine will be enough to wake me from the nightmare I’m in.

  I’ve lost my mind, pure and simple. There’s no other explanation for my being here at Hope’s. I’m completely fatigued in a way I’ve never experienced. All the years of raising my children, directing our home, trying to encourage Daniel to make his business grow, and running a giant ministry didn’t create even a fraction of the kind of exhaustion that’s now invading my bones like a vicious cancer. I’ll never survive the task of survival. In the woods or at home.

  For the first time in my life, I think failure is a genuine possibility. But failing in the wilderness is a great way to put off the disaster awaiting me in Texas. Public humiliation and abandonment trumps dirt and crawly critters. Not by much, but still, if I’m eaten by a bear it will be quicker and less painful than the slow demise I’ll face at the hands of the media.

  I just can’t be me right now. What better way to avoid myself than to climb into the mountains? Victoria Cambridge would never do that.

  “Which one are you?” Glenda leans on the edge of the coffee shop’s counter. In one hand she holds a beat-up notepad. In the other, a pencil that looks like it was sharpened by beavers.

  “Vicky Stevens.” I gave her my maiden name when I made the reservations. No sense calling attention to my craziness. And I don’t want anyone to know where I am. I want to disappear for a while.

  She eyes me up and down, her eyebrows tight, like she sees the lie printed on my forehead. Am I that obvious?

  “You’re early. I like that.” She scratches her scalp with the lead end of the pencil. “We’ll have to wait on the others.”

  When I registered, there were no others signed up. That’s how I hoped it would remain. Now, all I can wish for is a heathen or two. People who won’t know me from Adam. “How many?”

  “I had two of you, then yesterday, that bumped to three. A decent group, and not one with a lick of experience.” She shrugs. “Just how I like it. Makes for a lot of fun.”

  My skin crawls. I’m not here for fun. I need a place to hide until my husband comes to his senses. Until I can find a way to fix my life.

  Em glides through the kitchen’s swinging door. Her eyes are big when she sees me. For a moment, her mouth hangs open. “Victoria?”

  I look around making sure no other attention has been drawn our way. “I thought I could use an adventure.”

  She nods, but too slowly like she’s trying to trick me into buying her belief in my words. “Are you ready, Glenda?” Em wipes her hands on a black apron.

  “Still waiting on two more. We’ll give them five more minutes to show, then we’ll leave them behind. Failure before we even leave Crazyville.” Her face doesn’t resemble a woman confronted with a great disappointment. Instead she stands, works her lips around and yawns. I doubt she even wears a watch.

  I glance at mine and make a mental note of the time then resume the door watch, tapping the toe of my sneaker. They’ve never touched the ground outside the gym until today. Already, I can see brown lines along the sides of the soles. It’s easy to forget Oregon’s mud after living in Texas so long.

  The door bangs open, and Ireland and Jenna walk toward me.

  My mouth gapes enough to catch a whole swarm of bees. Ireland looks like she’s already climbed Mount Kilimanjaro. Her feet are tied up in hiking boots with army green denim pants tucked into thick wool socks. Her t-shirt over the top of another long-sleeved shirt, has a worn logo from some environmental cause. A purple bandana is tied around her short curly hair, the only source of real color in this ensemble.

  The well-worn backpack she’s wearing tells me I’m really in trouble here. Ireland has clearly hiked halfway around the world in the twenty-something years we’ve been apart. I’ve only climbed the ladder of success. A lot of good that will do me now.

  “Close your mouth,” Ireland orders. “We’re here. Let’s go.”

  I press my lips together and nod toward Jenna. She’s ready to watch a soccer game, not hike in the woods. Both women wear a backpack and don’t seem to have anything else. I’ve already dropped a load of my supplies in the bed of Glenda’s truck.

  “Glenda.” Jenna squeezes around Ireland. “Are you sure we didn’t need to provide anything else? I’d love to help out.”

  Glenda snorts. “There’s always one.” She turns her gaze to me. “Looks like there’s two in this crew.”

  I splay my fingers across my chest. This woman is so full of herself. She’ll see. I’m very capable. I’ll show all of them. I can do whatever I set my mind to, and that means manage my marriage too. Daniel will have a change of heart quite soon. We don’t miss what we have until it’s gone.

  IRELAND

  The seams on these jeans pinch at my inner thighs. Now I remember why I banished denim for the more comforting feel of linen. And we haven’t even begun to hike.

  Glenda drives like a madwoman. I thought we’d surely die on the highway, but now that we’ve taken off on a dirt logging road, I’m positive we’ll perish soon. The truck thunks and jerks each time a tire hits a pothole.

