Page 9 of Oh, Christmas Con

Tracy crunched on something through the phone as Maye continued.

“Your reaction times, Tracy, they may be slowed—”

“Mmhmm,” Tracy hummed before slurping the last sip of something.

“Your situational awareness is—” Maye stopped mid-scolding. “Tracy, are you driving right now?”

Silence.

“Well, yeah,” Tracy finally admitted. “But I’m locked in. I’m using a knee and a wrist. That’s seven and two. We’re only three hours away from ten and two. Three measly time zones!”

“I’m hanging up right now. Goodbye, Tracy!”

Maye shuffled in her front door carrying a Stanley travel mug, work bag, lunch bag, and two bags of carry-out food that she picked up for her and Randall. It was a balancing act she had perfected through many, many repetitions.

The condo she shared with her long-time boyfriend was in a state it hadn’t been since they moved in together. Even then, the stacks of boxes and piles of clothes only lasted until there was a proper place for them, and then the boxes were flattened and added to a recycling pile. But what she saw when she walked into their condo…that was a level of disorganization that made her heart race. Clothes sprawled, not even stacked, sprawled across the soft white leather couch. Actual worn shoes on top of the ottoman, not brand-new unworn shoes, but shoes that had been worn outside on actual filthy, spat-on, gum-smattered pavement. Ugh. Ugh! She shivered.

“Randall?” Maye called out as she placed everything in her arms onto the dining table.

“Oh, hey you,” Randall said as he hustled out of their bedroom holding an empty duffle bag. “Don’t you worry about this mess. I’m taking care of it right now. Do you know where my light blue poncho is? The one we got from that UMaine hockey game? Also, there’s something I need to tell you—” He looked up for the first time and noticed the takeout bags on the table. “Mangia?” he asked.

She nodded. “And we got free garlic bread this week.”

“I love their garlic bread,” Randall said under his breath as he watched Maye unpack the takeout containers.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Oh, well, I think it can wait until after we eat. You look famished. I’ll get the silverware!” Randall disappeared into the kitchen.

Maye had been looking forward to catching up on some shows while they ate, but the couch was covered with Randall’s stuff, so they ate at the table.

“How was your day?” Maye asked.

“Yeah, good. Yours?” Randall said as he stabbed at multiple pieces of ziti.

“Yeah, pretty good. I zoned out while a client was talking again. I hate doing that.” Maye reached over for a small serving of Alfredo and realized Randall had eaten almost three-quarters of the meal already. “Wow, pretty hungry tonight, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Randall slid his container closer to Maye. “Want the rest? I’m about done, anyway. I’ll start cleaning up.”

Randall made a few trips to the kitchen to bring dirty dishes to the sink and then immediately started putting away some of the clothes he had left lying around the living room. Someone must be feeling frisky, Maye thought. She poured a little more red wine into her glass.

“So,” Randall said as he organized the items scattered around the room. “Remember that mountain-climbing documentary we watched a couple of weeks ago? With the guy who was hiking trails and then scaled that mountainside? With basically no rock-climbing equipment, and was starving and dehydrated, so he followed some animal tracks to a cluster of berries and then squeezed droplets of water out of the roots?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Maye said. “The guy you said you saw a lot of yourself in?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Well, I’ve been thinking about that a lot since then and about how inspiring it was that he just decided one day to be an adventurer. It’s such a freeing idea, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. Why? Do you have an adventure on your mind?”

Randall’s eyes lit up. “Check this out,” he said as he sat down and unfolded a map across the dining table that he had seemingly pulled out of thin air.

Maye leaned over the table as he flattened out the map of the continental United States. A thin red line zigged and zagged between the middle of Maine and the middle of New Hampshire.

“Look here,” Randall continued as he traced the line with a finger. “It’s about one hundred thirty-five miles from where we are to the White Mountains in New Hampshire. And then another sixty-five miles to get through the White Mountains, so that’s two hundred miles total.”

Maye studied the map. She spotted Greenville and noticed the red line started nearby, then followed what looked like a mountain range. “Is that a trail?” Maye asked.

Randall stood up tall, with his hands on his hips, and nodded. “It’s the Appalachian Trail.”