The Hike

It’s 1929, and there’s still not much a girl can get away with, huh?

And that’s coming from me. No idea who I think I am, walkin’ around the way I do, not giving a single gosh darn, not workin’ a day of my little ol’ life away. Not real work, anyway. Not the way Tom defines it. “Joyce, don’t you care what’s gonna happen to us if they let me go?”

Eh. Not really. We do okay.

Maybe that’s why people around town like me so much. These are hard times, after all, and there’s a lot to be said for the neighborhood gossip gal when things are the way they are. Hang on now, before you judge me too much, I don’t go messing around with anyone’s life but my own. It’s just fun to sit back and watch the show for a while sometimes. ‘Specially when they ask for your advice, that’s my favorite part. And, well, I’ve always been a bit of a talker.

Okay, so maybe I meddle a little. But I’m not goin’ around havin’ affairs or threatenin’ not to help set up Linda’s baby shower this weekend and causin’ that kind of mess. I know what kind of drama I’m about.

Tom and I got a puppy yesterday. He’s real cute. Called him Cosmos, ‘cause I like to go out at night and look up at the stars. Cost us a pretty penny outta Tom’s wallet, but you know, we do okay. I think he thought the little one would keep me company at home all day while he’s working. Nice of him.

He’s got no earthly clue what I do when he’s out makin’ our living, but it’s nothin’ the pup can’t come along for. Convenient way to get him outside to pee and all that.

The two of us are headed out to make my rounds now, me and my Cosmos. We gave Tom a good twenty minutes to get on his way after he kissed my cheek goodbye this morning, so we should be set. Would have been fifteen, but the man is getting slow in his old age. It’ll be chicken and roasted potatoes for him tonight. Easy enough since he thinks that’s all we can afford.

I’ve taken care to stuff tissues into the cracks of empty space in my purse, but the miniature bottles still clank against each other occasionally as Cosmos drags me down the sidewalk (I don’t remember having this much energy when I was 6 months old, but to each his own). It’s nice out, rare weather up here in Seattle this time of year. I’ve got a good assortment today – bourbon, vodka, reds, whites. Gotta please a lot of people in this neighborhood, so I try to get my hands on the good stuff across the board. It’s amazing what people will shell out for a little bit of stress relief, especially since nobody really has much to make ends meet in the first place. Prohibition and an economic recession or depression or whatever we’re calling it really do a number on the human psyche, apparently. And I just wanna go on the record here - these men that think they’ve got the whole underground drinking thing under control? Their wives could drink them under the table any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I don’t keep anything at mine and Tom’s place, of course, that’s asking for trouble. Probably less risky than skipping Linda’s baby shower, but point is if we make it out of either of these messes we’ve gotten ourselves into, women are gonna be the ones to get their act together.

Oh, Mary’s left me a note today, right under the pot of that big fern she’s got at the side of her house. Clever girl. Nobody would be able to spot it from the front. I wonder whose husband’s gotten fired today.

Tom knows. Be careful, Jo.

Oh.

Well, sister’s getting a heavier supply than she asked for this week, because I’m leavin’ all my inventory right there on her front porch, I’m knockin’ on the front door and I’m runnin’. Lucky for me little Cosmos can keep up because I keep runnin’ until I’m back home. By that point he’s yappin’ like crazy, but I can’t calm him down, I gotta move fast. I grab the little packet from my pillowcase and - ah, Tom hasn’t taken the car today. Good. He’s never taught me to drive it, but it’s now or never.

Cosmos has jumped up beside me on the passenger seat while I try to get the blasted thing to start, which it finally does, and he’s yelpin’ his head off and so am I, but we’re moving. I twist and turn and shimmy and shake our way up into the forest, onto a trail, and then I’m runnin’ again, and when I get far enough up the ridge I fall to my hands and knees and just start clawin’ at the ground. From the pillowcase packet, the one Tom has somehow never noticed, I dump out my savings, the cash he’s never touched. God knows I’d be one hundred percent broke if he had. And the last thing – just one more thing – the notebook. My admission of guilt.

Cosmos is staring up at me when I get up, brush the dirt from my hands like it’s gonna do anything, and start back to the car.

There’s not much a girl can get away with, but there’s a little. Like I said, we do okay. I do okay.

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I’ve always loved the sky.

That’s why I’m out on the trails so much. The Pacific Northwest feels most like home to me when I’m up in the mountains, getting closer and closer to whatever is all the way up there in that sky. I wish the parks stayed open later so I could bring Charlie up and show him the constellations. But nobody out here knows what they’re doing, especially when it’s March - good weather – so everything closes at sundown for “safety” and I’m sitting here alone on this rock where I can pretend to see Orion, straight through those dumb little clouds. I wonder how that Amelia Earhart felt, zooming through them all a few years back. Man. I think she and I would get along great. If she weren’t, you know, probably dead and all. I mean, I don’t know, though, maybe she just got tired of the rest of us and she’s out there on some island living it up. Stranger things have happened. 1938’s a weird year.

I’m Virginia, by the way. Charlie’s my kid brother. We don’t have much. Everyone’s supposed to have their lives together again since the economy bounced back and all that, so I guess he and

I just got unlucky. Or everyone else just started lying about having it all together again. Either way, it happens.

Time to get up. I’ve been up here for an hour now, just sitting. I don’t really want to go back to proving to everyone I’m worth something, but it’s better than being presumed dead like Amelia. I think. I turn around and start to head back down and then out of nowhere, some little pup is barking his head off. I turn back around and there he is. He’s not little, turns out – half my size, at least. Don’t know how I didn’t notice him before, but he’s looking at me like I’m about to haul a steak out of thin air and hand it over.

I’m not super good with animals, and this one looks like he could eat me if he wanted, so I just kinda stand there for a minute, staring back at him. Before I can figure out what I’m supposed to do here, he trots a few yards away and looks back, straight into my eyes.

You know what, the hell with it. I follow him. It’s a reason to stay up here a little longer, and he seems pleased with himself when I start over there, if dogs can be pleased with themselves. I don’t know.

We make it about halfway down the ridge like this, and he starts digging. A few minutes later he’s dropped a small black notebook, filled with dates, names and different types of alcohol. Pretty old by the look of it, but who cares, that’s my kind of book. And there’s a sizable rectangular bundle the dog is dropping in front of me now, which is covering up no less than twenty thousand dollars in cash –

I’m pretty convinced by now this dog is either a hell hound or a ghost, but either way, I’m not trying to question him. I pocket the cash before anyone else up here sees, and start checking out the names in the book.

M. Elliot, 23rd March 1929. 2 vodka.

R. Germain, 29th March 1929. 5 bourbon, 3 vodka.

S. Abraham, 1st April 1929. 3 red, 3 white.

I should probably try to find whoever put this here, right? I mean, 1929? It’s not like I’m reading about people from the Middle Ages. But...

What if they’re not still around? Nine years is a long time to leave this kind of money just... here. The dog is still sitting in front of the hole he’s ripped into the earth, staring at me with searching eyes.

I’ll find the people on the list. That’s what I’ll do. It’s a chance, but since when am I scared of those? Best case scenario, I’ll finally get myself a bunch of those rich friends I’ve always dreamed of having. Maybe I’ll be the richest of them all. Maybe I’ll take Charlie to see the constellations whenever I damn well please. Maybe I’ll get to know all the things people who have money keep quiet from people who don’t. Maybe one of them knows what happened to Amelia.

Hell, with $20k, maybe I’ll go find out myself.