Page 5

5

GAP Mile 128.1, Clayton Falls, Pennsylvania

B odhi covered more than twenty miles before the sun began to sink behind the mountains to the west. As he walked, his mind settled into a meditative rhythm with each light footfall—the cadence of his breath synchronized with his steps and his pack served as a grounding weight across his shoulders.

After meeting Gracie and her cat, he walked the rest of the way in solitude, save for a cluster of bicyclists who passed him headed toward Pittsburgh. By the time Clayton Falls appeared around a bend in the trail, the late afternoon light gilded the tree canopy above. The town straddled the path, having grown up around the river and rail line long before hikers and bikers claimed the route as their own.

Bodhi paused where the trail intersected with Main Street. The town square had clearly been renovated into a postcard-perfect vision of small-town charm. A limestone courthouse with a gleaming copper dome anchored the north side, surrounded by brick storefronts with fresh paint and colorful awnings. Edison bulb string lights crisscrossed the square, ready to illuminate the evening. Each corner featured planter boxes bursting with cheerful yellow daffodils and purple crocuses, announcing the arrival of spring.

One shop, Thrown, displayed expensive-looking hand-thrown pottery glazed in subtle earth tones. Next door, the chalkboard for a farm-to-table restaurant named Forage advertised a prix fixe dinner featuring locally sourced mushrooms and heirloom vegetables. The Clayton Falls Inn dominated the east side of the square. It was a large Victorian home converted into a boutique hotel with a wraparound porch lined with rocking chairs occupied by cocktail-sipping couples dressed as if they’d magically stepped out of an outdoor clothing catalog.

Bodhi noted the main square’s prosperity and the fact that it catered to visitors rather than local residents. What he was looking for would be further from the square. He adjusted his pack and continued walking. He passed through the square and followed Main Street as it descended toward the river.

The change was gradual at first—the paint a little more weathered, the sidewalks a bit more cracked, the weeds more plentiful. But by the time he crossed the rusted railroad tracks, the transformation was complete. Here was the Clayton Falls that existed beyond the carefully curated town square.

Narrow shotgun houses with sagging porches lined the potholed street. A laundromat with flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed loudly sat between a pawn shop and a check-cashing store advertising payday loans. A squat Dollar General served as the neighborhood’s grocery, its parking lot dotted with cars that had seen better decades.

He turned onto a side street at random. Halfway down the block, sandwiched between two brick buildings with boarded-up windows, a hand-painted sign above a door with a hairline crack in one pane of glass identified Dot’s Place. Bodhi glanced inside and saw a long counter and an open kitchen. He pushed the door open gingerly, hoping the crack wouldn’t grow. A bell jangled, announcing his arrival.

The interior was shabby but clean, with curling posters on the walls and mismatched tables and chairs scattered across the floor. A yellow Formica counter lined with metal stools ran the full length of one wall. Behind it, a woman worked a flat-top grill. She glanced up at Bodhi without pausing in her movements, her spatula never breaking rhythm as she flipped crispy hash browns.

“Sit anywhere,” she called. “Menus are under the napkin holders.”

Bodhi chose a corner table and slipped his pack off, leaning it against the wall. He studied the laminated menu.

When the woman approached, order pad in hand, he smiled.

“Just tea for now. Hot, please.”

“I’ve got Red Rose, no flavors or anything.” She assessed him with tired eyes.

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

She returned immediately with a cup of hot water and a packaged tea bag and a lemon wedge resting on the saucer. “Sugar’s in the bowl. You ready to order?”

“I think so. Those hash browns don’t have any egg or butter in them, right?”

She raised her left eyebrow. “You’re a vegan?”

“I am.”

She snorted. “You probably should have gone to Forage up on the square. They specialize in fancy plant-based meals—or so I’m told.”

“I’m more of a diner guy.”

Her expression softened. “The hash browns are just shredded potatoes and oil.”

“Great. I’ll have those.”

“What else?”

He scanned the menu again. “A dish of applesauce.”

She frowned and took in his attire. “You’re hiking the GAP, right?”

“I am.”

“Then you need some protein. I’ll see what I can cobble together. I’m Dot, by the way.”