  Beside me in the back seat of this gas-guzzling monster, Jenna tips her head up. She’s been asleep on Vicky’s shoulder for the last hour. A stream of slobber still connects them until Jenna realizes and slaps it away, her eyes wide open now.

  Vicky keeps her gaze on the road, her jaw set. I guess motion sickness isn’t something you outgrow. But the ability to admit weakness, that’s something she’s left in the past. I pull my pumpkins seeds from the outside pock
et of my bag. The scent of chili and lime burst into the air when I pull open the seal, vanquishing the acrid exhaust for a moment. Vicky covers her mouth with two fingers, but doesn’t look my way. She doesn’t dare.

  “You want one?” I hold the seeds close to Vicky. The muscles in my jaw actually twitch with held-back laughter.

  The truck lurches to the side, slamming Jenna’s body into Vicky’s, and Vicky’s into mine. Pain pinches my hip as the seat-belt buckle smashes into my flesh. We right ourselves, but now there’s a glimmer in Vicky’s eye. I should be mad, but I can’t help it, I give in and laugh.

  It’s an unfamiliar feel in my mouth and the sound is odd to my ears. When did I stop laughing? Jenna joins in and Vicky inserts a snicker. Then the truck tosses the other way and we’re all grasping for anything to sink our nails into.

  “How much longer?” Vicky’s voice is barely above a whisper. Glenda doesn’t answer.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “How much longer until we stop?”

  Glenda’s shoulders shrug. “Don’t know really. I’ve never been here.”

  “What?” Vicky yanks her body up against the front seat. “I thought you’ve done this hundreds of times.”

  “Sure. Just not here.”

  Jenna and I exchange questioning looks.

  “I’m going to need further information.” Vicky seems to have cured her stomach with a good dose of venom. “What do you mean you’ve never been here before?”

  Glenda looks back over her shoulder. “Just what I said. I ain’t been this way before. I’ll let you know when I feel we’re—”

  “Watch out!” Jenna screams as she lunges onto the front seat back, grabbing for the steering wheel.

  Glenda slams on the brake and the truck skids to a stop. A tree lays over the road and, to our left, the side drops off into a canyon. “Well, miss-needs-to-know-all, we’re here.” She cuts the engine and throws the keys under the seat. “Grab your gear. We can get a few hours in before the light gives up on us.”

  My legs ache from the hours crammed into the narrow backseat. Outside the air is fresh. It’s cleaner than anything I’ve smelled in a long time. There’s a possibility I’m even more appreciative after being confined in a cab that must have gotten wet at some point and never allowed to fully dry.

  I fling my pack onto the soft ground near my feet. There’s been rain recently. I wonder if Glenda checked the forecast, but I won’t be the one to ask the question. Vicky can be that girl. Lifting my right hand to the sky, I see myself as a tree, growing toward the sun. Then I allow my body to sway with the imaginary breeze, stretching, extending, communing with nature all around us.

  “What the heck is she doing?” Glenda’s voice breaks into my peace.

  I open one eye. She’s squinting at me as if I’m a bug she’s never seen before. One more breath, and I bring my arms down. So much for centering body and mind.

  My attention is drawn to a moan behind me. Turning, it’s all I can do not to be as rude as Glenda. Vicky has some sort of dead-animal-skin pack hanging from one arm. On her back is a brand new, tags still hanging from the straps, biggest I’ve ever seen, hiking pack. She’s got pots and pans attached to the strap below a sleeping bag and cushion. The top extends far over her head and the cooking supplies will surely hit her legs as she walks. I kinda doubt that will be a problem, ’cause there’s no way that waif of a woman will be able to take more than ten steps without a full-on face-plant.

  She wobbles forward. The pack sways one way, then the other. It may only take five steps.

  “Thirty years of survival training, and this is what you hand me for my final trip?” Glenda looks up at the clouds. “Nice sense of humor you got there.”

  Great, another believer. I may still be all alone on this adventure.

  VICKY

  There’s no need for the critical stares. I’ve planned out this journey as well as anyone can when they leave with only twenty-four hours of preparation time.

  “No way,” Glenda says. “You’re going to have to leave most of that junk here.”

  “I did my research. These are necessary supplies.”

  “Drop the pack.” Glenda struts over to me.

  I try to do as ordered, but the weight shifts and I start to go over sideways. Just as I’m sure my body is destined for a tumble through the dirt, rocks, and leaves, I’m stopped mid fall and righted. Ireland unstraps me and sets the backpack on the ground with the kickstand extended and holding it upright. I didn’t notice that feature before.

  Glenda loosens the top and starts dropping my carefully planned out items on the ground.

  My inflatable pillow is tossed into the back seat of the truck without so much as a decent amount of consideration. She dumps my clothes in a stack right there on the filthy ground. I cringe and start to pick them up.

