“No sense in signing up for a journey that you’ve already taken.” Avery pulled her calculator and the excursion price guide out of her travel pack, setting them on the poker table that the Moose Lodge provided as workspace. “If you guys are bold enough to chase a new view, I know I can plan the perfect customized trip for your group and come in close to budget.”
Well, if that didn’t get their attention. The excitement in the room rose until it crackled, but it was Mr. Fitz who spoke up. “I guess the Fern Falls fly-fishing trip has become old hat for us.”
A few amens sounded from the group. The captain even took off his hat and leaned in closer as Avery started scribbling down some rough numbers.
“At least with Fern Falls we know what we’re getting into,” Prudence cautioned the group. “This bean counter doesn’t even know how to unlock that carabiner. How is she going to come up with a trip we’ll like?”
Bean Counter held up the Sequoia Lake Lodge guide. “Because I am a master planner and know this book inside and out.” When they didn’t look convinced, she added, “What’s the fun in knowing exactly what you’re going to get?”
“Knowing it won’t suck,” Prudence said.
“Adventure is about trying new things, straying off the known path.” No one spoke. “And if you book today, I will take ten percent off the total.”
She wouldn’t get her bonus trip, but she’d get the credit for bringing in her first custom trek, which would go far with her boss. If there was one thing that Nelson admired, it was assertiveness.
And if there was one thing seniors loved, it was a deal.
Twenty minutes later, Avery walked down the front steps of the local Moose Lodge and onto Poppy Street, painfully aware that the safety harness was jammed and not coming off anytime soon. The sun was setting behind the lush peaks of the Sierra Nevada, streaking the sky a brilliant orange. A cool evening breeze blew through the thick canopy of ponderosas and crape myrtle trees that lined the main drag of town.
Avery shifted her bag, which housed the signed, customized excursion contract for the Senior X-Tream Team, farther up on her shoulder and waited for the thrill of landing a big client to come.
It didn’t. Odd, since once upon a time, say just a few months ago, coming out on top would have had her flushed with excitement, and okay, for a small moment in there, when all twelve sets of eyes had been riveted on her, the adrenaline of a job well done had made a brief appearance. Fooling her into actually believing she was one step closer to her own adventure.
But that was just it. Avery had been Sequoia Lake Lodge’s acting senior adventure coordinator for most of the summer, yet the closest she’d come to a real adventure was waking up to a band of raccoons partying in her cabin. They’d torn through the screen door and made off with a box of Oreos, peanut butter, and two pairs of her favorite underwear—which told her they were male raccoons.
Avery hoped her job would entail more than senior center visits, working the farmers’ markets booth, and helping lost guests at the lodge find the restroom. So far, she spent more time talking about all the different trails the Sequoia National Park offered than actually taking one. In fact, adventure coordinating wasn’t all that different from managing retirement funds, except her desk was outside and travel insurance covered more than lost suitcases.
Even the bright sun and gentle breeze couldn’t distract from the feeling that she was once again sitting idle, waiting for life to find her. Instead of waiting for the net to appear, she was going to leap.
Determined to talk to Irene and Nelson about running this trek on her own, she headed toward the yellow Victorian with violet trim at the end of the street that had HOOT & HAMMER and an owl painted on its leaded windows. It wasn’t a hardware store, but she’d seen enough sawdust and heavy woodworking machinery to bet the owner possessed a screwdriver and set of hands strong enough to pry open the carabiner. Convincing Nelson she was ready to take clients into the great outdoors while she was stuck in a harness wouldn’t make the kind of impression she was going for.
Only, before she reached the shop, she noticed the Closed sign hanging in the window. She also noticed a big, shiny, black ego-trip with mud tires, a lift kit, and a mountain bike secured to its top.
The truck was parked directly under the town’s flapping banner—which read COME FOR THE ADVENTURE, STAY FOR THE PEOPLE—and practically on top of her Mazda’s bumper. Not only did it have a toolbox in it’s bed, the box appeared to be unlocked—and it’s owner nowhere in sight.
A private person by nature, Avery would normally ask for permission to rifle through someone’s personal affects, but since no one was around to grant nor deny her access, Avery reminded herself that living loud required no permission. So she pulled her journal from her purse. It was made of a buttery leather and had a vintage map of the world burnt into the cover.
Avery lightly traced a finger over the branded message on the bottom edge.