“I’m Bodhi. Pleased to meet you, Dot.”

While he waited for his meal, he observed the other diners—a pair of mechanics still in their coveralls with the shop name embroidered over their chest pockets, an older couple sharing a slice of pie, and a young mother who nursed a lemonade while her two tow-haired toddlers colored on paper placemats in between bites of chicken nuggets and French fries drowning in ketchup. Dot’s was the quintessential neighborhood joint. A dying breed in this town, by the looks of things. He doubted any of the other customers frequented Forage.

Dot returned with a tray loaded with items that didn’t appear on the menu. In addition to a heaping stack of hash browns and a mound of applesauce, there was a tower of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, and a bowl of colorful four-bean salad.

“You need protein if you’re hiking.” She pointed toward the bean salad.

“You’re right, I do. Thank you.”

She waved his thanks away with one hand. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He focused on the food before him. He was hungrier than he realized. He hadn’t eaten since his send-off breakfast with Saul and Mona and their kids early in the morning. He probably should have held on to at least some of his snacks. But he was sure he could replenish his supply—the Family Dollar should have something suitable.

Dot arrived with another cup of hot water and a fresh tea bag without his asking. “Everything all right?”

He wiped his mouth. “Better than all right. It’s delicious.”

She smiled. “That salad’s one of my favorites. I used to have it on the menu, but I like to change things up every so often.”

One of the mechanics leaned across the aisle and cracked, “Yeah, Dot refreshes her menu once a decade whether it needs it or not.”

She cackled. “Pete’s not wrong.”

“How long have you owned this place?”

“Going on thirty years,” she replied, the smile lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling. “My mom ran it before me, and her mom ran it before her.”

“Was it always called Dot’s Place?”

Her grin broadened at the question. “Yep. My grandma was the original Dorothy. My mom’s name was Deb, and she named me Dot. That’s it, just Dot.”

“Your future was preordained.”

“Something like that.” She glanced around the room with a mixture of pride and sorrow. “We used to be busier. When the mill was still open, we’d have lines out the door for breakfast and lunch. Now”—she shrugged—“we get by.”

“The town square seems to be doing well,” Bodhi observed neutrally.

Her mouth tightened. “All that’s new. Started about five, maybe six years ago, when some developer bought up half the buildings and got a big grant to make the place attractive to tourists. They fixed them up, cleaned up the square and made it pretty. But they doubled the rents, which pushed out most of the local businesses.” She lowered her voice. “They call it revitalization, but it hasn’t been kind to people who’ve lived here their whole lives.”

Before Bodhi could respond, the door banged open and the bell jiggled wildly. A gangly teenager with wide, frightened eyes burst into the diner.

“I need help!” he shouted, scanning the room frantically. “Joey’s not breathing right!”

Bodhi jumped up. “I’m a doctor.”

“He’s in the alley. Hurry!”

Bodhi grabbed his pack and followed the boy out the door and around the corner. In the narrow space between Dot’s and the adjacent abandoned building, a young man lay sprawled on the cracked pavement. His fair skin was tinged blue and his breathing was shallow and erratic.

Kneeling beside him, Bodhi recognized the signs immediately—pinpoint pupils, respiratory depression, unresponsiveness. He reached into his pack and retrieved one of the naloxone doses Saul had insisted he take.

“How long has he been like this?” Bodhi asked the teen, who shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I dunno. Five minutes, less maybe? We were just hanging out, smoking, and then he started nodding off.”

Bodhi placed the young man in the recovery position on his side. “What’s his name?”

“Joey. Joey Alton.”

“Joey.” Bodhi said the name in a firm, insistent voice as he ground his knuckles into the man’s sternum in an effort to rouse him. “Joey, can you hear me?”

No response. Bodhi administered the nasal spray and waited, watching the shallow, slow rise and fall of Joey’s chest.

Joey’s breathing gradually deepened. His eyelids flickered, then opened. Confusion gave way to recognition as he focused on the teenager peering down at him.

“Damn it, Camden,” he mumbled. “Why’d you have to?—”

“You weren’t breathing right!” Camden shot back. “I thought you were dying.”

