Caching In (3 page)

Well aware I wouldn't convince her otherwise, I agreed.

CHAPTER THREE

Movement seemed impossible. I reached my arms over my head, and extended my legs. Oh, the pain. Not even a good stretch brought relief. My back popped, and my feet outreached farther than before, but forget it. Ugh, and my ass. My god, my
ass
. Yep, falling down did me in. With geocaching on the agenda today, my body wanted me to refuse to go. After the hike yesterday, and the subsequent tumble I took to the ground, my muscles needed rest. My body wouldn’t appreciate the torture if my first geocaching adventure involved hiking up another hill, climbing a tree, or even, well, moving. I forced myself to a seated position. One step at a time. I decided to skip my shower because standing upright in a flood of water at my feet wouldn’t be a good situation. I imagined myself in one of those commercials yelling to no one “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” A week later, someone, probably a hot fireman, would find me naked on the floor of the bathroom. I crossed the shower off my list. I showered the night before, anyway, and depending on how geocaching went, I figured I might shower when I got home.

I pulled my phone off the charger and opened the weather app. Currently the temperature rested at 55 degrees, rising to 62 over the next two hours, the high reaching 68. I didn’t want to wear yoga pants again, and sweat pants made my thighs appear three times bigger than in reality. Knowing me, if I wore shorts, I’d be freezing. Capris seemed to be a good compromise. My pair of lighter material (some sort of airy cotton?) worked, along with a short sleeve shirt, ankle socks and my nicest tennis shoes. After getting dressed, I decided today I’d do pigtails. Not Catholic school girl from a rock band video pigtails, but the band over halfway down so it almost looked like a bob, with trundles of hair falling over my chest. A quick cleaning of the teeth, and I’d be set to go after my morning coffee.

I wasn’t getting out the door without coffee. Overall, I ate as healthy as possible. Despite my best efforts to eat well, with the occasional fail, I could never give up coffee and Doritos. Munching on Doritos while drinking coffee equated to heaven. Most people I met, okay,
everyone
I met, thought the two made a gross combination, but they weren’t putting it in their mouth, so I really didn’t care what they thought.

Coffee took less than three minutes to brew. My Keurig machine? Best. Investment. Ever. Warming the water took all of thirty seconds, and by the time I put the K-cup in, filled my cup, added Hazelnut creamer, and sat down, less than three minutes passed. I think that’s quite an accomplishment. When I went from a slow drip percolator to the Keurig, my mind almost blew up.

I turned on the television while I sipped my coffee, but I didn’t pay much attention to the screen. Instead, I played with the app I downloaded to help me find caches, trying to figure out where to start searching. I figured it was best to start furthest from my house and work my way back. About fifteen were placed in a park on the east side of town. Shit, I could spend my whole day there! I finished up my coffee, grabbed my license, keys, a pen and a bottle of water, and went on my way, but I needed to make a quick stop first.

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I kept my hands crossed in front of me as I walked along the pavement. I stepped onto the grass, which, after a dry evening and sunny morning, was plush and radiant instead of mucky and wet. The grounds keeper always kept the lawn crisp and green, and did a spectacular job trimming around the headstones as well as placing seasonal flowers. My mom chose this cemetery to bury my dad not only because it belonged to her church, but also because of the beauty. Not one headstone matched another, the winding path through the grounds made all plots easy to access, and at the end of the pathway a small, man-made pond waited, benches outlining the oval, where many came to sit and reflect after visiting their loved ones.

Dad never joined mom at church. He only ever attended for his own wedding, and his funeral. Church, to him, was a waste of time. He figured why spend his Sundays cooped up inside a building singing hymns and raising his hands in the air when he could be out fishing, out in nature, enjoying what God created. My brother, Perry, always went to church with my mom while I went fishing with my dad on Sundays (ice fishing in the winter!). He made it “our” thing. Mom never liked how I skipped church to go to “Daddy’s church,” but she eventually came to terms with it, seeing my brother at least went with her. Where did my Sunday church with Dad put me with God? I wasn’t sure yet. I hoped Dad followed me in spirit, since he wasn’t with me physically anymore. His stroke came out of nowhere that Sunday morning he went fishing alone, and I never forgave myself for missing our weekly expedition to see Josh. Here I stood, almost two years later, and I couldn’t even remember what Josh and I did that morning that was so much more important than spending time with my dad.

