River’s End

to-do list from his mother. He bought the gear, including a new backpack, as she’d pointed out on her list that his was too small and had a number of holes in it. And though they were going to weigh him down, he bought two bottles of wine and nested them inside spare socks. Camping was one thing. Going primitive was another.
    By the time he was done, he figured he’d be carrying thirty-five pounds on his back. And imagined after five miles or so it would weigh like a hundred. With some regret he locked his cell phone and laptop in the trunk of the rental car. “I’ll be back, boys,” he murmured.
    “Looks like I’m going to win that hundred bucks before we leave.”
    “That wasn’t whining. It was a fond farewell.”
    He turned and studied her. She wore jeans, roomy and faded, a River’s End T-shirt and a light jacket tied around her waist. Sturdy boots, he noted, with a number of impressive nicks and scars on the leather. She carried her pack as though it were weightless.
    The smirk suited her. “You sure you’re up for this?”
    “I’m raring.”
    She adjusted the cap that shaded her eyes, then jerked her thumb. “Let’s get started.”
    He found the forest more appealing if no less primitive without the rain they’d hiked through the last time. Little slivers of sunlight fought their way through gaps in the overstory, shimmering unexpectedly on the now-lush green leaves of the maples and the fragile blades of ferns.
    The air cooled. Ripened.
    He remembered and recognized much of the life around him now. The varied patterns of bark on the giant trees, the shape of leaves of the shrub layer. The vast, nubby carpets of moss didn’t seem quite so foreign, nor did the knobs and scallops of lichen.
    He gave her silence as his muscles warmed to the pace and tuned his ears to the rustles and calls that brought music to the forest.
    She waited for him to speak, to ask questions or fall into one of those casual monologues he was so skilled at. But he said nothing, and the vague tension she’d strapped on with her pack slid away.
    They crossed a narrow stream that bubbled placidly, skirted a leafy bed of ferns, then began to climb the long, switchbacking trail that would take them into backcountry.
    Vine maple grew thick, an elastic tangle of inconvenience along the trail. Olivia avoided it when she could, worked through it when she couldn’t and once grabbed at it quickly before it would swing back and thwack Noah in the face.
    “Thanks.”
    “I thought you’d lost your voice.”
    “You wanted quiet.” He reached over to rub his hand over the back of her neck. “Had enough?”
    “I just tune you out when you talk too much.”
    Noah chuckled then went on.
    “I really like being with you, Liv.” He took her hand, sliding his fingers through hers.
    “I always did.”
    “You’ll throw off your pace.”
    “What’s the hurry?” He brought her hand to his lips in an absent gesture. “I thought you’d bring Shirley.”
    “She sticks with Grandpop most days, and dogs aren’t allowed in the backcountry. Here, look.” She stopped abruptly and crouched, tapping a finger beside faint imprints on the trail.
    “Are those—”
    “Bear tracks,” she said. “Pretty fresh, too.”
    “How do you know that? They always say that in the movies. The tracks are fresh,” he said in a grunting voice. “He passed through here no more than an hour ago wearing a black hat, eating a banana and whistling ‘Sweet Rosie from Pike.’ “
    He made her laugh. “All the bears I know whistle show tunes.”
    “You made a joke, Liv.” He ducked his head and gave her a loud kiss. “Congratulations.”
    She scowled at him and rose. “No kissing on the trail.”
    “I didn’t read that in my camper’s guide.” He got to his feet and started after her. “How about eating? Is there eating on the trail?”
    She’d anticipated his stomach. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a bag of trail mix, passed it to him.
    “Yum-yum, bark and twigs, my favorite.” But he opened the bag and offered her a share.
    He would have taken her hand again, but the trail narrowed and she bumped him back. Still, he thought she’d smiled more in the last ten minutes than she usually did in a full day. Some time alone together in the world she loved best was working for both of them.
    “You have a great butt, Liv.”
    This time she didn’t bother to hold on to the vine maple and smiled again when she heard the slap and his