“Thanks.” The wood was warm and worn. She ran her fingers down the grain, expecting it to be smooth, but straight lines were cut into it. She rotated the cane to get a better look. Piano keys had been carved down the length of the cane. They were perfectly even. She caught herself pressing down on one, as if to test it for sound.
“This is incredible. Did you do this?” she asked.
He nodded. “After many failed attempts. Music has been a big part of my life. Carving wood didn’t come so naturally.”
“Well, you’re obviously good at it now,” she said, marveling at it. “Is it to scale?”
“That’s what I tell myself.”
Ama leaned into the cane. She could press the ball of her injured foot to the ground so long as she didn’t let her heel come down. “This is helping. Thanks.”
“Do you need water or anything?” He angled his shoulder to slide off his pack. Nervousness bloomed inside Ama. At least it wasn’t the guy in the beater van, she thought to herself. Although statistically, this handsome fellow was more likely to hurt her, so long as he was over thirty-five, but she would bet he was a bit younger. The skin on his face was lineless, despite having obviously logged countless hours outside.
“This is going to sound crazy,” he started, breaking through Ama’s train of thought, “but have we met before? You look really familiar.”
“I doubt it. I’m not from around here.”
He grinned, sheepish, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Name’s Jonathon.”
“Ama.”
“Ama? I haven’t heard of many Amas.” He cocked his head to the side. “Family name?”
“It’s a long story,” she said, irritation rekindling in the furnace of her rib cage. “The short version is that my dad was an Alabama fan, but my mother wouldn’t let him name me Bama, so they agreed on Ama.”
“Ama from Bama. It’s cute,” he offered.
“Not if you’re me,” she responded. “And I’m not from Alabama.”
“Well, your secret is safe with me.” He raised his fingers in some kind of salute. “Have you called for help, Ama?”
She nearly answered with the truth. She pressed her lips together, reconsidering in an instant. “I called a friend. He’s on the way now. I’m supposed to meet him at the south trailhead,” she lied.
Jonathon stared up the hill. “If you stay on the path, that’s going to be over a mile to the south entrance. I know a more direct route. The first part will be tough”—he paused, motioning to her foot—“because it’s almost straight down. Then it won’t be so bad, and it’ll be half the distance.”
Ama glanced at her watch. If she stuck to the path and hobbled, it could take her two hours to get there, and she wasn’t sure she had two hours of daylight left. While a direct route would cut down the distance, Ama was nervous enough at the thought of staying on the path with a complete stranger, much less wandering blindly through the woods. He seemed nice, but she’d met enough criminals to know they typically shared a charming personality.
“Actually, I’m feeling a lot better. You need to get where you’re going before dark, and I can make it.” She forced her left foot mostly flat against the ground, grinning to cover up the pain shooting up her ankle. “Not to be weird. The situation is just…”
“Weird,” he finished for her. “I get it.”
“Here.” She tried to hand him the walking cane, but he took a step back, shaking his head.
“You need it. I can make another.”
“I can’t take this.” She gripped the end and extended it out to him. “It’s special to you. How many miles has this thing seen?”
“It’s seen a lot.” He smiled and gingerly took hold of the opposite end. “Well, take care, Ama. And make sure we don’t meet like this again,” he said with an easy laugh.
“I’ll do my best. Enjoy your hike.” She slid her feet forward a step, forcing herself into movement.
“I will,” he called at her back. She waved over her shoulder, continuing for a solid minute before glancing behind her. He was gone. She was already exhausted, and she’d only made it thirty or forty yards. How the hell was she going to make it all the way back?
“Hey, Ama.” Jonathon’s voice came from close behind her. She pivoted on her good foot and grabbed a tree to keep from going down.
“God, you scared me,” she said, glaring.
“Didn’t mean to. I just thought you’d make it farther with both shoes,” he said, producing the shoe she’d lost at the beginning of her fall. The top of the pepper spray was still attached to her laces, but the rest of the bottle was gone.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough day,” she said.
“We’ve all had those.” He tilted his head to the side. “And we have met before. I remember now. It was at a martini bar in Atlanta a couple years back. It was fall. They had trees on the patio with the most yellow leaves I’d ever seen. I asked the waiter what they were. He said they were ginkgo trees. Do you remember them? Do you… remember me?”
Ama forced herself to swallow. How many hotel bars had she been in? How many times had she ended up in a room that wasn’t hers for an hour or two?
She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“It was a couple years ago. There was a piano player. He wasn’t very good. You went up and talked to him.”
Ama startled, stricken with recognition. “He butchered ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ” She laughed and shook her head. “Did you buy me a drink?”
“No.” The expression on his face changed like clouds passing over a once-clear sky, blotting out the sun. “I was the piano player. You said you’d give me all the cash in your wallet if I’d take a twenty-minute intermission so you could finish your drink in peace. You said it looked like I was out past my bedtime. Your business card was mixed into the bills. That’s where I remember your name from. Do you remember me now?”
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I’d had a lot to drink. It was a bad night…” The memory came rushing back. The entire firm had gone out to dinner at Olive after the conclusion of the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers conference, and she’d found out she’d been passed over for partner. She’d drank her way to the bottom of a row of dirty martinis to dull the frustration. When that hadn’t worked, she took it out on the mediocre piano player.
Now Jonathon wasn’t just a stranger in the woods. He was little more than a stranger, with a reason to hate her. The adrenaline surging through her numbed her injured leg to a degree, but she knew she still wouldn’t be able to run on it. She backed up a step, and her left ankle threatened to buckle. The trail was morgue silent, and the sudden heaviness in the air had brought a hush over the usual chatter of birds.
“You must have a lot of bad days and bad nights, Ama. And you carry a lot of cash,” he mused as if he hadn’t heard her. “That’s not safe, Ama.”
“I was a total asshole. I’m sorry. It really wasn’t about you. If I could go back to that night, I’d smack myself. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” Her mind raced. She didn’t have any cash on her, and she wasn’t wearing any expensive jewelry. She had nothing to barter.