“Good morning, Dad. I made it out again. Every Sunday, right? I wouldn’t miss visiting with you for the world.” After about six straight months of visits, I graduated from laying on the ground, resting my head on the stone, to standing. When a year rolled around, I think the visits held less tears. Now with almost two years passed, I could make it through dry eyed. I guess that’s what closure is.

“Anyway, it’s been about eight months now since Josh and I split up.” I envisioned my dad putting his hand on my shoulder to comfort me, while giving me a thumbs up with the other. “I know you never liked him. I should have listened to you, but you know me. You raised quite a stubborn daughter, if you weren’t aware.”

My stubbornness worked for and against me in so many ways in my life. My simple refusal to give up usually meant I got what I wanted. When I demanded I own all the stuffed Care Bears and my parents said no, I nagged and nagged them until finally I had them all, from Sunshine to Grumpy. At sixteen when I wanted more than anything to see
Vanilla Sky,
but my parents thought the R rated movie contained too much adult matter for me, I convinced them to buy the ticket and let me go. And when I met Josh at nineteen, and we moved in together after three years, and my dad insisted he wasn’t right for me, I tried so hard to list all the reasons he was, including how much he loved me. Yep, bull-headed Ally made some great wins, but Josh, well, he went down in history as my epic fail.

“Like I tell you every time I’m here, Dad, you were right. Don’t hold it against me, though, okay? Harry takes care of me. He’s a good guy.” My dad didn’t have a clue when he was alive who Harry Styles was, but if One Direction made me happy, he’d approve. “Mom’s dating again, for awhile now. Perry doesn’t know. She wants it that way. Since we don’t see him much, it’s simple to keep from him.” I bit some skin by my pinkie. “I haven’t met anyone she’s gone out with, and I’m not sure I want to, but she insists you would be okay with it. Mom says you wouldn’t want her to be alone. I don’t know if that’s true. I mean, I can’t imagine her not being with you, but everyone needs someone.” I contemplated my love life. Just because you needed someone, didn’t mean you deserved anyone.

I noticed a man approaching a grave site near my dad’s. I loved talking with my dad, but I felt uncomfortable when strangers showed up. “Okay, Dad, I’ve gotta go. I’m going to try something called geocaching. You probably would have loved it.” I knelt down and kissed the cold stone. “I love you, Daddy. See you next Sunday.”

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My tiny Chevy Cobalt got me around town. I didn’t drive much out of town anyway, so I rarely needed to fill up on gas, and so far I didn’t experience many issues. Used, only one previous owner, and I only got my brakes fixed a little over a year ago, and some belt replaced in the last couple months. Other than that, she ran okay. My small car and equally little duplex apartment spoke of my thriftiness. My dad taught me the importance of being economical, so I tried hard to maintain such a lifestyle.

I kept the app open and my phone plugged into my charger so I didn’t drain the battery. When I arrived, I’d figure out how to maneuver around. I tried playing with the features the night before, but unless actively geocaching, nothing made much sense. I turned down the street, and slowed as I struggled to find a parking space. The sun shone over a large field filled with soccer nets and kids I guessed to be no more than eight or nine years old. The caches seemed to be scattered throughout the park, most located far away from the games, but the spectators made me more than a little nervous. Maybe I could find another park nearby. I pulled to the side and widened the map and saw one not too far away; in fact, at the park just down the road. I’d try that one.

When I pulled up alongside the park, a few kids pumped their legs on the swings, others ran around the mulched yard, and some climbed the jungle gym. A woman sat on a bench, a baby in a stroller next to her. How would I come across snooping around a park? I was about to find out.

