All There Was

Most people want a calm day, but Val likes it rough. Granted, she can’t paddle her board as fast. Which was a goal in her twenties—speed. But now, in her forties, Val wants to grind and suffer through wind and chop with her friends and, when they cross Lake Constance at a paltry three knots an hour to pull up at that beachside bar, have it mean something. It’s not that she has something to prove—Val left that in her twenties, too—but that she values a good fight.

It was a Tuesday morning in mid-September, when blustery-but-sunny conditions were forecast, that Val texted the girls. Ever since Serena said she’d be leaving, Val had been hoping that Connie—that’s the lake—would host an afternoon like this. Whenever one of them moved on from lake life, they sent her off with a paddle and beer. Val was in charge of Serena’s final hurrah, and she decided they’d meet at Connie’s west end at three.

When Serena arrived, Val pulled her into a hug and said, “I can’t believe it’s the last time.”

Before Serena could respond, Delilah, the optimistic one, said, “Let’s make it so amazing that it sustains her for, like, ever.”

The seven of them launched their paddle boards into a headwind and immediately began digging deep. They were a strung-out, wobbly line of twos, Val and Serena in the middle, with Let’sGo leading the charge because, of course.

It was tough from the get-go, but the halfway point was where things got really gnarly. There, Val was over a rock pile and no longer sheltered by a mountain, both of which made Connie frisky.

She shouted to Serena, “You really want to leave this?”

And Serena shouted back, “Yes!”

Whenever someone new moved up to the lake, which was shaped like a kidney and fed from California’s western Sierra, Val had her doubts. Of course, they were moving away from something. Which was fine. But, did they really understand what they were moving to? Were they prepared for how tourists seeped into every granite crack of this sleepy town—to fill its lake, crowd its trails, and pour down its mountains? Did they realize that when the road around the lake closed—whether from black ice or an overzealous cyclist—they were either stuck for hours or had to walk? Were they content—truly content—to spend endless hours with just themselves? Living in a resort town is different than vacationing in it.

When Val first saw Serena in the out-the-door coffee shop line, with a sequined backpack and fashion sunglasses, she wanted nothing to do with her until Serena said, “I hope the trails are less crowded than this.” They chatted, and Val learned she was a finance major and track hurdler who’d recently graduated and was “so freaking exhausted.” It was then that Val knew Serena didn’t just like the idea of a simple life with Connie; she needed it.

Val could relate. For too many years, she’d been married to a man with a habit of talking over her and, she’d later learn, a preoccupation with his teenage niece’s friends. Val travelled for work—oh, the irony of a job that kept her away from the swanky house it funded—and had passed the 395 turnoff for Lake Constance countless times. One day, when her divorce felt settled-ish, her latest cholesterol test was recommending a statin, and these gorgeous cumulonimbus clouds were exploding over the valley that led up to Connie, she bailed on her client—and everything else—and followed the road up to that sky.

Val rented a one-bedroom that day and then got a job managing a B&B. She thought her reset was complete, except it was late-spring, and the B&B was packing people in before Val had time to learn the job. Drowning under its demands, she was resigning herself to having made yet another mistake when Let’sGo asked if she wanted to try foraging for morels. It was then, out on a hillside that led up to a place called Bleak Peak, pulling honeycomb-capped mushrooms out of the edges of dead elms with a new friend, that a fissure appeared in Val’s angry, exhausted shell, and she saw a way to begin to slip through.

Wanting to do that for Serena, Val invited her on an eight-mile hike up to Robber’s Lookout with the girls. Not only did Serena keep up, she didn’t complain once—not about the elevation gain or the physical appearance of any part of her body. The next day, Val got her a bookkeeping job for the laundromat next to her B&B. That was four years ago, which some would consider a pretty good run. Not Val.

Because Serena had seemed so happy. She’d traded her track spikes for Gortex boots. Her watch (which took phone calls) for a GPS beacon (which only notified another human if she were in grave danger). Serena was smiling. She had made a change, and she’d done it 15 years younger than Val. But then Serena went and got a city job.

After Val’s quarrel with Connie at the rock pile, they made up and Connie glassed out. And thank God because Val’s shoulders felt about to fall off. The day before, she’d gone bouldering with a man who had back muscles like an Amazonian butterfly, and the softest “Sure” she’d ever heard.

When Val dropped to her knees and rode the current into Saluda’s Landing, she felt like a million annihilated bucks. That middle section had been brutal, and she’d done it. She loved the struggle and she loved being with the girls.

