Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Why aren’t we climbing Denali? Why are we hiking so far away from it?” Dane is asking the questions, but Xavier’s eyebrows
are raised with interest.
“That’s like asking me why we aren’t climbing Everest,” Brick says as he hands out the gear for this morning’s trip—including
cans of bear spray for us to hook into our belt loops. Again with the bears. I’m starting to wonder if they are not telling
us something here. “We’re going to leave Denali to the hard-core mountaineers. There’s a whole graveyard in Talkeetna for
those poor souls who didn’t make it. Besides, like a lot of things, to really admire Denali’s beauty you need to step back.
The views across the valley are postcard perfect. As long as the weather holds.”
We all turn our heads up to the cloudy skies as Brick assures us, as he has before, “Everything in Alaska changes.”
Jace hands out hiking poles and fresh Leave No Trace packets. “Bring your bug spray, yeah. Wear your netting, make sure you
tuck your pants into your socks, no leggings, Lily. Wear jeans if you need to—the rusty tussock—that’s a caterpillar—are out,
and they are nasty buggers, you’ll end up with hives if they touch your skin. Oh, and be prepared for some muck, your boots
are going to get trashed.”
“Sounds like the Ninth Circle of Hell,” groans Dane. “I think I’d rather die trying to climb Denali.”
“Nah, it’s worth it,” says Brick. “It’s only the first section, through the forest, that’s a bit muddy and buggy and overgrown in parts. Once we break through the tree line and hit the ridge, you’re going to thank me.”
“You’re quite the salesman.” Ian laughs.
Lily goes to change out of her Lululemons as I mutter my new mantra under my breath—“thank you, Alaska, thank you, Alaska”—dig
into my backpack for my mosquito netting, and hook the canister of bear spray to my belt loop.
We leave camp and set off for our perfect view of Denali. For the first time on this trip, my sister is by my side. Neither
of us slept well on the cots, and she is still complaining about being sore and tired. “I’m so sore even my boobs hurt,” she
complained this morning.
Today, we are both in my usual position, the back of the pack. Jace, who has learned not to let me fall too far behind, walks
with us. Lily and Jace chat as I keep a lookout for my fox. He’s here somewhere, but I’m worried that he won’t show up if
I have company. While I wait, I consider the lessons the fox is trying to teach me, according to Luna. Everything is not about
the next thing. The next task. The next to-do. Be in the moment. Understand you are supposed to be in the place you are in
now. It has taken my sister and me all week to arrive at this spot; we are, quite literally, finally walking together. I hook
my arm in hers, but I throw her off balance and she trips on a tree root.
“Hey, watch it!” she scolds.
I laugh and give her a hug, and if our mother were here Lily would yell, “Mom, make her stop!” Put another way, things are
perfect right now.
The trail is bordered by thickly packed trees and a leaf canopy that gives the illusion of nighttime—the first time we’ve had this sensation since we’ve been here.
The damp ground smells like rotting wood.
Puddles of mud pockmark the trail. I try to avoid them with my pristine boots, but the more experienced hikers in the group trudge right through.
We are still deep in the woods when the trail narrows.
On our right, the ground becomes a steep uphill.
Dead fallen trees scatter like pick-up sticks, some of them tumbled down toward the trail as they fell and slid into their still-standing kin.
On our left, it’s like an upside-down world.
The same thick trees, the same downed trunks, but the ground falls away abruptly into a deep ravine.
I move away from the drop-off, feeling my fear of heights rush up on me.
In the boggiest part of the trail, Xavier starts jumping into mud puddles as if he’s a little kid in the rain. I’m so happy
to see him finding that feeling, especially after spending a week with a bunch of boring adults and their complicated grown-up
antics. I worry that Zave has seen more than he should.
“Xavier!” Ian snaps, and the boy freezes. “Cut it out. You are ruining your boots.”
“Brick said we were going to get muddy anyway.”
“You don’t need to make it worse.”
Lily walks over to the puddle where Xavier stands and jumps in it with him. “Oof, this is fun!”
Ian glares at Lily. Xavier tries not to smile. The group stops and turns toward my sister, ankle deep in the sludge.
“Are you mocking me?” Ian asks.
“No, I’m saying it is fun. We adults lose all childlike joy. Zave is giving me a gift, reminding me about that. Hey, Big!
It’s a gift from Alaska!”
Ian rolls his eyes and sighs. “Is that what he’s doing? Shows how much you understand about the male adolescent brain.” Xavier
turns red and lowers his head. Unfazed, Ian persists. “Do you have children of your own, Lily?”