I grabbed my phone and walked toward the play area. From the cache logs, this appeared to be an easy one (
Quick grab!, Easy peasy!, Thanks for such an easy find!)
, and the size displayed as mini, so I needed to search for a small container of some sort. The compass portion already showed I was close. A younger child let out a bellowing cry, and I turned, not wanting to make eye contact with the mother. The cache hid within a ten feet vicinity. Awesome! My first one, and I’d find it right away. Based on the compass, I would find it either by the bench opposite the one occupied by the young mom, or the tree next to it. Holding my phone as I walked, I headed toward the bench. I used my free hand to feel around the wood, making sure to press on any breaks in the lumber. I ducked my head under, too, but didn’t see a thing.

Hmm. I scrolled down and noticed a hint. If given the option for a hint,
always
take it. “Knot finding it? Look up.” Okay … this meant the cache must be in the tree, I guessed, and probably in the branches, or higher up. The app listed the terrain as a two, so from what I read online, I didn’t have to climb, so it shouldn’t be too far up the tree. I walked over to the tree and touched my hand on the trunk. I stuck my fingers in every gap as I ran them up and down the hard surface. Nothing. I crouched to the ground, pushed my hand against the dirt and grass, and ran it down the sides of the trunk. This was harder than I thought. Standing, I glanced back at the bench. Did I miss it and the cache
was
there? I went back over by the bench and touched around it again. The lady still sat on the other one. Did she ever move? The bench she sat on appeared to be too far out of my coordinates. Frustration started building. This cache claimed to be easy, and I called bullshit to whoever placed it. The app included a button that said “Did not find.” If I touched it, I announced my failure to the entire geocaching community. I hopped out of my current location, and spotted another one nearby, at a bed and breakfast a mile away. In refusal to admit my defeat, I ignored the button, and went back to my car. The lady on the bench started to make weird faces at me. The last thing I wanted was to be arrested for looking suspicious.

CHAPTER FOUR

The three-story bungalow, covered in brick, caught my attention every time I drove by. Windows framed with white shutters blocked the view inside with the curtains covering them. The sign displaying "Aunt Ellen's Bed & Breakfast" hung off two posts, a turquoise, oval piece of metal, flowers encasing it. A few steps led to the front entrance, two double doors set against a wraparound patio. The patio led to the back parking lot, next to the gift shop. The app listed the cache hidden outside, so I didn’t need to go in, which disappointed me a bit, since I wanted to check out the inside.

Since I wasn’t a guest, I didn’t want to park in the lot and utilize the spaces for visitors. Instead, I parked across the street in the church parking lot. As I crossed the street, I evaluated the cache. Easy find, a quick grab, and very small. Great. With my luck at the park, I didn’t count on finding anything. If I didn’t find this one, I’d give up and find a new hobby.

Following the compass on my phone, I made my way toward the garden. Set behind lannon stone, flowers began to bloom, their buds opening, petals expanding from every which way. A small metal fence surrounded the bed, and a stone path led to a white decorative swing.

Enough admiring the beauty of the mansion, I came to find a cache. Based on the coordinates, a mere five feet separated us. I stepped to the left, putting me out of range, somehow. I recalled the website stating a small margin of error existed in the app, the reason many preferred an actual GPS compass. This new to the game, I didn’t want to invest in one. I went back to the right, and another step, putting myself back within range. The cache should be set between the stones somewhere. I set my phone on the rock and let my knees hit the ground. My upper thighs killed me, and now my kneecaps were probably going to be shit, too. I didn’t think geocaching would be such a physical hobby. I stuck my hand in every single opening in the rock. “Shit!” I swiped a spider off my hand and kept looking.

No use. Could it be under a stone? If I moved one, was I damaging property? I moved my phone to the next stone and tried to lift the rock to no avail. Screw this. I pressed for another hint. “Behind.” What did that mean? Behind what? I leaned over the stone into the garden. Searching the property was an awkward experience already. Anyone watching me must have thought I was attempting to steal something. I ran my fingers across the back of the rock, coming up empty.