Smoke from the sopping firewood twisted into the low cloud cover.
“So, you don’t want to swim or play cards or go for a hike. What do you want to do?” Diane sat slumped in her camping chair.
“I don’t know.”
Lizzie’s mother heaved a sigh. “Kiddo…” Diane sat forward in her chair, “Lizzie, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”
Lizzie didn’t want to. She knew what her mother looked like, she knew that Diane’s hair was plastered to her head with grease, she knew her eyes were bloodshot, she knew there was the fleck of blood sitting like a beauty mark just below her left eye.
3 hours ago
The trails in El Diablo were dense; on recommendation of some scientists in her lab who loved outdoorsy stuff, Lizzie’s mother had picked a spot for their lunch on the other side of the lake from their campsite. Lizzie would have rather just driven somewhere for a picnic, but her mother insisted on “bonding,” which she saw as hiking and pointing out deer and mountain lion tracks.
“Bet dad would have liked to draw these,” she mused. He was an artist and Lizzie loved to look at all of his paintings; he made things look so realistic without her having to get too close. Seeing the tracks in real life just made her think that the mountain lion might be watching them: hungry.
2 days ago
Lizzie sat in the front seat of her mothers SUV, habitually tugging her hik- ing shorts up and down her legs.
“You and Dad really used to come up here?” She asked, digging a finger into her ear.
Her mother glanced away from the winding mountain road. “A long time ago. Before you were born.”
“He really enjoyed it?”
California’s redwoods loomed over-
head, and Lizzie squinted her eyes at the flashing sunlight, dragging her shorts back over her knees. She was growing faster than Diane could manage, and had been wearing clothes two sizes too big all year. Her mother seemed to fear them being unprepared for the next growth spurt.