After beaching their boards and paddles, they climbed the dock’s wooden ladder. Tourists entered from the beach, where they posed with the carved eagle for a zillion obnoxious “snaps.” Since it was shoulder season, there was only a smattering of locals.

At the bar, these seven girls ordered seven different IPAs. No, they weren’t fussy with clothes or cars. But, with personal pleasures, they liked what they liked. They took their bottles to the Adirondack chairs on the dock’s end, Val lit the firepit, and they all kicked back.

Lindsey, the one that tourists always hit on, raised her bottle and declared, “To Serena! The girl with the best trail snacks.”

They clinked bottles and drank. The late-afternoon sun beat gloriously down on Val’s face.

Nano, the serious one, asked, “What’ll this job have you doing?”

“Financial analysis for a software company,” Serena said. “Market modeling and valuation forecasting. All on a junior level, of course. But it’s a start.”

Lindsey nodded and then, squinting, nodded some more. She had no idea what Serena was talking about. Val didn’t, either. Serena tried explaining, but it only confused everyone more.

Finally, Val asked, “Will you have banker’s hours?” and Serena said, “I’ll have whatever management wants.”

Val had just taken a swig, and she held it in her mouth while wondering, Really? For a woman who loved sunrise paddles and full-moon hikes, this sounded terrible. With Connie, Serena had an outdoor playground, zero job stress, amazing friends, and knees that didn’t yet ache; why would she ever want to leave?

But Serena was nodding. “I’m really excited.”

She sure looked it. As much as Serena had fit in up here, she also regularly left and went to nearby cities for concerts. Plus, Serena liked Connie’s expensive restaurants—the ones that locals only worked at. Val couldn’t imagine going backwards like that—back in time and back down the mountain. Neither could any of the others, and they were all taking short, quick pulls on their beers.

Finally, Let’sGo ended the awkwardness by standing up and saying, “Serena. You tell the shittiest jokes, but I’ll miss your carob-carrot brownies.”

And Serena, not quite sure how to take this, said, “Well, thanks?”

Val understood what Let’sGo was trying to do. She said, “When I first saw you in that coffee line, I was afraid if I said ‘Hello,’ you’d kidnap me for a makeover.”

Serena wiggled her eyebrows.

“But,” Val continued, “I helped you find the trails of this magical place and, on them, you found yourself.”

Val was choking on her words; she couldn’t help it. She was going to miss Serena and all the adventures they wouldn’t have. Never again would they shoulder their Camelbaks, which were equal parts water and peanut butter cookies, and set off down a trail to talk about loss and beauty while among beauty and loss.

Still, Val felt foolish for getting so emotional. Quickly, she wrapped up with, “Thanks.”

Serena stood up and they hugged. Theirs wasn’t a mother-daughter relationship; Val didn’t want or need that. It was just simple friendship. Which, the older she got, wasn’t so simple.

A few girls clapped and clinked beers. Red-faced, Val looked away and wiped her eyes. These people and their landscape. These trails and their conversations. It was all so heart-burstingly beautiful. And fleeting.

It was quiet. Too quiet, apparently, because Jerome got up from his dockside chair and came over to say, “Evening, ladies,” to which they all droned, “Hi, Jerome.”

Everyone knew Jerome. He was in his early sixties, living off the dividends of inherited stock, and could always be found at Saluda’s or Tito’s or any of the stalwart hangouts.

“Looks like a funeral,” he said, and Nano said, “Serena’s leaving.”

Jerome turned to her. “You found a better lake?”

She said, “I’ve accepted a job in San Francisco.”

“The Fran?” He yelled. “A total dump. You’ll be back in a week.”

Serena bristled, but Val wasn’t upset. What were bearded old Lakies for if not to boorishly intrude on situations? No one took Jerome seriously; that was most of his appeal. He made a few more random comments—harmless stuff—but Serena kept shrugging.

Finally sensing something, Jerome said, “I’ve got the next round,” and went to the bar. He returned with a bucket of terrible lagers, which the girls all opened and drank without complaint because, although they’re a scrappy bunch, they’re also polite. Eventually, Jerome wandered off to pick a ranger’s brain about a nasty little weevil that was getting comfortable in their Sugar Pines.

Let’sGo took the opportunity to say, “So, winter trip. What’ll it be?”

Eyes aglow, the girls looked at each other.

“Killington’s nice,” Delilah said.

She talked up its best features, and it was sounding pretty amazing until Serena said, “I can’t travel across the whole country. If you want me to come.”

Of course, they did. So, while someone got up for another round, they moved on to closer mountains. Bozeman was suggested, then Steamboat Springs.

Finally, Nano said, “How about Goldstream?”

Goldstream was only a half-hour away.

