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the blue knapsack, a curiously intimate act. My hand found the can of repellent. I handed the can to him, but instead of spraying himself, he started on me, spraying my neck and the back of my legs, then handed the can to me to finish the job. I did the same for him, and when we were both done, I replaced the can.
    “You need a hat, there's an extra in the main section of the knapsack, reach down deep.”
    I fished around until I pulled up a worn baseball cap. “The Yankees? Really, Ben?”
    “I'm from New Jersey.”
    “I'm not sure I can wear this, I'm a loyal Red Sox fan.”
    “Sure you can, it was my wife's and she was from Boston.”
    Just by the way he said it, I knew that the past tense was not due to ordinary circumstances like divorce or separation. That simple declarative sentence creaked with old aches. I put the hat on and wondered why he had brought it with him, or had it simply remained in his knapsack from some long-ago hike. But it fit pretty well and I was glad of the protection, even if it was a Yankees cap.
    Our conversation petered out as the elevation steepened. I tried to pay attention to the magnificent forest on either side of the path, but the various hazards along the way and my increasing tiredness made me keep my eyes on the trail. Ben led, holding overhanging branches out of my way, calling out a warning at a particularly slippery spot. The storm-cleared sky was obscured by the pines and birches above our heads. I heard the loud call of a warbler but couldn't find the bird with my eyes. Just as I thought I was going to have to give in and beg for a rest, Ben held up a pausing hand and pointed toward a small clearing where a three-sided lean-to had been erected and the remnants of campfires indicated an authorized rest stop. With great relief, I shrugged off the knapsack, which by this time was cutting into my bare shoulders, and flopped down on the bench inside the lean-to.
    Ben off-loaded his own knapsack and sat on the floor. “We can't sit long, or we'll stiffen up.”
    “Okay, Kommandant, but can we eat?”
    “Jawohl.”
    “Bitte danke, Herr Turner.” I pulled my sandwich and bottle of water out of my bag and commenced to eat. The air around us was cool, much cooler than at the base of the mountain. I shivered a little and wished that I had brought another shirt. The sweat on my tank top was drying, adding to a general feeling of discomfort. Ben wordlessly reached into his bag and, like some kind of magician or den mother, hauled out a flannel shirt and handed it to me.
    “Thanks. You really are prepared, aren't you?”
    “I do this a lot.” He amended himself quickly. “I did this a lot.”
    “You and your wife?”
    “Yeah.” He turned his attention to his sandwich, not looking at me but out toward the amazing vista open before the clearing. “It was one of the few things besides music we both loved equally. I haven't done it in a long time.”
    “Can I ask how long she's been gone?”
    “Almost a year.” Abruptly Ben stood up and swung his pack onto his shoulders. “We'd better head back, down is almost as tough as up.” With that he squelched any further questions I might naturally have asked.
    The day before my family arrived it rained nonstop, making it easy to stay put and work. After lunch I tidied up, running a dust mop across the ceiling boards to knock down the worst of the spiderwebs. Lily wouldn't come inside if she thought there was any danger of being touched by a spider.
    At seven-thirty I dashed to the car, already late for our nightly call. I wanted to talk about my hike up the mountain, but the kids were full of their own story. “We went to the zoo!” They were in the kitchen with the speakerphone and the echo chamber effect made me nervous but at least we could all talk like a family.
    “And how's Alice the elephant today?”
    “She's fine.” Tim's voice conjured his little map-of-Ireland face in my mind. “Eleanor didn't know she was named