Page 17 of Capture the Moment
“I’m Maisie. My grandfather is Tim Rivers. The ranger. Remember? We met at the visitor center just yesterday.”
Frankie grunted.
“Looks like you’re doing trail maintenance. Can I help?”
“No.” Frankie slung the bag over his shoulder and headed down the trail.
Undeterred, Maisie followed along.
“Hey.” He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Did your grandfather send you to spy on me?”
“Of course not! He’s telling the rangers what they need to do today. I just thought you could use some help. Or maybe someone to talk to? I’m a good listener. Well, it’s not mybestquality. Talking is mybest. But I’m working on my listening skills.”
“I don’t talk and I don’t listen.” He stopped at another spot and started cutting a root that was lifting up on the trail.
“You’re Coop’s roommate, right? How’s that going? Don’t you just love Coop? Iadorehim. I think he’s wonderful. Next to Pops, he’s my favorite person in the world. I suppose I shouldput my mom on that list. Usually she is, but right now, I’m a little frustrated with her, you know?”
“Man, do Ieverknow. Parents are useless.”
“Well, not exactly useless. But definitely exasperating. Anyway, don’t you just love Coop?”
“He’s the one who’s put me on trail maintenance today. So no, I don’t love him.”
“Why’d he give you trail maintenance?”
He let out a huff. “For a very minor deed.”
Maisie grinned. “How minor?”
“Something ridiculously small.” He whirled his finger around his ear, as if to say that Coop might be nuts. “I left my wet towel on his bed and it made his precious pillow damp to sleep on.”
“Whoa.” She laughed. “That’s not a minor deed. You messed up. You’re lucky you’re on trail maintenance and not emptying latrines.”
Frankie gave her a look, then a hint of amusement filled his eyes. He handed her a plastic bag to carry. “Here, kid. Make yourself useful.”
“I’m not a kid.” But Frankie wasn’t listening. He walked along the trail, Maisie trotting beside him with the bag of branches. She wasn’t looking where she was going and walked right into a spiderweb. “Yuck!” She swiped at her face and hair, pulling silky strands off.
Frankie turned to watch her. “Here’s a tip, kid. Always walk behind someone taller than you. That way, your face doesn’t have to be the first to make contact with a cobweb.”
“Fun fact. It only takes a spider thirty to sixty minutes to spin or repair a web.”
He tapped his head. “Something to remember on your return trip.” He stopped now and then to pick up litter and stuff it in his plastic bag. “Why do people come to the wilderness and toss their litter?”
“Maybe it falls out of their backpack.”
“Right.” He picked up a couple of empty cans of beer. “Just fell right out of their backpack.” He stuffed the cans in the bag. “Idiots. They should be banned from the park.”
“Maybe it was someone who’d been injured, bitten by a wolf, maybe. Or face-planted on one of those roots you’re cutting away. And they desperately needed an anesthetic, and that was all they had. And they drank the beer, crawled back to their car, and drove off.”
Frankie looked at her like she was nuts. “Then, hopefully they’d get pulled over for DUI on the way and be locked up in jail.”
“Well, I suppose that would be a fitting conclusion for idiots.”
Bending over to pick up another beer can, he paused at her comment. When he straightened up again, she thought he had a look on his face like he was trying to not laugh.
“Fun fact,” Maisie said, changing the subject from litterbugs. “String Lake used to be called Beaver Dick Lake. Beaver Dick was the trapper who married Jenny, the Shoshone woman. You know ... Jenny Lake was named for her. Really sad love story.” She opened her mouth to explain more, but he was walking down the trail. She hurried to catch up. “Don’t you want to hear it?”
“No. I don’t do love stories.”