  “What is this thing?” She holds my butane curling iron over her head.

  “It’s for my hair.” My voice is small. This must be what persecuted missionary wives feel like. “I need it.”

  “Not a chance.” She chucks it into the truck.

  My makeup bag is shown no mercy. I’m allowed to keep my toothbrush, moisturizer, and toothpaste. No mascara, foundation, not even a tiny tube of lipstick. “Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Lipstick is survival equipment.”

  She stops for a moment, looking up at me, one eyebrow higher than the other. “I think you’re talking about Chap Stick. You don’t have any of that.”

  I reach toward Jenna, but she takes a step back, abandoning me in my time of great need. When Glenda finishes, two-thirds of my needed belongings, including The Dummies Guide to Wilderness Survival, is piled on the back seat for anyone to steal while we’re off in the woods dying a horrible-looking death.

  “Well, you can count me out. I’m not going another step without my supplies.” I tap my toe and cross my arms tight across my chest. The air is starting to chill, but I don’t want to admit I need a sweater.

  Glenda smirks. “Suit yourself, city-girl. You can stay with the truck until we come back next week.” She turns to the others, the people who were supposed to be my friends. “We need to get going. Irish, you bring up the back. Holler if we start to lose the short one. I’ll be in the front.”

  That should push the girls back to my side. But when I look to them for any signs of offense, I see only concern.

  Jenna’s eyes plead with me to come, but I know I’ve made a great mistake. This isn’t my place, and I’m beginning to wonder if these are still my people. It only takes seconds for the group to disappear through the trees.

  I pull my cell phone from my pocket. I may have to eat some crow and call for help. But there’s no service here, and I’ve never had much of an appetite for crow. I turn it off and put it in the bottom of my pack. There’s no way I’m leaving the road without any hope of contacting help. Reaching into the truck, I grab a roll of toilet paper that Glenda doesn’t see as important. How can toilet paper not be important? For a week?

  Taking a deep breath, I start after them, then turn again. I’m taking the book. Our guide looks more like a raging lunatic than a seasoned survivalist. I’ll take my chance with the extra weight. And what Glenda Falls doesn’t know may be the thing that saves her and all of us.

  I pocket my lipstick. There’s more to survival than sleeping on the ground.

  It takes me ten minutes to gain enough ground to be in talking distance of Ireland. If I had the breath to speak, I’d call her Irish and see if it lit a fire in her. The ground squishes beneath my feet with every step that doesn’t land on crackling sticks. Damp is already working through the seams of my shoes and the layer of cotton socks. I’ll need to stop and put on a different pair soon. Then I remember, Glenda only left me one other pair. At least those are the wool-lined polar fleece. I thought they would come in handy at night.

  When the great mountain mama isn’t looking, I’ll check the guidebook for what it says about socks.

  Up ahead, Glenda’s sl
ashing of brush slows. I peek around the others to see if she’s stopped, but her braids continue to swing as she struts forward on what appears to be an actual path. Maybe she has a plan after all.

  Chapter 8

  JENNA

  There’s a gap forming between me and Glenda. I realize when I’ve made a mistake. This is one of those times, but I’m kind of in over my head now. We’ve barely started and already my skin is damp with sweat. My chest burns with the anger of my previously unexercised lungs. The muscles in my calves are screaming to be elevated on couch cushions. And there’s no way to disengage from the situation I’ve dropped myself into.

  I pull at the collar of Mark’s wool sweater, the scent of him rising to my nose. Tears prickle behind my eyes. If I give a moment to the fact that I’ve lost my children, and now I’m managing to drive my own husband away, I’ll never be able to keep up. The path turns, and I watch the odd woman ahead of me start the climb uphill.

  Twenty steps up and my thighs spontaneously combust. I’m sucking air and there’s a pain stabbing at my side. I’m going to die on the first day, in the first hour. That’s not the message I hoped to send to my family. Not the legacy I’d like to leave. Not the vacation I should have taken.

  Branches crash behind us. I swing around ready to be mauled by a bear. Oh my, why didn’t I think about bears when I signed up for this? Or cougars? Or wolves? This is nothing like riding around the Ponderosa with Hoss and Little Joe.

  The flash of Vicky’s raspberry pink coat is like seeing a savior in the distance. She’s not a wild animal, and I’ll get a minute to catch my breath while she makes her way to us.

  “I’m so glad you changed your mind,” I say when she’s within earshot.

  Ireland passes me, but I catch her smile before she tucks it away again.

  Glenda nods her head, slowly. I haven’t completely figured out how to read her yet, but I think she may be a touch relieved. Maybe she does care, or maybe she doesn’t want to get sued. Whatever. As long as she keeps us alive until we find something to live for. At least me. Everyone else seems to have purpose and healthy legs.