Page 11

11

GAP Mile 104.7, Clarksville, PA

A s Bodhi reached the Clarksville trailhead, a burly, barrel-chested man rose from a metal bench and took a pull from a vape pen. His beard was gray and neatly trimmed, and his substantial belly strained against a t-shirt featuring an anthropomorphic hamburger with an improbably wide grin.

“You Doctor King?” the man called when Bodhi was still twenty paces away.

“Bodhi’s fine,” he replied, closing the distance between them. His eyes flicked to the hamburger logo and the words “Billy’s Burgers” emblazoned beneath it. “I’m guessing you’re Billy.”

The man’s smile was even wider than that of the cartoon hamburger on his shirt. “I go by Will, but Billy’s Burgers has a better ring to it, marketing-wise. Alliteration.” He extended a beefy hand, which Bodhi shook. “Aunt Dot called ahead. She told me to fix you a meatless meal and put you up for the night.”

“That sounds like Dot.” Bodhi laughed as he shifted his pack slightly to relieve the pressure on his shoulders.

“She’s not really my aunt, but don’t tell her I said that.” Will jerked his thumb toward a red sedan parked behind him. “Figured I’d save you the extra mile of walking into town. Hope that’s okay.”

“I appreciate it.”

As Will drove, Bodhi lowered the passenger window and studied the town rolling by. In contrast to Clayton Falls’ picture-perfect town square, Clarksville appeared to have missed the revitalization train entirely. They passed one boarded-up storefront after another, their faded signs nothing more than obituaries for long-dead establishment. Only a handful of businesses showed signs of life: a grocery store; a vape shop; and a tavern called The Last Stop, its neon beer signs blinking in the late afternoon sun.

“Not much to see,” Will commented, seeming to read Bodhi’s thoughts. “Used to be different. Had three factories running at once—glass, steel fabrication, and railroad parts. Last one closed in ’08.” He navigated around a pothole large enough to swallow the sedan’s front tire. “The trail brings through tons of cyclists and hikers like you, but they don’t stop here. Why would they when they could stay someplace like Clinton Falls or Union Hill?”

“Places with more amenities,” Bodhi observed.

Will grunted his agreement. “The town’s tried to get grants, attract investors, lure developers with tax breaks. Nobody bites.” He turned down a narrow road that led away from the main strip. “My place is just up ahead, on the lake.”

Lake was a generous description for the small, murky body of water that appeared as they reached the outskirts of town. A handful of trailer homes dotted its perimeter, interspersed with patches of scrubby woods. As they crested a rise, a squat building came into view. A large sign with the same cartoon hamburger from Will’s shirt identified it as Billy’s Burgers.

Will pulled into the gravel lot beside the building. “Home sweet home,” he said, gesturing toward a small, tan-colored ranch house set back about fifty yards from the burger stand.

Bodhi eyed the burger place. “Do you get much business on the lake?”

“Well, the burger stand used to be a bait shop. I worked there in high school. After a stint in the Army, I came back and bought it and the house back there and opened Billy’s Burgers. Nobody fishes in the lake. I mean look at it. But folks have to eat.”

They walked past the burger joint and up the gravel drive to the house. Will unlocked the door and ushered Bodhi into a modest living room. The space was tidy but dated, with a plaid sofa, a recliner, and a TV that looked to be at least fifteen years old.

Will gestured to the hallway that ran to the left. “You can drop your bag in the bedroom back there. Just ignore all the stuffed animals. It was my daughter’s room. She moved to Philly for college, but her teddy bears and bunny rabbits still call this place home.”

It took a moment for Bodhi to realize Will wasn’t offering to help him find a hotel room—he was opening his home to a stranger.

When he caught on, he began to protest. “I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can find someplace?—”

“Aunt Dot would have my hide if I let you stay anywhere else,” Will interrupted with a good-natured firmness that made it clear he considered the issue settled. “Besides, it’s just me here since Jessie moved out. Plenty of room. Not only that, I’m pretty sure the motel in town has bedbugs.”

“In that case, I’m very grateful.”

Will shrugs off his thanks. “No worries. You can wash up if you want. Bathroom’s down the hall. I need to open the stand in twenty. Dinner rush’ll start soon.”

Bodhi thanked him and took the opportunity to shower and change into clean clothes. When he emerged, refreshed, Will was already gone. Through the living room window, Bodhi saw exterior lights illuminating the burger stand, and a pair of cars pulling into the lot.

Following the path to the metal building, Bodhi found Will working alone, flipping burgers on a flat-top grill with one hand while dropping fresh-cut potatoes into a fryer with the other.

“Need a hand?” Bodhi offered, observing the growing line of customers at the window.

Will glanced up, relief evident in his expression. “You know your way around a kitchen?”

“I’ve worked in a few.”

“Then grab that apron and man the fryer. I never turn down help during the rush.”

Bodhi tied the faded black apron around his waist and took up position at the fryer station. For the next two hours, they worked in seamless choreography. Will handled the grill and orders, Bodhi managed the fryer and assembled the completed meals.

As he passed meals through the service window, Bodhi caught snippets of the customers’ conversations. There was a lot of discussion about a long-delayed road repair, some speculation about a potential buyer for the abandoned glass factory, and hushed gossip about someone’s daughter who’d moved back from Columbus with a mysterious boyfriend.

