Meet Me at the River by de Gramont Nina

Author:de Gramont, Nina [de Gramont, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 2013-10-14T13:00:00+00:00

( 17 )

TRESSA

At the beginning of the Ethel White trail a sign reads WARNING. YOU ARE IN A MOUNTAIN LION’S HOME. The sign tells us to travel in groups. It says not to approach the mountain lion (as if we would) or to run away from it. STAY CALM IF YOU COME UPON A LION. TALK TO IT IN A FIRM VOICE IN AN EFFORT TO DEMONSTRATE THAT YOU ARE HUMAN AND NOT ITS REGULAR PREY.

Evie must have seen this sign and others like it a thousand times. But while I take my skis out of my mother’s car, line them up, and step into them, Evie reads it carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration as if memorizing the words.

I glide to the opening of the trail to wait for her. She adjusts her hat and casts an apologetic glance. “My mom always said I was just the right size for a cougar attack,” she says. “She used to worry about it all the time, even though she skied here too.”

I nod. I wonder if now would be a good time to tell Evie that I’m sorry about her mom, but I worry that too much time has gone by, and honestly I can’t bear for the topic to segue into her dad. The last few weeks of school, the books on Evie’s lunch tray all revolved around Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. I understand the impulse to explore what frightens you most—keeping it right there, always by your side, so it can never take you by surprise. Every time I see a new book on Evie’s tray, I order it for myself. While I like sharing this with her, I prefer to do it secretly, knowing it myself but never discussing it.

I try again to remember Evie’s mom, if she seemed like the kind of woman who worried about cougar attacks. In the old days my own mother never would have worried about such a thing, but now—since I managed to awaken every dormant shred of mother-worry—of course she would, or at least she would if she had time to think about it.

“Ready?” Evie says.

“Sure.” I stand aside and let her go ahead. The trail has already been broken, but the snow is perfect—deep and powdery with a thick, crackling crust on top. We make our way uphill in silence.

“I bet you miss your dog on days like this,” Evie says after a long while.

“I miss him pretty much all the time,” I say. “But he was kind of old for this kind of thing by the time we moved back here. I wouldn’t have been able to take him with me.”

“I’d really like to get another dog,” Evie says. “But I’m going to college next year, and H. J. thinks he’ll probably sell the house and travel.”

“You used to have a dog?”

“Yeah,” she says. “For a little while. A border collie. He died a few years ago. I really miss him.”

I wait for her to tell me more. A few years ago, after all—that’s when she lost both her parents.

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