Richard Laymon - Tread Softly

"He's so juvenile," Julie said, as if to herself.

Scott smiled. "Must run in the family." He patted Karen's back. "Do you think you can stand this for a week?"

"No sweat," she said.

When they reached the car, Scott opened the trunk and lifted out a pack. His T-shirt rode up as he crouched to set the pack down. Karen glanced at the revealed strip of bare skin and the band of his jockey shorts. She remembered Meg's remark, Hope you're not planning to screw the guy. We'll see, she thought, we'll see.

He took out the other packs and propped them upright against the rear bumper. He handed Karen her floppy felt hat. She put it on, and turned up the front brim.

"Gabby Hayes," Scott said.

"Gee, thanks."

As he opened the top of his Kelty bag to put his shirt away, Karen heard a car engine. She looked up the shadowy road. A station wagon appeared, bouncing over the ruts.

"Is it them?" Benny asked.

"Yep," Scott said. "Looks like they made it."

The driver, a broad-faced, florid man with a bald crown and a red fringe of hair over his ears, pulled in beside them and stopped. "How'd you beat us up here?" he asked as he climbed out.

"Sheer skill," Scott told him.

They shook hands.

"Karen, this is Arnold Gordon."

"Call me Flash," he said.

"Nice to meet you," Karen said, and shook his big hand.

The others climbed from the car: a thin teenaged boy with his father's freckles and a full head of red hair; a short, rather chubby woman with a pixie haircut; two slim girls, maybe ten years old. Though twins, the girls were dressed differently; one wore her blond hair in pigtails, while the other had a ponytail. That should help me keep them straight, Karen thought.

Scott and Flash introduced everybody around. Karen repeated the names to herself, and called up associations to help her memory. Flash Gordon was easy. Nick was Nick Adams of "The Big Two-Hearted River," a Hemingway story she'd taught last year. Alice was a toughy. Alice, malice, phallus — no, no. Well, she'd have to work on that one. Rose and Heather, flowers. Careful you don't call them Tulip and Dandelion. "My Wild Irish Rose," Scottish heather. Remember, Rose has the ponytail. Rosy pony. The Red Pony. That should do it.

"… three-legged race at the picnic," Julie was saying to Nick.

"Oh, I remember that," he said, blushing. "And the egg toss."

"Sure. It broke all over you."

With a nod, he excused himself and turned away to help his father unload the car. The entire family had matching red Kelty packs: two huge ones like Scott's, a slightly smaller one for Alice, and a pair of child-size packs for the girls.

"Arnold tells me you're a schoolteacher," Alice said.

"Yes, that's right. High school."

"Our Nick's quite the student. He makes straight A's in math and science."

"That's very good."

"I was at the top of the class in math myself when I was in high school. Of course, that was a long time ago. I planned to be a teacher, too, but then Arnold came along and I never got around to finishing college." The challenging look in her eyes made Karen uncomfortable. Did she expect a reprimand for giving up school?

"From the looks of your children," Karen said, "you made the right choice."

The hardness left Alice's eyes, and she smiled. "Well, thank you."

"We've already secured the fire permit," Scott told Flash.

"They got a head around here?"

Scott pointed to an outhouse nestled in the shadows of trees a short distance away. "All right, gang, let's hit the facility. Enjoy it, ladies. It'll be your last look at a toilet seat for the next week."

Alice made a face at him.

"Gross," said Rose of the ponytail.

Benny met Karen's eyes. He looked amused.

The entire group started toward the stone building.

"Is it all right to leave the gear over there?" Nick asked his father.

"Who's around to meddle with it?"

"How was your trip up?" Scott asked.

"That one-lane death trap was a bitch. Poor Alice, she nearly laid an egg. Did you happen to run into a camper the size of a bus?"

"Did we."

"I had to back halfway down the mountain to let it by. A real bitch."

"Wasn't much fun," Scott agreed.

Nick watched Julie waiting by the outhouse. Soon the twins came out, and she pushed in. When the door banged shut behind her, Nick turned away. He looked toward the two cars to make sure nobody was tampering with the packs.

There was no one in sight. For all he knew, the valley was deserted except for the nine of them and the ranger. But somebody had to belong to those other two cars, so it couldn't hurt to keep an eye on the equipment.

The last time he'd seen Julie she was just a skinny kid, a tomboy. Now she had breasts and everything. She was as cute as any cheerleader at Samo, and she would be camping with him for a whole week.

The thought of that made Nick very nervous. If only she were plain, or fat, or even ugly, he might be at ease with her and they'd have a good time. How could he manage to be himself, though, with someone like Julie around?

She would probably spend the whole week ignoring him.

Probably goes steady with a football player. Messes around a lot, too. Girls like her always do. Just not with guys like me.

Who needs her?

Behind Nick, the door banged. He looked around. Julie was striding toward her father, her long legs slender and tanned, her hands flat inside the front pockets of her shorts, the white of her bra visible through her T-shirt. She glanced at Nick, but looked away quickly. Her hair bounced and swayed as she walked.

"Don't wear your eyes out," his father said, coming up behind him.

Nick's face grew hot. "I won't," he muttered.

They headed for the car, walking well behind the others. "She sure is something to look at."

"She's all right."

"All right, my ass. She's a knockout, and you know it. Now if I was in your shoes, I'd be right in there striking up an acquaintance."

"Yeah, well. "

"You don't want her thinking you're stuck up."

"I'm not stuck up."

Approaching the car, Nick watched Julie pick up her backpack. She lifted it by the straps and swung it onto the trunk of her father's Olds Cutlass. Balancing it there, she turned around. Her eyes met Nick's for a moment, as if to make sure he was watching. Then she leaned back, hooking one arm through a strap, twisting, slipping her other arm into place. She leaned forward. The pack tipped against her. She stood up straight; the pull of the straps drew her shoulders back. Nick found himself staring at her breasts, which seemed more prominent than before.

He turned away to put on his own backpack. When he looked again at Julie, she was wearing aviator sunglasses and a red beret that made her seem like some kind of commando.

That's a sharp hat, he could tell her. Sharp? She'll think I'm a turkey. An awesome hat. That's better. But he didn't say it. Instead, he picked up his walking stick.

"Hey," Julie said, "is that a real blackthorn stick?" She walked toward him.

Blushing, he nodded.

"Can I see it?"

He handed it to her.

"Hey, this is nice." She ran her hands along its polished, knobby shaft.

"I got it in Ireland."

"Really? We've been there. Where did you buy it?"

"Some gift shop near Blarney Castle."

"No kidding? We were there. Benny got a shillelagh at that place. Blarney Handicrafts?"

"Yeah, that's the place." "Did you kiss the Blarney Stone?" she asked.

"Sure."

"How about the stairs going up there?"

"Pretty hairy."

She laughed. "Kissing the stone was a cinch after those stairs. Did you get the gift of gab?"

"I'm not sure it worked on me."

"Let's get this show on the road," Dad called.

Julie stayed beside Nick as they walked over to join the rest of the group. With Mr. O'Toole and Dad in the lead, they hiked across a meadow. Ahead, Nick saw a wooden trail sign.