Chapter 2: Marshmallows and Lust

Sheri:
When we sat at the fire, roasting marshmallows, I remembered last year. Dad and I went on a hiking weekend by ourselves. Mom had just started her treatment and was too weak to go, but she insisted that we should.

We took a different route through the same forest. Dad had promised it would be an easier trail this time. He’d gotten tired of listening to me complain about how sore my legs, every single year, same story.

I smiled to myself at the thought of how much patience he must have for me. He’d be perfectly happy walking up and down a mountain for a week, and here we were taking a path that he’d barely work up a sweat on.

All of a sudden, the trees started thinning out around us. I was confused for a second since I thought we’d made it out of the forest already, but I realized we’d just reached a clearing. It looked to be a small, grassy field with a river running down on the other side.

“Are we supposed to be here?” I asked.
Dad gave me a look. “Questioning me again?”
“Technically ... yes. I s’pose I am.”

He sighed and started heading into the centre of the clearing. I followed, not having much other choice in the matter. He hadn’t answered my question.

“We should stop here for the night,” he said. “It’s probably the best spot we’ll find to set up the tent. Plus, there’s a convenient source of water, for washing up or whatever.”

I shaded my eyes with my hand and tried to judge where the sun was in the sky.

“Are you sure? It looks like we’ve still got, like, a couple of hours of daylight.”
“You’re welcome to keep going if you want. I’m staying here.”
“I knew it, you have no idea where we are, do you? You just want to take a break and try to figure it out.”
“If it makes you happy to believe that...”

I didn’t, really, but I was confused about his decision. I was always the one who wanted to stop and set up camp before he did. His excuses sounded awfully similar to ones I’d use if I were tired of walking. Maybe I was rubbing off on him.

Once we arrived at the spot he had picked, a nice flat patch of ground for us to set up camp for the night. I shucked my backpack, smaller than the one he was lugging around, then stretched my arms and back out. I wasn’t used to walking with the extra weight. I’d probably be stiff the next day.

“I’m going for a swim,” I announced.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “How about we get set up here first. You know, get the tent out, gather wood for a fire ... all those things you’ll be whining about later if we don’t have them done.”