Page 8 of How Does It Feel?

“Okay . . . well, I guess we can go now. Do you mind running me over to Don’s on the way to my house?” I asked as we walked out of the field and back to Cliff’s truck parked on a nearby path.

That was one of the major perks of working at a national state park—you could drive your truck all over the paths. Small perk, sure, but when you walked all over the eight hundred and twenty-nine thousand acres every week, it became a massive perk.

The air was already starting to cool, and the sun had only just begun to creep lower. That meant fall was just around the corner. My favorite time of year and the perfect time for harvesting mushrooms for the Luna moths’ anti-parasite cocktail.

We settled into Cliff’s truck and headed through the familiar paths back to the main road. Cliff paused at the entrance gate to speak to one of the park rangers before we continued down the road toward the wildlife center.

“Just grab what you need from the center, and I’ll take you to the house. You don’t need to bother stopping at Don’s, I took care of it,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.

“What do you mean you took care of it?” I asked the side of his face as I stared at the bit of stubble he had missed shaving.

I knew he was just trying to be nice, but I didn’t need anyone to “take care” of my things, and it bristled something deep inside me to have anyone get that close.

“It’s not a big deal, I traded him some fishin’ tags he needed,” he said, his face still stoically facing the road.

“That sounds like either a stupid deal or an illegal one,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him. “Thank you, Cliff, but I’d rather just pay him.

“Suit yourself, Callie,” he said arrogantly with a shake of his head, his body stiff.

We had pulled into the empty parking lot of the center. I ran in and finished the last bit of tidying and locking up that I needed to do before quickly returning to the shiny gray truck.

“Would you mind just taking me home, Cliff? I think I’m going to pass on the bass tonight. I don’t want the town talking, and I really do have lots of things I need to get in order if I’m going to have this mycelium set up and harvested in time for the luna moths,” I said with a sheepish smile, the same as I had rehearsed inside.

He clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything. He’d been around me long enough to know arguing with me would go nowhere.

“Whatever you want,” he said as he abruptly slammed the shifter into drive. “Stacy Perkins has been dying to see my honey hole . . . .and I kinda wanna see hers too.” He grinned childishly, his stare held mine a moment too long.

He was hoping to make me jealous and get a reaction out of me, but unfortunately, the only thing I was severely jealous of was that Stacy’s family had a very secret morel mushroom patch they refused to tell the location of.

“Well, I hope you have a lot of fun, you deserve it. If you want, I can get a ride with Hank or Cecelia tomorrow morning,” I said blithely.

Had I refilled the deer feeder in my back lot? Poor things were probably hungry. I added that to the mental checklist of things to do when I woke up the next day.

Cliff huffed a loud pouty breath but remained silent until we pulled into the winding gravel drive of my lot. I couldn’t help but admire it every time I came back to the house. Of all the places I’d moved to, and there were a lot, this was by far my favorite.

Tall oaks and maples scattered the forest on either side of the long curving driveway in a warm, picturesque way. I only owned two acres, but the woods surrounded it for about twenty acres on either side, lending to the cozy illusion. It was incredible, quiet and solitary, laced with a special warmth and character that I loved.

The gravel crunched and shifted under the tires as the small house came into view. It was only a one-bedroom cabin covered in mismatched brown and tan siding and a black shingled roof. No frills and absolutely nothing I didn’t need. One shuttered window on either side of the front door and a bright-blue tarp that I parked under attached to the side. I loved it. Every type of wildflower I could find was scattered across the property. I had large beds of pollinator-friendly flowers strewn about, as well as several mushroom patches and a few deer gardens. I didn’t bother trying to grow anything for myself here, the animals were ever present on this property, and I was more than happy to help feed them instead of myself anyway. Sometimes they felt like the only real friends I had, and they couldn’t run to Tate’s grocery like I could when I got hungry.

I waited as Cliff turned the truck around in the small gravel rectangle next to my house. “Thanks again for the ride, Cliff. I really do appreciate it,” I said with a smile and stepped out of the truck.

“Yea, whatever,” he said, fake annoyed with a grin on his face. “Hey, you know who you should talk to about those ’shrooms you’re looking for?” he said as he popped a fresh toothpick into his mouth.

“Well, I’m not looking for them yet. They are predominantly with birch and a few diverse conifer trees—”

“Talk to Crazy Earl. If they have the stuff that you get high off of and are around here, that bastard will know where to find ’em,” he said as he chewed on the end of the small wooden stick.

“I knew it!” I shouted so loud Cliff jumped, dropping the toothpick from his mouth. “Sorry,” I said apologetically as I calmed my voice, attempting to harness my excitement.

He probably did have a field of psilocybin-loaded mushrooms behind that gas station!

I said goodbye to Cliff and continued inside my home, setting my bag on the glossy cream tile just inside the front door. I unbuttoned my stiff khaki shirt. A few of the brightly colored patches had begun to peel up from the firm fabric. Inside the bathroom that led to the only bedroom in the house, I paused in front of the mirror to assess the ironing that would be necessary.

I smiled at my reflection. Large ball lights cast a yellow hue on the big smile of straight white teeth that stared back at me, the result of three years worth of incessant orthodontists appointments and braces. My pale, dirty-blonde hair had bleached out this summer, giving me natural highlights along with a tan face full of freckles. I laughed as I watched my tan line abruptly stop on my shoulders as I took off my outer shirt and hung it up. I had hosted a class for the fifth-grade camp last week, and the racer-back tank top I had worn left me with a unique set of tan lines. Good thing no one but me would see them.

I would wake up early and fix the loose patches on my work shirt. No sense in waiting for them to fall off. I made a mental checklist of my duties for tomorrow. Well, I made a mental note to write myself a checklist, I should say. I was a fool for lists. My entire being revolved around notes and checklists.

Standing in my sports bra and pants, I couldn’t help but giggle at my five-foot-tall reflection. I looked like the prototype of what Mattel would cast as scientist Barbie. It was no wonder no one took me seriously. Skipper had been the cool doll anyway. Barbie only cared about her hair and fashion, not that I’d ever really played with dolls when I was a kid. Too many real-life things happened for me to be able to enjoy dolls and action figures.