Summer brought Sullivan’s Crossing to life—vacationers abounded. The camps across the lake were full; there were fishing boats and Jet Skis all over the water. The occasional Boy Scout or teen camp counselor escaped to Sully’s to get away from their kids.
Hikers passed through in a steady stream—some who had made the trek south from Boulder, some who had been out for a short time, some who had come all the way from the Mexican border and had already logged close to a thousand miles. They usually straggled in at the end of the day. They had a variety of reasons for taking to the trail—a cancer survivor who had a lot of living to do, a professor who was documenting his hike, a divorcée getting her confidence back, a couple of ministers who wanted to experience the CDT for the spiritual messages, married teachers doing as much of the hike as they could over summer and hoping to get across three states. They sometimes recognized each other from the trail or from names in trail logs they’d read along the way. They gathered around picnic tables, on the porch or the dock. Remembering all too well coming off the trail, Cal began grilling burgers for hikers. He kept ground beef and buns on hand just for that purpose—burgers and chips. No charge.
“You’re gonna go broke that way,” Sully groused.
“I can spend my money any way I like,” Cal said.
Later that night Maggie told him that Sully had been doing the same thing for years. Most hikers weren’t destitute at all and traveled with their credit cards. They’d leave a nice tip behind, more than covering the cost. Cal and Maggie both loved talking to them, watching them open the packages they sent themselves, hearing them describe the almost religious experience they had from taking a hot shower.
Cal particularly enjoyed watching families together, couples with two or three kids who camped in big family-sized tents and stayed for anywhere from a few days to more than a week. Sometimes they were on the move, seeing as many of Colorado’s national parks as possible. They usually staked out a picnic table and grill for their meals and played cards or games at night and went hiking, rock climbing, boating or fishing by day. Cal had always expected to have a family like one of these, a boy and girl, a family having fun together in the healthy outdoors.
Cal was at peace with the place. Since he’d grown up with no security or schedule, always some new agenda or scheme, he fell in love with the routine. Mornings he used Sully’s kitchen for breakfast, though Sully rose at dawn and headed for the store. Then he’d have coffee on the porch with Frank, Sully, and often Tom who would come by on his way to some job—usually a handyman project for a local home owner. Sully would let Cal know what he wanted done that day, Frank would head to his ranch to give his sons advice, everyone got to work. The end of the day found him back on the same porch, talking with hikers, having a cold drink.
He hated to go inside at the end of the day unless it was raining, which was seldom this time of year. He would sit outside with Sully and Maggie until the sun was well set. When he retired with Maggie to the rumpus room, he took at least an hour in that old leather chair, feet up, nose in a book. There was a bookstore in Leadville he’d visited a couple of times and he had a nice library forming on that bookcase of Maggie’s.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
“I’m doing a lot more rereading than reading these days. Isn’t that what you do on vacation?”
“As hard as you work all day, this is hardly a vacation. What are you rereading?”
“Great Expectations.”
“You’re the only theme park employee I’ve ever known who reads classics.”
“Literature major,” he reminded her.
“Why reread now?”
He closed his book. “Sometimes it takes me back in time, remembering who I was the first time I experienced a great book. It reminds me where I thought I was headed and how life changed and changed me. When I first read this I was a kid—it was one of my mother’s favorites. I thought I might be a famous playwright. Or at least a rich novelist. I changed my mind and direction a few times. At least.”
Cal didn’t explain how much he liked the language of exceptional storytelling because in a way he was a storyteller, but he’d done it in court. He never made things up or lied, but he offered possibilities. Enough to cloud a jury’s decision. Enough to confuse human nature. Sometimes he’d complicate an already complex process—that was plotting. That was what the greats of literature did—they got their characters up a tree and threw rocks at them.
He thought again about explaining things to her, who he was, what baggage he was bringing to the relationship. After all, they were playing house in Sully’s basement. Every time he thought about it, it felt a little bit heavier. Eventually he’d unload it. But tonight was not the best night. Maggie was getting ready for bed and other things came to his mind.