Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
When Mr. Bubbles finally came into view, I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear. A glance at my dad confirmed that he was just as pleased to have reached our destination.
Most of the hot springs in Yellowstone were too hot or too acidic to soak in, but Mr. Bubbles wasn’t technically a spring so much as a natural pool where the hot spring mixed with cool river water, turning it into nature’s perfect hot tub. The pool was large enough to comfortably fit at least thirty people, but there was no one else in sight. We had the place to ourselves for now.
We wasted no time moving to the pool’s edge and dropping our packs. Knowing that we were planning to hit up the hot spring today, I’d put on my black two-piece swimsuit under my clothes this morning. Dad had apparently done the same, I noted, as he stripped off his clothes to reveal blue swim trunks underneath.
The first time we came here, I was so cautious. Dad had made sure to stress that Yellowstone could be dangerous; people had died swimming in hot springs. Mr. Bubbles got its name from the bubbles gurgling up from the natural steam vent in the center of the pool. Back then, I’d held my hand over the surface of the water to test the heat before dipping a finger in to make sure it was safe.
This time, I headed straight into the water with confidence, though careful of my footing. Mr. Bubbles was only a few feet deep, but I still didn’t want to risk slipping on a moss-covered rock. I picked my way toward one side of the pool where I knew I’d be able to see the thermal feature that poured additional hot water into the area. Scalding water fell in a foamy sheet over rocks before streaming into the main pool.
I settled into a comfortable spot that was just the right temperature for me and allowed myself to relax. My dad let out a satisfied groan as he claimed a spot closer to the bubbling center. His strawberry-blond hair looked even lighter in direct sunlight. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back with a smile that convinced my own lips to curve.
We were different here—not that we weren’t happy back at home. But something about being in the wilderness changed our behavior. I became less anxious and more spontaneous. I walked with a spring in my step. Dad became more contemplative and introspective, almost withdrawn. I didn’t mind the stretches of quiet. We understood each other well enough without having to use words. Out here we were just animals, no different from the elk and bison we spotted along the trail.
Dad stretched into a back float, letting his arms and legs drift lazily in the shallow water. I liked seeing him relax. He worked hard in his professional life as an arborist for the city of Walla Walla, Washington, where we lived. As my gaze trailed down the length of his body, my attention lingered over the muscled planes of his chest and stomach. Climbing trees was certainly one way to stay in shape.
He noticed me staring and lifted his head.
“What is it?” he asked.
I glanced away, embarrassed. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught me watching him since we arrived in Yellowstone. I didn’t know what it was about this trip, but I found myself feeling restless. Part of me wanted something from him that I couldn’t put words to. Some kind of unspoken acknowledgement, a sign that he was going to miss having me around. I knew if I asked him, he would’ve said, Of course I’m gonna miss you, kiddo, right before launching into a hype speech about how much I’m going to love being on my own.
“Nothing.” I had my sunglasses perched on the top of my head and I pulled them down over my eyes. Dad sat up and shook his wet hair out of his eyes like an animal. I chuckled.
“All right,” he said with a crooked smile. “That doesn’t sound like nothing. Have mercy on your old man, Willow. Is there bear scat on my face?”
I laughed harder. “No. You just look like a wet dog.”
“A wet dog.” He scoffed, but I could tell he wasn’t serious. “High praise from my only child. What about now?”
He whipped his hair from side to side, spraying water everywhere, including my direction. Laughter bubbled up from my chest as I squealed.
“Stop!” I raised my arm like a shield in front of my face.
“If I’m a wet dog, what does that make you, huh?” He grasped my ankle underwater and towed me toward the center of the pool. I made a half-hearted attempt at escape before I let him pin me against his wet chest. He cupped his hand in the water and then poured the water over my head. “Looks like I’ve caught myself a drenched puppy.”