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“Thank you.” She held out the camera, turning it until she got the angle she wanted. “On three. Don’t scowl.”
“I’m not scowling.”
To solve it, she turned her face just enough to press her lips to his cheek. When his lips curved, just a little, she took the picture.
“What happened to ‘on three’?”
“That was better. Look.” She brought the photo up. “We’re adorable. And I’m going to do more of this.” She pocketed the phone. “That’s my solemn vow in front of the magic waterfall.”
They continued up. It did get steeper, and Morgan supposed she had Jen’s relentless workouts to thank for the fact she climbed without muscles twinging.
A group of teenage boys bounded by like antelopes, cackling like hyenas.
“It’s all fun and games,” Miles commented, “until somebody breaks an ankle.”
“What were they, about sixteen? The age of indestructibility.”
“Where were you at sixteen?”
“I honestly can’t tell you. I used to keep a book to write down the place and the dates. After the divorce, we kept moving around so much, I kept writing it down. Then I tossed it—which was stupid—when I went to college.
“Done with that.” She flicked her hand as if tossing something away. “But it was mostly a minor temper tantrum, and I regret it.”
“Your mom probably knows if you ever want to put places and times together.”
“Maybe, but…”
She went speechless when the world opened up. “Oh God! You didn’t tell me.”
“Makes a nice surprise. Not a half-bad view.”
“It’sglorious.”
A world of mountains, valleys, hills, rivers spread out in vivid greens, tender blues, the sturdy gray of rock in jutted outcroppings. The soft peaks as they rolled on spoke of age and endurance.
I’m here, and have been long before, will be long after.
She could see the folds and cuts of land and water, the rise of trees, the climb of trails, all so clear under the wide bowl of sky. And like a gift, the white tumble of a distant waterfall.
A painting, she thought, unframed and open to anyone who stood at this spot.
She wondered how it looked when fog crept through and rose in mists to blur the hills. Or when the trees turned vivid in the fall, or the winter spread its bright, blanketing white.
Today it said summer, with life at its peak.
The silence was music.
“I have to do it again.” She turned to him. “Sorry, but it’s too perfect not to.” She held up the camera. “It’s your own fault. I don’t even care if you scowl.”
She slid an arm around his waist, angled the camera.
When she’d taken the shot, she pointed at Howl.
“Your turn. Sit down. Good dogs sit.”
She crouched down to frame him in, with his eyes full of happy, head angled in anticipation.
That might’ve been the moment, Miles would think later, just the moment when he started to slip. Watching her convince the dog to pose—and damned if he didn’t—with her absolute pleasure in the moment, in the place, in the quiet soaring like the hawks overhead.
