Part 7 (1/2)

'French is very easy for most English speakers.'

'Say something in French?'

'Je voudrais te baiser.'

'Meaning what?'

'It's very hot up here.'

'Let's go down then, grab a soda somewhere?'

'That would be good,' she said, but didn't get up. She was busy scrabbling and sc.r.a.ping like a rabbit scratching out a hole.

'Hey, you're not allowed to break off bits of Minnesota,' I said sternly when I realised what she was doing.

'Why is that?' she asked.

'It's probably a federal offence.'

'Oh, go on with you and anyway, it was already loose.' She scrutinised her rock. 'See how it sparkles in the suns.h.i.+ne?'

'The h.e.l.l with how it sparkles. This is a national monument, you know.'

'You mean like Mount St Helens? I bet it's jolly not. It's just a lump of rock above the Mississippi River.'

'It's a Mississippi bluff.'

'Okay, Professor Riley, it's a bluff. What's this kind of stone, I wonder?'

'I guess it's oneota dolomite. What you have there is limestone made from creatures which were living a million years ago.'

'What about the crystals?'

'They'll be quartz.'

'Gosh, aren't you well-informed?'

She twinkled at me and her eyes were brighter than the sparkles in the stone. 'Mythology, geology, technology and half a dozen other ologies I'm betting you're an expert on them all.'

'Now I come to think of it, Ben did mention something else about you.'

'Oh? What did he say?'

'You smuggled a suspicious British apple into the USA. Now you want to smuggle out a rock without a permit.' I shook my head and sighed. 'If you're not careful, Rosie, you'll end up in a facility where they re-educate women like you.'

'What do you mean, women like me?'

'Who break the rules.'

'What's the point of living if you don't break any rules?' She stood up now and stretched, her T-s.h.i.+rt riding high, revealing smooth, tanned skin. 'I want this for Dad. He has a collection of bits of foreign stone from all over the world. We I mean, I like to ...'

'What?'

'Oh, nothing,' she replied. 'Come on, Dr Riley, I'll race you to the parking lot.'

She took off down that trail like she was being chased by wolves. I stood there for a minute, several minutes. I watched her skitter down, dislodging little rocks and jumping bigger ones, a beautiful gazelle of a young woman, full of nervous grace.

Je voudrais te baiser.

You asked her to say something, say anything in French and that was the example came into her head. She didn't mean it personally.

ROSIE.

Je voudrais te baiser.

I would like to kiss you. Or that's the polite translation. What about the stone for Dad? Charlie had brought home all kinds of minerals for Dad. Smooth grey soapstone, striped red agate, polished turquoise Charlie went on voyages of discovery for one reason only, risking life and suffering extreme discomfort in those last few places where even Coca-Cola hadn't yet set up its stall, to collect rare geological samples for our father.

This was the usual family joke or fiction, anyway.

Dad kept the samples in a china bowl in his study. I wasn't really sure if I should add to the collection, if it would hurt him more than it would please him. But- 'Rosie?'

'Yes?'

'You're about a million miles away.' Pat had caught up with me and now he frowned. 'Do you have something on your mind?'

'I'm fine.' I forced myself to smile at him. 'I'm enjoying getting good fresh air and exercise. I'm having a great time.' It was almost true. But I hadn't meant to have great times. It was not appropriate that I should have great times.

So I didn't know why I felt happy not laughing, singing, giggling happy, but contented, cared-about and quiet happy. Why, as we went down the trail, I glanced at Patrick Riley and was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness because he wasn't mine.

What business did I have to think of him at all? Why had I told him I would like to kiss him, more than kiss him? It was just as well he knew no French. But it didn't have to be this way. I didn't have to let him get to me. Soon I would be going home and then I could forget him and all the confusing feelings and emotions he aroused in me. Balance, moderation Patrick Riley's personal attraction genie didn't know the meaning of those words.

I ran on ahead.

But I didn't look where I was going and all of a sudden something slammed right into me. My foot felt like it had been hit with twenty, thirty hammers. My head began to spin and I felt sick with pain. My eyes filled up, spilled over.

I half slumped, half fell on the hard ground. I started crying and I found I couldn't stop. 'I h-hurt my foot,' I stammered when he had caught up with me and asked me what was wrong and I could finally trust myself to tell him. 'These t-trainers weren't designed to run up mountains.'

'Trainers oh, you mean your sneakers, right?'

He hunkered down beside me, dark eyes serious and kind. I didn't want him to be kind. I wanted him to tell me to get up and not make such a fuss. But he did nothing of the sort. 'They do look kind of flimsy,' he agreed, as if it were the trainers' fault, not mine for choosing them, for running up and down a mountain in them. 'I guess you smacked into that boulder, yeah?'

But I could only nod.

'You think you've broken anything?'

'I h-hope I haven't.'

'You have any feeling in your toes?'

'Yes, just a bit.' I tried to wipe away the snot and tears, scrubbing with my hands. 'I can wriggle all of them and it d-doesn't hurt to flex my foot. I've stubbed one toe, that's all. Let me h-have a moment and then we can go on.'