The last move is a step-up onto flat rock, and then there's no more mountain, just sky and wind and ridgelines stacked to the horizon, more world than I have ever seen in one look. I made it. All four limbs of me, on my own steam.
Finn stands beside me on the summit slab.
"Look at you," he says, smiling proudly at me. "You did it."
I plant my boots on the rock, fist my hands at my hips, and address the assembly.
"I'd officially like to thank my boots," I declare. "And my calves, who lodged a formal complaint at the flake and continued anyway. Honorable mention to the east stairwell of MattichogueHigh for years of unpaid training. And gravity, for agreeing to look the other way."
The crowd is one man and zero chipmunks.
Finn applauds, grinning now. "Next time you'll be a pro at this."
Next time.I want to believe there will be a next time. And a time after that.
"Come on," he says. "We're not done yet."
We come off the back of the summit on a spur path he knows, down through spruce, and I hear it before I see it: a waterfall, maybe twenty feet of white ribbon dropping into a green pool, throwing cold air and spray uphill like the mountain runs its own weather.
It's magnificent. That's the only word I have for it, and even that isn't adequate.
"Worth it?" Finn asks, standing beside me, our hands brushing against each other.
I nod, trying to find my voice. I steal a glance at him, meeting his steady eyes. "So worth it."
We eat the last sandwiches down at the falls on a rock with our boots off and our feet going numb in the water. For a while, neither of us speaks. There's no need. The silence doesn't feel enormous or awkward between us. It feels comfortable. Relaxed. Easy.
After we've finished eating, I watch him dangle his big feet in the clear, cold pool below the falls.
"This spot is like heaven on earth." I sigh, breathing it all in. "If you could do anything with it, what would you do?"
I'm braced for Finn Bardot scale. High-ticket wilderness tours. Helipads, eco-lodges, a tasteful sign with his surname on it.
"Nothing," he says.
"Nothing?"
"A place like this is something you protect. Keep it exactly like this. Maybe one sign at the bottom that says pack out what you pack in. That would be the whole business plan."
"I like that."
He nods, quiet for a moment. "You know what I'd actually do? Someday?" He's watching the water, not me. "Bring kids up here. The ones like me. The ones drowning at a desk while everybody decides what that means about them. Ropes, guides, leave-no-trace, all of it, but really just this." He tips his chin at the falls, the pool, the whole green room of it. "The outdoors was the only library that ever let me in. It taught me that I'm enough, that my future can be wide open."
It doesn't surprise me that he thinks of nature as his library. I called it that to myself yesterday, on this exact mountain. His library. Hearing him say it on his own, I have to look at the water for a while.
"Maybe someday," he says quietly. He picks a flat stone off the bank and sends it skipping across the pool, subject closed, then reaches over and tugs my pack strap straight where it did not need straightening.
I watch him fold the dream back up and putsomedayin his pocket, and the sun stays right where it was, and I go cold anyway. Because someday is a queue. He's never hidden what's standing at the front of it. The land out west he spoke about, the surveys, the one meeting on his calendar he looks forward to. I laid it all out for Annie a week ago, a company in one place and land in another and a life with a departure date printed somewhere on it. Nobody has to show me the ticket for me to know that sooner or later, that day is coming.
"What time do we have to head down?" I ask, which is not the question.
He checks the sun instead of his phone. "Soon," he says, which is not the answer.
We let the small exchange stand in for the big one, the way you let a substitute run the class.
Our packs are on the ground behind us. We go to them, then he kneels in the dirt and re-laces my boots before the descent. "Heel lock," he says, threading the top hooks in a pattern I'd never have invented. "Keeps your toes off the front on the way down. Your knees will thank me."
I stand there getting my feet handled like a duchess. "This is some first-class level of service."