“I know it’s not, like, super exotic,” she continued. “But we could still rent a cabin. Something with a hot tub, maybe a pool table? Bring the fiddle. Beer is beer, wherever.”

It had been a long fall for Val, filled with too many B&B winterizing projects, and she was looking forward to a real, geographic break.

But then Serena said, “I could do Goldstream,” and Val warmed to the idea.

Someone else said, “Even though Goldstream’s close, we hardly get over there.”

“Good point.”

“Yeah.”

“Could be fun.”

Everyone was piling on the positives when Katrina, whom you sometimes forgot was there, said, “No go.”

It was jarring, her tone. They were all just kicking back with beers, celebrating a friend, their bellies and sore muscles drinking up the alcohol and planning more good times.

“Why not?” Val asked with a slight snarl. Three beers was where she went from happy to slightly aggressive.

Katrina said, “Because that’s where Monk was paralyzed.”

Val put her beer down. Paralyzed? She grasped her armrests. Then, she let go. And then, she stood up. “Monk was paralyzed?”

Delilah said, “What?”

And Lindsey said, “Holy shit.”

And Val thought, Like, unable to move? She threw herself back into her chair. “When?”

“July,” Katrina said. “Mountain biking Goldstream’s longest black diamond. The way Cheever tells it, he hit a patch of gravel and collided with a tree. I know they’re different—biking and skiing—but I think going there would give us, like, bad vibes.” She glanced around. “I thought you all knew.”

Everyone was quiet.

Then Let’sGo put in, “I did,” and a couple others said, “Me, too,” and, “Yeah.”

But Val didn’t know. And she’d known Monk best of all. He was a long-time Lakie who, Val now realized, she hadn’t seen around lately.

“He can’t walk at all?” She asked.

Let’sGo said, “Not the last I heard.”

All Val could manage was a nod.

After a long moment, Katrina said, “Sorry, Val. I know you loved Monk.”

A bird took off from the lake, and Val watched it wobble through the wind.

“I wouldn’t say I loved him.” She paused while the bird gained stability to bank right and head for a grove of Incense Cedars. “I hooked up with him from time to time.”

Val was still new in town when she met Monk. They had been hiking towards each other, and he jutted a thumb behind him and said, “Bear. You maybe-might want to turn around.”

Val definitely did. They walked back to the fire road together, and then on to a little bar where, over hefeweizen, he told her all there was to know about black bears, which—it turned out—are brown.

She didn’t sleep with Monk that night, or after any of their next half-dozen run-ins. It wasn’t until late-April, when she asked him for a slacklining lesson, that their relationship changed. All afternoon, he helped her hop onto and fall off of the line strung between two redwoods behind his tiny cabin—her eyes either on the horizon or him. Finally, he said, “Getting cold,” and she said, “Uh-huh.” And she followed him into that tiny cabin.

To the girls now, Val said, “We should visit him.”

But Nano said, “He’s rehabbing in Minnesota.”

Val raised her eyebrows.

Nano shrugged. “I talk to his mom randomly.”

Nano talked to his mom? Val knew the scar on his inner right thigh, but she didn’t know any of his relatives.

She’d last seen Monk at the grocery store. They were among the produce—Val picking some of the sweetest corn around, and Monk loading up on bananas and avocadoes for a single-track ride. She invited him to her place later, and he said he’d try. But, he didn’t show. Which, sure, was disappointing. But, whatever. They didn’t have any formal relationship. They were simply two people who enjoyed enough things about each other—their hobbies, their bodies—that, when things happened, they happened.

A few days later, they ran into each other again, this time at the bike shop.

“How was it?” Val asked.

“Amazing,” he said.

Val thought he looked amazing.

“Still have that corn,” she said.

And he said, “I can come tonight.”

But Val remembered she had to work. So, no worries. They’d catch up soon. That must’ve been a month—or was it several?—ago.

That’s the thing about a place like Connie: although it’s small and everyone knows everyone, everyone is also independent. So, a long-timer can disappear without being missed by someone who’d semi-regularly shared a bed with him. Val always thought she liked this casual nature of Connie. But now, with the prospect of never seeing one of her residents again, she wasn’t so sure.

Abruptly, Let’sGo said, “He always was a cocky mofo. Probably did something stupid.”

Some girls said, “Yeah,” either thinking or just hoping she was right. Because the alternative, that Monk had been as capable as any of them and really had just hit a bad patch of gravel, was too hard to consider.

