Luke came up behind me. I pointed, hand shaking, at the cross carved into the white bark of the tree. “We’re going in goddamned circles!” He was silent. Beneath the drone of insects I could hear the even tenor of his breathing although we’d hiked a good nine miles already that autumn afternoon — and no end to it in sight. My head ached and I had a stitch in my side like someone was jabbing me with a hot poker. I lowered my pack to the ground, lowered myself to a fallen tree — this time not bothering to check for ant nests or coiled rattlers — lowered my face in my hands and lost it. I mean, lost it. Tears…oh, yeah. Shoulders shaking, shuddering sobs. I didn’t even care anymore what he thought. “Tim…” He dropped his pack too, sat down next to me on the log. He sounded sort of at a loss. After a minute he patted my shoulder. Awkwardly. I turned away from him and tried to wipe my face on my shirt sleeve. Feeling him fumbling around with his pack, I watched him through wet lashes.
