Page 82 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“You can only say that because you didn’t have an eight-hundred pound beast with pointy things chasing after you,” I replied.

“What happened?” Bug asked again.

Joe told him.

“Wow, that was dangerous,” Bug said to me.

I shrugged. “All in a day’s work.”

Bug laughed, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The echo of his voice when he declared me “not my mother” rang in my memory. Joe may have been set to move on, but I wasn’t sure Bug was on board.

~ ~ ~

The Mammoth Springs Trail had been strenuous at times, but worth it. Any conflict between Bug and me eased as we examined the colors and structures of the travertine terraces. Like everything else depending on rocks and geology, the history at the surface could be older than the ground surrounding it. The water of the hot springs, which is acidic, gathers limestone as it rises from deep beneath the earth’s surface. Air causes a chemical change which causes the limestone to be deposited, creating the amazing terraces.

The effect was captivating, and I snapped as many photos as I could, mentally noting what I couldn’t do with this camera for my next discussion with Jane.

After we climbed the steep stairs to the top of the Main Terrace, we stood and panted for a while. The view before us was otherworldly, like much of the hot springs areas in the park.

“Anyone got a chicken?” I asked. “I’m feeling hungry.”

“What?” Bug asked as Joe laughed.

“Apparently,” Joe said, “people want to see how a chicken cooks in a hot spring.”

Bug shook his head. “People are nuts.”

“Yep,” we agreed and headed back to the main parking lot where we’d left Joe’s vehicle. As we passed the hotel, Joe peeled off. “Need to use the facilities,” he said, tossing Bug his keys. “Why don’t you open the truck and let it de-steam.”

“Sure, Dad.”

As we walked back to the lot, careful to avoid any animal larger than a chipmunk, the tension ramped up again.

“So you knew my dad in high school,” Bug said as we stood by the open truck doors. “What was he like?”

“Not much different from how he is now: a nice guy with a tendency to spout bad limericks,” I said, not wanting to get into this too deeply. “We were friends then, just like we are now.”

“Are you sure that’s all you are?” Bug asked, a slight edge to his voice.

“Of course.”

“I’ve seen how you look at each other when the other one isn’t looking,” Bug stated flatly.

I shrugged. “There may have been something a long time ago. It’s leftover feelings. Things didn’t work out then, and we’ve both had different lives. You’re living proof of that.” I pasted a grin on my face.

“My mom was wonderful. They loved each other very much. We had a great family. He was devastated when she died. It was only two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. “It’s got to be hard to lose a mom when you’re so young. I was in my late thirties when mine died. It was still hard, but at least I had time with her.”

But not enough. I suspect it never would have been enough.

Bug stroked his chin in a gesture reminiscent of Joe when he was trying to find the right way to say something.

“I overheard my parents talking about you once … at least I’m pretty sure it was you.”

“Oh?”

“Dad was reminiscing about how you two used to take long hikes. He thought you were a forever person, but then you dumped him after the prom.”

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