Page 8 of The Hitchhikers

“The one with the serrated blade is best.”

Ocean began cutting, but she was pressing the knife down on the bread instead of sawing, so each slice turned out squished, with varying degrees of thickness. Ocean looked at Alice.

“I’m making a mess of it.”

“That’s okay. I can finish now.”

“Sorry.” Ocean stepped away from the bread, her shoulders slumped.

“Nothing to be sorry for. How about you make lemonade. There’s a can of concentrate.” She gestured toward the freezer. “And a pitcher in the cupboard.”

“I can do that.” Ocean gathered the items, while Alice finished slicing the bread and opened a can of tuna, dumping it into a bowl.

Ocean watched from beside her at the sink. “What are you making?”

“Tuna salad.” When Ocean looked curious, Alice went on. “I like it with diced pickles, celery, mayonnaise, lemon juice, and a teaspoon of mustard. You can use relish if you don’t have pickles. Tuna melts with cheese are yummy too.”

“I’ve never had one.”

“No? They’re fast and easy.”

“I’d probably burn them,” she said, almost apologetically. “My mom did the cooking. I wanted to learn, but she didn’t like if I made a mess. Blue’s trying to teach me now.”

Alice mixed ingredients into the tuna and thought over what Ocean had said. That was twice now that Ocean had mentionedsomething she hadn’t been allowed to do. Alice could understand a mother’s fear of injury in sports, but she didn’t understand not teaching your daughter homemaking skills because of a little mess. Maybe Ocean had been very young.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Alice said, “when did you lose your parents?”

Ocean was quiet for a few beats. “Last year. Car accident.”

Not a child then. Her mother must have been very particular.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Ocean continued stirring the lemonade, which looked pale and diluted, like she’d added too much water, but Alice didn’t want to make her feel worse by pointing it out.

Tom’s and Blue’s voices were loud as they walked back from the beach. They entered the RV, smelling of sun and lake. Tom’s smiling face was ruddy, his hair damp and tousled, and the neckline of his short-sleeved button-down wet like he’d dunked his head in the cold water.

“How was fishing?”

“We landed a few but tossed them back,” he said. “Too small.”

The men sat at the table, and Alice and Jenny handed out the meals. Lunch was entertaining, with Tom describing how he had tangled their lines and hooked Blue with a lure. Alice caught herself laughing, and stopped, surprised. When was the last time she’d laughed like that? Maybe she was beginning to climb out of the dark hole that had swallowed her.

Blue also seemed to have lightened up and was adding comments to Tom’s story, teasing him for nearly falling into the water when he cast his line. When Tom gave him a friendly slap on the back, calling him a fishing genius, Blue smiled and sat straighter.

After lunch, Alice and Ocean cleaned up, while Tom and Blue looked over Tom’s map.

“Kamloops seems like the next biggest town,” Tom said.

“You can leave us there,” Blue said.

“Why don’t you come to Salmon Arm with us?” Tom said. “It’s only two hours farther down the road, and we’ve got a nice camping spot on the Shuswap Lake.”

Alice turned around from the sink, the sponge dripping soapy water down her arm. Did he just invite them to spend the nightagainwithout discussing it with her?

“You’ve already helped too much,” Blue said. “We’ll be fine.”

“There are wineries in that area. Houseboats. You might be able to get seasonal work.”