Page 15 of Clear Path

“I am.”

“Into women?”

“I am,” he repeated, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Well then,” Dot said, letting the implication hang in the air.

Before she could elaborate, he added gently, “I’m on a solo journey at the moment. Seeking clarity, not companionship.”

To his relief, she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded her understanding. “Sometimes you’ve got to get your own house in order before inviting anyone else in.”

“Something like that,” Bodhi agreed.

His last relationship had been with Bette, the chief of police of a small town in Illinois. They’d maintained a long-distance connection for many years, finding a rhythm of visits and video calls that suited them both. But when Bette retired and decided to move to Oregon to be near her sister, she’d made the unilateral decision that the new, longer, distance was insurmountable.

Bodhi hadn’t argued. He understood her reasoning. In some ways, he was relieved. They ended their relationship on goodterms. Still, it left him contemplative about what he wanted from his relationships, his work, his life. These were the questions that had set him out on the trail in search of answers.

He finished his breakfast and unfolded the map he carried. Studying it alongside the trail guide, he traced his finger along the Great Allegheny Passage.

“Planning today’s journey?” Dot asked, appearing at his shoulder.

“Yes. I’m deciding how far to go.”

“Weather’s supposed to be good. Clear and cool.” She pointed to a spot on the map. “Union Hill’s about forty miles up. It’s a pretty little town. On the leading edge of our regional rejuvenation, as the chamber of commerce likes to say.”

Bodhi aimed for roughly twenty miles a day. It was a reasonable, sustainable distance.

“That’s a good goal for tomorrow,” he told her. “What’s halfway between here and there?”

She waved her hand. “Eh, Clarksville. Not much there, I’m afraid. But my cousin’s youngest boy has a burger joint. Stop in and grab a bite. Tell him Aunt Dot sent you. He’ll find you somewhere to lay your head for the night.”

“Where exactly is the burger place?”

“Like I said, there’s not much there. You’ll find it.”

“Okay, then.”

“But then, you’ll aim for Union Hill tomorrow?”

He decided he would. “Union Hill it is.”

She smiled. “If you get there before dinner, try the bistro on Railroad Way. It’s pricey, but they’ll have your plant-based dishes. And you might even run into our local photographer. A solo journey doesn’t have to mean complete solitude, does it?”

Bodhi thanked her for the recommendation without commenting on her obvious matchmaking. He settled his bill forthe meal and the room, added a generous tip, and thanked Dot warmly once again for her kindness and hospitality.

She surprised him and, judging by her expression, herself by enveloping him in a brief hug when he stood to shrug into his backpack. Then she shooed him out the door.

The morning air was cool, but it held the promise of warmth. Across the street from Dot’s Place, young green shoots peeked out from a small vegetable garden ringed by a chain-link fence. Even this tired part of town held signs of spring, life, and renewal to inspire gratitude.

He oriented himself toward the trail and set out on the day’s journey, syncing his breath to his footfalls. Before long, his thoughts wandered from the trail to return to the photograph of Edward Kovalic and the photographer who saw the truth so clearly. What had the professor said about her work? He called up the quote from his memory: “unflinching honesty and deep empathy.”

The exhibit sounded impactful. Maybe he’d detour to the Western Trail History Center to see it for himself. Despite Dot’s good-natured hints, he was more interested in the photographs than the photographer.

PART II

People only see what they are prepared to see.

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON, AMERICAN TRANSCENDENTALIST

---