(I wrote this for Three Word Wednesday — more of Laurel and Nate, from my novel-in-progress Heart’s Chalice. These flash fiction pieces, though they take place before the main action of the novel, are not necessarily being written in chronological order.)
Laurel kept her hand on Nate’s knee as he drove them to the trailhead. Nate’s brother, Ian, had moved to Florida six months ago. Aside from one call, no one had heard a word. Since it was Ian’s birthday today, Laurel knew he was weighing heavily on Nate’s mind.
When Laurel and Nate were little kids, Ian had brought them to the mountain for summer picnics. So when Laurel had suggested she and Nate honor Ian by taking a hike on the mountain, Nate had lit up as though she’d flipped a switch.
“Let’s explore,” he said as they parked at the trailhead. “See what we find.”
Sounded great to her.
They got out of Nate’s car and hiked up the trail. Everywhere Laurel looked was a riot of green, every shade imaginable. The mountain laurel, her namesake, was in bloom, delicate blossoms in light pink and white which looked like wedding bouquets.
They reached the area of the forest where they’d picnicked with Ian years ago. They’d never been farther than this. Here, they must choose between three trails.
Nate scratched his chin. “Which one?”
Two of the trails were marked with yellow, indicating well-used horse trails. But the third, unmarked, rose parallel to the creek branch. “Let’s take that one,” Laurel said.
“You have a good feeling about it?”
“I think we’ll run up on something interesting.”
Grinning, Nate picked a laurel blossom and tucked it tidily behind Laurel’s ear.
They hiked on. The trail got steeper, and Laurel wiped sweat off her forehead. If she and Nate kept at this hiking thing, they’d get in better shape. But they were moving on at a pretty good clip. Too good a clip. Nate tripped on a tree root, pitched forward, and broke his fall with his hands.
Laurel caught up to him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I–” he began. His gaze riveted on the brush that lined the trail. “Oh crap.”
Laurel looked. A skunk hunkered with its head lowered and its tail held high. She’d heard somewhere to talk to skunks to calm them down. But what should she say to a skunk?
“Run!” Nate cried.
That was the last thing they should do. “No, no, we need to–”
Before Laurel could finish, Nate scrambled to his feet, kicking up dirt and making one heck of a racket.
She who hesitates is lost. The skunk let loose. Laurel had smelled skunks before, but always from a distance. This skunk was only five feet away. Oh, the stench! It soaked their bare legs and arms, and the front of their shorts and tank tops. Laurel got some of the spray in her mouth and gagged.
“Blargh!” She spat, then clutched at Nate so hard she pulled him down. They tumbled on the trail and landed in the brush. The skunk waddled away as fast as it could go. Laurel and Nate would be lucky if they didn’t get poison ivy. That would be just peachy: the mother of all itches on top of the the mother of all stinks.
Nate roared, his eyes bulging. Scrambling to his hands and knees, he puked on the edge of the trail. Laurel tried breathing through her mouth, but that was even worse. She gagged again.
She flopped back onto her butt. Silence, except for the rustle of branches in wind.
Then Nate brayed laughter. Disbelieving, Laurel turned to look at him. He rolled back and forth on the trail, howling and stinking, stinking and howling. She began to laugh, too, so hard that her tears flowed. She crawled over to Nate and they held each other, shrieking laughter into each other’s reeking shoulders.
When Nate could talk, he said, “Yup, we ran into something interesting, all right.”
“It never occurred to me…” Laurel shrugged, still giggling. Sometimes her premonitions and feelings threw her for a loop.
Or made her stinky.
But something told her to keep hiking. Just a little farther.
“Let’s go back and get rid of this smell,” Nate said. “I’ve got baking soda and hydrogen peroxide–”
“No, let’s go on.”
“What?” he said, goggling at her. “You want to get sprayed by a battalion next?”
She smiled. “Trust me.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, then nodded.
Yup, Nate’s a keeper.
They hiked on up the trail. A faint roar reached Laurel’s ears. Big water. Her entire face broke into a smile. “I was right,” she said, as much to herself as to Nate.
“What?”
“There is something wonderful up here.”
“Wonderful sounds better than interesting.”
“Come on.” She ran up the trail, and Nate followed. The roar got louder; the creek branch grew narrower. The ragged brush by the side of the trail became a tangly laurel thicket.
Laurel and Nate crested a hill. And into Laurel’s view came a waterfall, eight feet high and majestic as water frothed and foamed down into the creek branch.
“Look,” she said, pointing. “A shower.”
Nate chuckled. “If only we had some soap.”
They splashed into the creek branch. Laurel reveled in the water rushing against her legs almost as much as she thrilled to Nate’s warm hug.
No matter how many skunks on their trail, love didn’t stink.