I clench my jaw and hold my breath for a beat. It’s not like my sister hasn’t been asked this question a million times. She’s always fielded it with grace, never making the questioner feel badly or guilty for asking it. But she’s also not had to address it since she found that damn CVS receipt.
She lifts her chin and levels her eyes at Ian. “No, but I was aunt to a male adolescent brain, and he came out okay.”
“All I’m saying is, wait until you have children of your own. Then you’ll understand.”
Lily nods her head slowly. She steps out of the puddle and inspects her ringless fingers. A second that feels like an hour
passes.
“Well, then,” she says calmly. “Jokes on me. I can’t have kids. I guess I’ll remain ignorant.”
A vision emerges from the Pandora’s box I’ve tried unsuccessfully for years to bury it in. The car accident, flashing red
lights in the dark. My mother’s accusatory glare. What have you done? I grab my sister’s hand. Luna comes forward and wraps her strong arms around her. Everyone else stares straight ahead.
Except Ian, whose mouth flaps. “Lily, I didn’t—”
“What the hell, man?” demands Dane.
“Nope, it’s fine, Dane. Ian is right. How should I know? I’m just a woman whose husband cheated on her before I even had a
chance to find out. And now I’ve got no one. Except Big. She’s the only one who’s stuck with me. Has always, will always stick
with me. She’s the only person on earth who’d be willing to let me drag her out here on this crazy trip when she doesn’t even
want to walk to the end of her driveway to pick up her mail.”
“Lily,” I whisper, squeezing the hand I’ve been holding onto.
“It’s okay,” she whispers back. “It was time.”
I want to talk to her about what she just said.
Can’t have kids. I want to tell her it might seem like it now, but it’s not too late.
Yes, there are a lot of obstacles between here and there, but she’s not too old, and it’s not too late.
I want her to remember that. I’ll keep that to myself, for now.
I pull on my sister’s hand, and we continue along the trail together.
Eventually, we rise above the tree line and reach an open meadow. Wild grasses and scrubby bushes dotted with green berries
tower over our heads, and the path becomes tighter and begins to wind, preventing us from seeing what’s around the corner.
“What if there is something scary waiting up there for us?” I ask Jace, who is still chaperoning us.
“That will be a front-of-the-line problem.” He laughs.
“Your boss is at the front of the line,” Lily says. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll lose your job if he gets eaten?”
“Or,” he says, pointing a finger in the air, “will I take over the whole operation?”
“Oh, funny, you two. Very funny,” I say as they both giggle. “It’s a legit concern.”
“No worries, Bridget. This group is making enough noise to scare off Cocaine Bear, yeah. And besides, Brick is armed, if it
came to that.”
“He said he’s never used that gun.”
“That’s true. The last thing anyone out here wants to do is take down an animal. This is their home first. We do everything
in our power not to use our weapon. They’re insurance on the trail, especially when we’re leading a group of Lower Forty-Eighters.
But if you are still nervous, hold your walking sticks in the air and bang them together. Or sing your favorite song at the
top of your lungs.”
“That’ll scare anything away,” says Lily. “I’ve been to karaoke with her.”
“She’s not wrong,” I belt at the top of my lungs in a very bad opera voice.
Lily puts her hands over her ears. “See?”
I let myself forget about the charging unseen dangers and the stinging caterpillars and the towering vegetation scraping by my face, and soon we are out of the overgrowth and into an open and hilly meadow.
The trail flattens and continues through a grassy patch.
Purple flowers and thick, fuzzy ferns pop up out of the landscape.
The air is warmer than in the dark woods, even with a breeze.
Above us are more mountains, mocking my already too-tired legs.
Up ahead, the rest of the group is sitting on an outcropping of large rocks, digging into their backpacks, pulling out granola bars and water bottles.
“Bridget!” the group shouts in unison as if I’m Norm from Cheers. My reputation for plodding along has preceded me. I’ll miss my traveling companions when we go home. Yes, even Dane. Everyone
sought out Alaska hoping it would give them something they were missing in their lives—connection, determination, strength,
answers, and, I suppose in Dane’s case, a fresh start. I hope they all found it. Especially Lily.
“I made it!” I laugh, waving my walking sticks in the air. I’m damn proud of myself. I might have been the last up here, but
I made it all this way without stopping to rest. A first.
“Hey, Big.” Lily taps me on the shoulder. “Turn around.”
