Virgo's Vice by Trish Jackson Page B

“Happily married.” I think about Mark’s family. And now we have no sat phone, so he can’t even call them.
    “What about Trip?” Sam asks.
    I don’t say anything because I can’t think of anything good to say about him. My jaw clamps and I force myself to take deep breaths, but I don’t really succeed in shaking off the bad feeling.
    “There’s something about him that I don’t like,” Kelli says. “What is an entrepreneur and world explorer? I mean, what does he really do?”
    He’s a disgusting monster. I want to say it out loud, but I can’t.
    “He’s okay. Kind of handsome in a rugged sort of way.” Sam pulls a grass stem apart and sticks it in her mouth. It smells sweet. “Rodriguez and the black dude are too old, though. They won’t keep up. I mean, I’m thirty-one and I thought I’d be one of the oldest. And I don’t know how Maria is gonna survive when it gets tough. Didn’t she say she was forty-seven?”
    And Trip is fifty, but you’ll never know that. “Maybe if she can’t carry on she’ll give you her shoes,” I say to Kelli with a chuckle.
    “It’s not a laughing matter.” Kelli examines the underside of one of her shoes. “I think I’m gonna have to cut the heels off.”
    “I can help with that. My knife.” Sam slips it out of her belt, where it’s hanging in a holster. It’s about twelve inches long with a brown bone handle and there are a few serrations, but the blade is mostly smooth. I can see it’s sharp. She holds out her hand for a shoe.
    Kelli yanks one off her foot and stares at it. “I’m not sure exactly where you should cut.”
    Sam stretches her legs out, takes the shoe from her, and sets it down on her knee. She examines it for a few seconds, and holds the knife poised over it. She raises an eyebrow at Kelli.
    Kelli shrugs and blows out air. “I . . . I guess that you would. Yes. They’re no use to me like that.” She draws one of her feet up and rubs her heel.
    “They must have cost a lot of dough,” I say.
    Sam starts sawing at the heel about an inch from the sole of the shoe. It comes off cleanly and I realize the knife is real sharp.
    “You’d better believe it,” Kelli says.
    Sam hands the shoe back to Kelli, who slips it on and stands up. She stomps around on it gingerly.
    “Yeah,” she says eventually. “It’s a lot better. You cut it at about the right place the way you left the little heel.” She drops down on the flattened grass beside Sam, and hands the other shoe to her. I don’t even know how she can walk with those blisters. One of them has burst and it’s been bleeding.
    Eve gets back with the shovel and we all slide down the bank on the well-worn dirt tracks into the dry river bed sand. Eve kicks off her sandals and heads upstream from the dirty pool. She pushes the blade into the sand and starts to dig, and pretty soon sweat is pouring down her face.
    “I’ll take over,” I say. “You look hot.” I undo my shoelaces and pull off my pink Nike’s and peel off my sweaty purple socks and stuff them inside the shoes. I roll my jeans up as much as I can, wishing I had brought shorts. The sand is soft, and it feels nice under my feet and between my toes. It’s warm on the top and cool underneath. The hole we’re digging keeps caving in and filling up again with sand. I make it wider and dig for a while in silence. When I get too hot, I hand the shovel to Kelli. My hands are sweaty and I wipe them on my jeans. Sweat is running into my eyes and I swat at the little no-see-ums flying in front of my face. I’m starting to wonder if there is any water down beneath the sand. I’m so thirsty I could almost drink from the yukky, stagnant pool. If only I was a dog.
    I pick up my camera to film Kelli digging.
    Jake has been running around and charging every which way, and I get a nice clip of him running back to me. He pushes his nose against my leg and I reach down with one hand to stroke his head. Why are dogs’ ears so soft