Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [62]
“Hey, pretty girl.”
I stopped diagnosing my feet and looked up. I didn’t know where the voice had come from, but it sounded much more deliberate than a drive-by catcall.
Then I noticed the blue SUV slowing to a stop at the edge of the parking lot. When the door opened, Chilly stepped out. I hardly recognized him, since he was clean-shaven and wearing khaki pants, but his smile and warm eyes were the same on and off the trail.
I loved Chilly. Honestly, I had a crush on him. Not the type of crush that I actually wanted to act on, because that would have ruined it. I just thought Chilly was perfect. He was kind, handsome, funny, a good listener, and definitely not overbearing—basically the opposite of Moot. Whenever I saw Chilly, he made me laugh, he made me feel special, and he gave me butterflies in my stomach. He probably had that effect on most girls, but that just made him all the more crushable.
“How are you?” he asked as he approached.
“Hurting.” I showed him my feet and he grimaced.
“I’m taking a break from the trail to visit family. We’re headed into Roanoke right now. Why don’t you come with us and we can take you to a doctor.”
I took a moment to think about his offer. Common sense said that I should go with him and seek help.
“No thanks. I just have to make it until tomorrow morning, and then I’m staying with a family friend who can help me.” The pain must have been clouding my judgment.
“Are you sure? That looks pretty bad.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get help first thing tomorrow.”
Chilly shook his head in disapproval, then consented. “Okay, but take these with you.” He reached into his pockets and brought out a piece of fresh fruit and a bag of homemade cookies. His hand brushed mine as he handed them over, and a shock of excitement raced through my core. Then he turned to walk back to his car, and with one last glance over his shoulder, he called, “See you down the trail, Odyssa.”
I could only hope.
Chilly had not just given me food, he had given me the morale boost I needed to continue hiking.
I put my wretched socks and wet shoes back on and walked across the highway.
The trail continued to climb, my feet still hurt, and the butterflies in my stomach eventually turned to nausea. After several miles, the trail leveled out but my stomach didn’t. I felt like I was going to vomit.
I hadn’t thrown up since third grade. I had a thirteen-year retention streak going, and I didn’t want to blow it now. Even the day before, after drinking sixty-four ounces of water at once, I had felt queasy but I knew that I could keep it down. Today I wasn’t so sure.
I came across Campbell Shelter and stopped to rest. I took out my sleeping bag, curled inside, and then brought out my cell phone to call my mom. No matter how old I was, if I was sick or hurt, I wanted my mother. The irony was, she wasn’t very good at sympathy. I knew that if I called her I would hear something along the lines of, “Well it’s your own fault for wanting to hike the trail, and now you’re stuck out there all alone with hurt feet because you don’t know how to take care of yourself.” But in my heart I knew that it was just her way of saying she loved me.
When I picked up the phone to call, I braced myself for her response. I didn’t have the opportunity to tell her about my ailment before she anxiously inquired about the weather.
“Are you stuck in a thunderstorm somewhere? Do you need to be rescued off the trail?”
“Rescued off the trail? No, Mom, I’m fine. I’m in a shelter and I had cell phone reception. So I just wanted to call and tell you that I—”
“Oh, you’re in a shelter. With a roof, right? Well, stay there and don’t go anywhere. The Weather Channel is showing a huge green blob with a red and yellow core pounding Roanoke right now.”
“Mom, it rained this morning, but it’s totally stopped now.”
“It’s not safe. Just stay put and I’ll call you when the storms have passed.