Val stayed quiet. She’d never found Monk cocky. There was no shortage of toxic masculinity up here, and he wasn’t that. No, Monk was one of those men who’s legitimately capable of any physical feat. Free climbing. Heli-skiiing. Cyclo-cross. Snomobiling. Picturing him now, Val focused on those eyes she’d found so seductive when slacklining. She couldn’t bear to think of what his body might look like now, and what it could no longer do.

Delilah got up for a round of waters, and they hydrated and talked about the risks they took every single day—in backcountry skiing, or in taking out the trash—that came with living in a place like this. They got outside, invited hurt into their muscles, and asked their lungs to strain. They were kind to others, partook in only slightly excessive amounts of alcohol, and wanted each day to be just enough. When Val lived at sea level, the only time she broke a sweat was before her car’s A/C kicked in. The risks that came with Connie were worth it.

It was getting cold, and Val set her water down to lean into the fire.

Katrina said, “Maybe I knew some of you didn’t know about Monk, and I just didn’t want to talk about it. That wasn’t right.”

Let’sGo declared, “It was right. Sometimes you have to protect yourself.” She drained one water glass, removed its paper straw, and popped it in another. Sipping a little, she set it aside and leaned back with her palms behind her head, face to the sinking sun.

She asked, “What if knitting did it for us? What if we could make ourselves a scarf so kick-ass that we’d put it on, give its fringe a little jaunty swing, and feel content?”

“Barf,” Lindsey said.

And Nano shouted, “Absolutely not!”

None of them were having it. Especially not Val, who’d lived too many half-alive years to go back there.

But Let’sGo, never one to give up, said, “I’m not saying it’s likely it could happen. I just mean, imagine if it were possible? If we could find satisfaction in that type of activity.”

From the way Let’sGo closed her eyes and inhaled, Val knew Let’sGo thought what she’d said was profound. And maybe it was, but Val didn’t want to hear it. Not that day. The light was fading, winter was coming. Serena was leaving, and Monk was already gone, living an entirely different life away from his true love, Connie.

With all this hurt rushing into Val’s head, only a few moments passed before she said, “Remember last year’s trip?”

All of them did.

“Three solid days of powder,” Delilah said.

“The prosciutto on those wood-fired pizzas.”

“The hot tub!”

They were talking over each other and Val was interrupting as much as possible, desperate for anything to make herself feel better.

It worked. So well that she asked, “One last round?”

But no one was up for more alcohol; the afternoon was over, and everyone knew it.

As they were collecting their bottles, Jerome walked over. “Even Fresno’s better than The Fran.”

Val gave Serena a look that said, Forget it, and Serena pursed her lips. Jerome was a puppy. What would Serena do when a real asshole—with a smirk and a higher job title—harassed her?

To Jerome, Val said, “See you tomorrow.”

Let’sGo looked at the girls and, with a smile, said, “Well. Let’s go.”

They set their empties on the bar and closed their tabs. They climbed back down the ladder and, as they carried their boards to the water, Val realized they hadn’t decided on a ski trip. Too tired to bring it up now, she set her board in the water next to Serena’s so they could suffer side by side one last time.

Nano asked, “When do you leave, Serena?”

And Serena said, “Next week.”

Val already knew this, but hearing Serena saying it made her loss feel crushingly final.

Standing on the shore, feet in the water and a hand on her board, Val felt the chill of losing two people that day. Neither were life-long soulmates, but did those even exist? A legal paper and words in front of guests weren’t a guarantee. So many nights with a so-right man didn’t stipulate anything past the morning. Hell, tourists who claimed to have fallen in love with Connie were never seen again.

Delilah was the first to get a knee on her board and, before pushing off, she said, “Maybe we’ll see you here next summer, Serena.”

“Maybe.”

When Val’s fin was safely away from the rocks, she climbed on and began her methodical strokes. The calm air would make for an easier return paddle, which was usually a letdown. Tonight, Val would count its mercy as a victory.

The two miles back were quiet—each woman occupied with her strokes and her head. Plenty of emotions were swirling in Val. But, instead of letting herself feel any of them, she focused on the smooth carbon in her hands, the plush trackpad under her feet. Everything else she kept away, and only let register what lay in front of her. Which, after all, was all there was.

Michelle Panik’s stories have appeared in Fictive Dream, Terrain, and Six Sentences. She’s also a lit reader for cahoodaloodaling and a book reviewer at MER. She earned her B.A. in Writing and Art History from UC San Diego, and her M.F.A. in Fiction Writing from the University of Maryland. In an effort to hang out with her kids more, she recently traded her adjunct teaching job to substitute teach in their school district. She lives with these amazing kids, along with her husband, on the edge of California, in Carlsbad.

Published October 15 2022