“Hear about that photographer lady?” one man asked his companion as Bodhi handed them their onion rings. “The one taking pictures of all the old buildings before they get torn down?”

She nodded. “Yeah, my sister works in the bakery up in Union Hill. She says that photographer used to be a model. Like, famous. Victoria’s Secret or something.”

“No kidding? What’s she doing around here?”

The woman shrugged. “Taking pictures of dying towns, I guess. They say she’s documenting how the trail’s changing everything.”

“She oughta come here if she wants to see a dead town,” the guy said as they walked away from the window.

After the rush subsided, Will prepared a burger for himself and a plate of fries with a side of sautéed vegetables for Bodhi.

“Not much of a vegan meal,” he apologized as he set the food in front of Bodhi. “But the fries are just potatoes and vegetable oil, and the veggies are just ... well, vegetables.”

“It’s great,” Bodhi assured him. “Thank you.”

They ate at a picnic table Will had set up behind the stand. Bodhi watched as the sky transitioned from blue to deep purple. The lake reflected the sunset’s colors, temporarily transforming its muddy surface into something beautiful.

“My daughter’s a vegetarian,” Will said between bites of his burger. “Not fully vegan, but still. When she comes home to visit, I try to have better options for her.” He gestured with a fry. “She’s always sending me recipes to try. Some of them aren’t half bad. If I’d have known you were coming, I’d have had more to offer you.”

“This is perfect. How long has she been away?”

“Two years now. Full scholarship to Penn.” Pride warmed Will’s voice. “Jessie’s one heck of smart kid. Getting an engineering degree. Says she’s going to come back and help revitalize places like Clarksville, but ….” He trailed off and focused on his burger.

“But you’re not sure she will,” Bodhi finished.

Will swallowed a bite. “I’m not sure she should . This place can’t compete with the opportunities in Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. I won’t blame her if she stays away. Most young folks do.”

They finished their meal. While Will prepped for the next day, Bodhi washed and dried the dishes. As Will turned out the lights and rolled down the metal door, a car sped into the lot, spraying gravel in its wake.

They turned to see two men stepping out of a silver sports car, its engine still running. Bodhi couldn’t see their faces because they were backlit by the car’s bright LED headlights.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Will called, shielding his eyes.

“We’re famished. If you reopen, we’ll make it worth your while,” the driver countered.

From his tone, Bodhi guessed he was no stranger to solving his problems with money.

“Sorry,” Will repeated flatly.

“Come on, pal,” the second man entreated.

Bodhi strained to make out any details about the pair. He thought they might be wearing hiking or biking clothes despite arriving in a car. He hoped they weren’t planning to stay at the bedbug motel before starting on the trail.

“You should head about twenty miles west. You’ll hit a town called Clayton Falls. They have restaurants that stay open late.”

“That’s backtracking,” the driver protested. “We’re hiking toward Cumberland.”

“Looks to me like you’re driving.” Will turned his back, ending the conversation, and started up the driveway.

After a moment, Bodhi followed him. Behind him, the car doors slammed, the engine roared back to life, and the pair departed with a squeal of tires.

Will and Bodhi settled on Will’s back porch with cold drinks from his kitchen—a craft beer for Will, a glass of lemonade for Bodhi. The night was cool but not uncomfortable, filled with the gentle chorus of frogs from the lake and the distant hoot of an owl.

Will took a long pull from his beer and then resumed their conversation about young people leaving the town as if it had never been paused. “When they first converted the old rail line to a trail, folks around here thought it would be our salvation. Tourism dollars, new businesses catering to cyclists and hikers. Some towns saw that happen. This one, not so much.”

“What do you think accounts for the difference?”

“Location, partly. Scenery. Existing infrastructure.” Will gestured with his bottle. “But I think it’s mostly about investment. Money flows toward money, right? Towns like Union Hill had people with capital come in, buy up property, and create that quaint trail town vibe that attracts the wealthy outdoors crowd. Why break ground here and start from scratch when you could go someplace already established?”

“You just need one investor willing to take a leap of faith.”

Will shook his head. “Who, some rich prick like those guys who wanted me to reopen the shack? I’ll pass.”

“No, not outsiders. Surely there’s a community organization that could provide seed money or a grant.”

“That’s a double-edge sword. Look at Clayton Falls. Like I said, they got an economic development grant from the county tourism board and started fixing up the square. But the grant wasn’t renewed, and now despite that little pocket of prosperity, the rest of town is in worse shape than it was in the first place. All they managed to do was create the haves and the have nots.”

Bodhi thought of Joey, out of options and drowning his pain, and nodded. “I get it.”

Will mused, “It’s too late for us. Clarksville’s been left behind. The cyclists and hikers only stop here for water, maybe a quick bite, and then they’re on their way to the nicer towns. I don’t blame them. I’d probably do the same in their shoes.”

He drained his beer bottle, then stretched and yawned. “Anyway, I should turn in. Early start tomorrow.”

Bodhi followed him inside. He brushed his teeth, stretched his tired body, and climbed into the twin bed in Jessie’s room, surrounded by foxes, floppy-eared rabbits, and teddy bears of all sizes. Within minutes, the faint sound of the lake waters lapping against the shore lulled him to sleep.