A small crowd had gathered at the mouth of the alley. Dot pushed her way through the cluster of people, her face tight with concern.

“Joey Alton,” she said, clucking her tongue. “Your mom’s gonna have a fit.”

“Please don’t tell her, Dot,” Joey pleaded, attempting to sit up. Bodhi placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Take it slow,” he advised. “The Narcan blocks the opiates, but it can wear off before they do. You need go to a hospital.”

Joey shook his head emphatically. “No hospital. Can’t afford it.”

“What about the clinic up in Clarksville?” Camden suggested.

“That closed last year,” Dot informed him grimly.

Bodhi helped Joey into a seated position with his back against the wall. The young man was thin but not emaciated, his clothes worn but clean. Despite Sal’s warnings about homelessness and addiction on the trail, Joey was clearly a local.

“You live around here?” Bodhi asked.

Joey looked away. “Sort of. Been staying with friends since I got evicted.”

“He was the assistant manager at the hardware store on the square,” Dot supplied. “Lost his job when they turned it into a sip and paint craft shop. Then his rent went up. You can guess the rest.”

He could. Down on his luck, with no opportunities on the horizon, Joey had decided to escape his troubles in one of the few ways available to him.

“There’s nothing here for guys like us anymore,” Camden said. There was a bitter edge to his young voice. “You gotta have money to spend in those tourist places, or you gotta have money to open one. If you don’t have either, you’re screwed.”

Joey nodded his agreement. “I’ve been applying everywhere. Even in Pittsburgh. I haven’t gotten a single interview or a call back. I started using to take the edge off. Just sometimes.” He studied his shoes. “Then it got to be more than sometimes.”

Bodhi understood both Joey’s immediate crisis and the systemic one it pointed to. This story wasn’t unique to Clayton Falls. He’d seen variations of it in Vermont and in Florida, small communities, once overlooked, where so-called progress created winners and losers with little, if any, middle ground.

“You need to rest,” Bodhi told Joey. “And you really should seek medical attention. As I said, the spray’s effect is temporary.”

Joey nodded without conviction, and Bodhi knew his advice would go unheeded. He reached into his pack again and retrieved the remaining doses of the spray.

“Do you know how to use these?” he asked Camden, who nodded.

“They taught us in health class last year.”

“Good. Keep them with you.” Bodhi handed over the doses, then turned back to Joey. “This isn’t a solution. Just a second chance.”

“What am I supposed to do with a second chance around here?” Joey asked the question with genuine bewilderment.

Bodhi thought of Gracie and her cat, of Dot’s struggling diner, and of the gleaming shops in the town square that might as well have been in another world.

“First, you survive,” he said finally.

The onlookers drifted away, and Camden settled on the ground next to Joey with his back against the brick wall. A Black woman wearing blue scrubs under a cheerful red coat walked toward them and addressed Bodhi.

“I’m a nurse practitioner. I can stay with them for a bit. And maybe convince Joey to get checked out.”

He smiled in relief. “Thank you.”

She placed a hand on Bodhi’s arm. “No, thank you. You probably saved his life.”

“You’d have done the same.”

“Rae,” Dot said to the nurse practitioner, “You be sure to stop in for a slice of pie and a cup of coffee on the house before you head home for the night.”

Rae nodded.

Dot and Bodhi walked back toward the diner as the shadows lengthened and dusk fell around them.

“Joey was always a good kid, but he’s floundering.”

“I hope he finds his way out of his troubles.” He couldn’t help but think of Joey’s question—what would he do with a second chance in a town like this?

“Where are you staying tonight?” Dot asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“I haven’t decided yet. Is there a motel nearby?”

She chortled. “The Inn’s your only official option, and they charge more per night than my weekly take. But I’ve got a spare room upstairs. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean. I’ll even throw in breakfast.”

He didn’t hesitate to accept the offer. “Thank you.”

He washed up in the restroom before returning to his table to finish his meal. As he scrubbed his hands, he reflected on the stark disparity between the revitalized square and the rest of the town. The town’s charming facade shielded visitors from the harsh reality. But the despair and neglect lurked just under the surface, as real as ever.