“After you.” Rose gestured for me to lead the way, then joined me on the trail.
The drive there had been a comedy of errors, but after several wrong turns, a couple engine stalls, and one bifurcated raccoon carcass, we’d found the entrance to Metea State Park. It should have been simple—a ten-mile straight shot west on Route 17—which I’d have known if I’d had the map app on my phone. Instead, I decided to follow the Stone River, cruising ten miles per hour under the speed limit, unable to find fourth gear. An hour later, totally lost, I admitted my blunder and Rose navigated us the rest of the way on her own phone.
Aside from the rhythmic murmur of the cicadas and our footsteps, we walked in silence. After a few minutes, Rose spoke. “Those were some pretty sweet driving skills,” she teased.
“You know, my sarcasm detector isn’t broken,” I teased back.
A laugh escaped her lips. “Seriously, you did great. When I took drivers’ ed, I flunked the driving part of it. Like, the important part, where you have to drive.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. A very proud moment. I’m pretty sure I ran over every orange cone, drove through a red light, and when I parallel parked, we were five feet from the curb. Traffic was backed up for three blocks.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I still can’t parallel park.”
“Oh, I’m a pro now,” Rose responded. “I could parallel park a bus.”
I looked at her and smiled. “I’d like to see that.” My awkwardness percentage had dropped to around eighty after lingering near a hundred since she’d shown up at the café. “So you share a car with your mom too, huh?” I asked.
“I guess, if you can call it that. She still freaks out about me driving.”
“Maybe it had to do with flunking drivers’ ed?” I joked.
She shook her head and laughed. “Shut up. No, she just worries. It’s only the two of us, so sometimes I think I’m all she has to worry about.”
I almost asked about her dad, but decided she’d offer that information when she was ready. Besides, I didn’t like talking much about mine. “How long have you been playing at Hilltop?” I asked instead, lifting a small branch that had grown over the trail for her to walk under.
“I started last summer, then worked a bit over Christmas and spring break, and now again this summer. My mom’s been working in the memory care unit since we moved to Buffalo Falls three years ago, so she was able to get me the job. I don’t make much money, but I get to play the grand piano.”
“You’re really great, Rose. I’m sure people tell you that all the time, but it’s true.”
“Aw, thanks. I love it. It’s probably my favorite thing to do.”
“I can see why.”
The trail led us deeper into the woods. It began as compact dirt, but soon became sand the color of bone. In contrast to the prairie and cornfields surrounding Buffalo Falls, the park had a mystic, definitely not Illinois feel. Large green ferns unfolded below ancient oaks and maples. Red-headed woodpeckers flitted from tree to tree, jackhammering their faces into the bark in search of food. The odd chipmunk scampered across our path, stopping on hind legs to look guiltily at us, then scurry away.
After a half hour or so, we came upon a wooden bridge where we took a moment to rest, appreciating the cool breeze brought by the rushing water of the creek below.
“This place is amazing,” I said. “I can’t believe it’s only a fifteen-minute drive from town.”
“Should be a fifteen-minute drive.”
“We happened to take the scenic route today. We should come back in the fall, when the leaves turn.”
Rose didn’t reply, just stared at the water. I noticed she had a dimple on the left side of her mouth, above her chin. The late afternoon sunlight danced through the leaves, illuminating her face with broken light.
I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me, so I repeated myself. “Wouldn’t it look awesome here in the fall?”
After a pause, she flashed a quick smile at me. “For sure. Come on, let’s keep going.”
Ahead, a stone staircase had been carved into a towering hill. As we climbed, the air seemed to cool a degree with every step—a welcome relief. The stairs, spaced several feet apart, created an unusual climbing rhythm: UP, step, step, step, UP, step, step, step.
Halfway there, we saw the payoff at the summit: a giant sandstone cave burrowed deep into the cliff. At least a hundred feet high, the gaping cavern looked big enough to bunk an army platoon. Grub would have loved it. We craned our necks to take it all in.
“Wow,” Rose said. “This is incredible.”
By the time we finally reached the mouth of the cave my thighs were burning, but it was worth it. Rose and I began to explore different ends of the cave. The ground was hard and covered with trampled dead leaves. Charred remains of campfires spotted the perimeter, the occasional half-incinerated beer can decorating the ash. The soft sandstone walls were a time capsule—fresh carvings jumped out, sharp edged and deep, while older ones had been smoothed by the years.
“Hey, look at this!” called Rose. She now stood in the center of the cave, under the rim. Her head was tilted back and her tongue stuck out. I walked over to meet her and looked up as well. White roots hung far above, dripping cold water.
“Are you sure you should drink that? It’s probably . . .”
“Probably what?” she asked, tongue still out, making it sound more like “Mammahly mah?”
“I don’t know, like deer piss, or something. Aren’t you not supposed to drink random cave water?”
She lowered her head and looked at me with raised eyebrows, as if I’d just told her I’d seen a unicorn in the trees. “If I die, please tell my family I loved them, and that I died as I lived, drinking questionable cave water.” She stared at me straight-faced for a moment, then burst into laughter. I laughed too.
“All right, all right. It can’t be worse than my mom’s agave lemonade,” I said, setting the thermos on the ground. I joined her under the dripping roots and tilted my head back. The first drop splashed off my forehead. The second, my right eye. The third hit the side of my mouth. By the fourth, I had the target locked.
Direct hit to the back of the throat.
I choked.
“There’s sand in it!” I hawked at the back of my throat, like when a popcorn shell lodges there.
“Really? No sand in mine. You chose poorly,” said Rose, leaning her head back to catch more.
I must have been feeling brave then because I approached Rose to playfully push her out of the way for a better claim on the nonsandy-water drip. A simple-enough plan in theory, yes, but where it went awry was upon execution, due to an uninvited, unannounced, and generally unpleasant arrival of a third party.
A brown spider the size of a quarter had somehow planted itself upon Rose’s left breast. After a brief moment of jealousy, I reacted as any sane person would under the circumstances.
“Whoa!” I proclaimed, pointing directly at Rose’s chest.