River’s End

“Stuff.” She felt the heat climb into her cheeks at the foolishness of the answer.
    “Oh yeah, stuff. We never do that in California.”
    “Well, I do chores, help out at the campground and here at the lodge. I hike and fish. I’m learning about the history of the area, the flora and fauna, that sort of thing.”
    “Where do you go to school?”
    “My grandmother teaches me at home.”
    “At home?” He tipped down his sunglasses so she got a glimpse of deep green eyes.
    “Some deal.”
    “She’s pretty strict,” Olivia mumbled, then leaped to her feet in relief when Frank stepped out.
    “Celia’s coming. I figured I should go get our lunch.”
    “I have it.” Olivia shifted her pack. “Cold fried chicken, potato salad, fruit and pound cake. Sal, that’s the chef, he makes the best.”
    “You shouldn’t carry all that,” Frank began, but she stepped back.
    “It’s part of my job.” Then she looked past him, saw Celia and felt shy again. “Good morning, Mrs. Brady.”
    “Good morning. I saw a deer out my window this morning. She stepped through the fog like something out of a fairy tale. By the time I snapped out of it and dug out my camera, she was gone.”
    “You’ll probably see more. The blacktail is common in the forest. You might catch sight of a Roosevelt elk, too.”
    Celia tapped the camera hanging from a strap around her neck as she stepped out. “This time, I’m prepared.”
    “If you’re ready, we’ll get started.” Olivia had already, subtly she hoped, checked out their shoes and clothes and gear. It would do well enough for the short, easy hike. “You can stop me anytime you want to take pictures or rest or ask questions. I don’t know how much you know about Olympic, or the rainforest,” she began as she started the walk.
    She’d practiced her presentation that morning as she’d dressed and led into it very much as she had when her aunt had played tourist for her.
    When she mentioned bear, Celia didn’t squeal as Jamie had, but sighed. “Oh, I’d love to see one.”
    “Jeez, Mom, you would.”
    Celia laughed and hooked an arm around Noah’s neck. “Hopeless city boys, Livvy. Both of them. You’ve got your work cut out for you with these two.”
    “That’s okay, it’s good practice.”
    She identified trees for them, but got the feeling only Celia was particularly interested. Though Noah did seem to perk up when she spotted an eagle for him high in the moss-and lichen-draped trees. But when she cut over to the river and the world opened up a bit, all three of her charges seemed to get into the spirit.
    “This is the Quinault,” Olivia told them. “It runs to the coast. The Olympic Range rings the interior.”
    “God, it’s beautiful. It takes your breath away.” Celia had her camera up, busily framing and snapping. “Look at the way the mountains stand against the sky, Frank. White and green and gray against that blue. It’s like taking a picture of a painting.”
    Olivia scrambled around in her head for what she knew about the mountains. “Ah, Mount Olympus is actually less than eight thousand feet at its peak, but it rises from the rain forest at almost sea level, so it looks bigger. It has, I think it’s six, glaciers. We’re on the western slopes of the range.”
    She led them along the river, pointing out the clever dams the beavers built, the stringlike petals of wild goldthread, the delicate white of marsh marigold. They passed other hikers on the trail, singles and groups.
    Celia stopped often for pictures, and her men posed with patience if not enthusiasm. When Olivia managed to catch a red-legged frog, Celia took pictures of that as well, laughing in delight when it let out its long feeble croak.
    Then she surprised Olivia by stroking a long finger over the frog’s back. Hardly any of the women Olivia knew wanted to pet frogs. When she released it, she and Celia smiled at each other in perfect unity.
    “Your mother’s found a soul sister,” Frank muttered to Noah.
    Olivia was about to point out an osprey nest when a toddler raced down the trail, evading the young parents who called and rushed after him.
    He tripped and came to a skidding halt on knees and elbows almost at Olivia’s feet. And wailed like a thousand bagpipes.
    She started to bend down, but Noah was faster and had the boy scooped up, jiggling him cheerfully. “Uh-oh. Wipeout.”
    “Scotty! Oh, honey, I told you not to run!” The frantic mother grabbed for him,