I’d been so busy watching my feet, scouring the woods for my fox, inspecting the ferns and the green berries that I was told
will be bright blue and delicious in a month or two, and checking for rocks and roots waiting to trip me up, I missed the
main event. Behind me, a wide, great valley stretches for miles. A silver river snakes through it, a thick forest of trees
hugging it on both sides. Off in the distance is Denali, and all the mountains in her family. The closest of the mountains
are dark gray and streaked with snow; beyond them the range is pure white. The sky that threatened us this morning is now
a piercing blue. Brick is right, everything in Alaska changes. It’s breathtaking.
A vibration in my jacket drags me out of this moment and into an old, familiar one.
The dopamine hit of an incoming call; a connection to home, knowing someone needs me.
I slip my hand into my jacket pocket and feel the ringing, and the dopamine is replaced with a tinge of loss.
This is my moment, up here among the clouds.
I worked so hard to get here, it was a huge physical challenge, and I bested myself.
I want to enjoy the spoils, not be hauled back to my real life just yet.
I pull out the phone and look down at the screen.
It’s Tim. How can I ignore him? Service here is few and far between, usually only at the top of mountains, where you want it the least. But if I don’t answer now, it could be hours, maybe a whole day, before he can reach me again. And what if he really, really needs me?
“Tim! You won’t believe where I am!” I put my free hand on my beating heart. “I’ll take a photo, but I don’t think it will
do it justice!”
“Bridge, are you all right?”
The concern in his voice does indeed pull me off this mountaintop. “Tim, are you all right?” I counter.
“Your mother said you hung up on her.”
That’s what this is about? Ruth not getting the attention she requires. And now she’s called out the cavalry.
“I did.” I didn’t tell my mother and I’m not going to tell Tim that we were moments away from getting our heads squashed like
pumpkins by an angry mama moose. “I was busy, that’s all.”
“Well, she’s been out of her mind worried. She said you sounded panicked. I tried to call right away, but I couldn’t get through.
So that got me panicked. But if you are sure . . .”
“Honey, you have been spending too much time with Ruth.” I laugh. “We’re totally fine.” It’s time to go back to my mountains
and valleys and blue sky.
“Okay, if you are sure. Wait . . . hang on. Cam wants to talk to you.” I look over at Lily, sunning herself on a flat rock.
She waves to me and pats the open space next to her.
“Mom, Mom, this is bad.” My son’s voice is shallow and rushed.
I am not only off the mountain, I’m no longer in Alaska.
I’m home, where I should be. It’s ten, fifteen, twenty years ago when a little boy with a cowlick and smear of peanut butter and jelly sandwich on his cheek cries for his mother.
I feel a thumping at the base of my throat, a whoosh of anguish as I curse my decision to follow my sister when my son is in distress; an anger like that mama moose protecting her calf from strange women in the woods.
If I had a hoof I’d stomp and paw the ground.
“Cameron, honey! Tell me what happened,” I insist as I calculate the route off this trail and back to New Jersey at sonic
speed. Lily, hearing her nephew’s name and my side of the conversation, sits up and mouths, What’s going on? I flap my hand at her and turn my back, no time for a game of telephone right now. My sister comes to me and presses her
cheek to mine to listen in.
“Mom, I can’t find my kitchen clogs!”
“Excuse me, what?” I feel a burning in my face. Lily must feel it too, as she moves her cheek from mine and holds her hand over her mouth.
I swear to God, if she starts laughing right now.
“I looked everywhere, Mom. Literally everywhere! I’ve been wearing my Vans to work, but Chef said if I show up in them one
more time, I’m going to be washing dishes for a week. Mom, where are they?”
I know exactly where his work shoes are. In the foyer under the bench, where all shoes that are worn on a regular basis go.
“I have no idea where your clogs are, Cameron.”
This didn’t need to be a scare the shit out of Mom while she’s three thousand miles away call. It is a problem that, with a little sharper detective work, my grown son could have solved on his own. I feel a smile
curling on my lips. I’m glad we aren’t FaceTiming; I don’t want Cam to see me and take it the wrong way. But I feel a lightness
I haven’t felt in ages. It’s just hit me, I’m done. I don’t need to be the problem solver every time, everywhere.
“No, Mom. You’re kidding, right? This is an emergency.”
“Cameron, I have every confidence that you can solve this riddle.”
“Riddle? What riddle? You’re not making any sen—”
“I’ve got to go, Cam. I love you. Bye-bye, sweetie,” I say in my most supportive mother voice. And then for the second time
in twenty-four hours, I hang up on a family member.