Epilogue
A year after trading church bells—but not chasing lightning—for the whisper of the wind through evergreens and wedding marches for birdsong, I have no regrets. I’m not certain I can say the same for my friends.
“You know what, I take it back. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a big wedding in a nice, comfortable, air-conditioned venue,” Tracy huffs.
At my side, Wes laughs, his headlamp bobbing in the pale blue light of the hour just before dawn. He’s barely winded.
“We’re almost there,” he says with the same good-natured cheer that made me want to turn him into bear breakfast the first ten times we did this hike.
“You said that a mile ago,” Matt protests.
“Hey, you’re not the one carrying this damn dress,” Tracy grumbles from behind me. “Jesus, Sloane, is this thing made of bricks?”
“Silk chiffon.” I glance back, wincing when I blind both her and Matt with my psychotically bright headlamp.
It was a gift from Wes to celebrate the first time I did this hike with a client, so it seemed fitting to wear today.
Even if I have blinded our friends half a dozen times. “A good twenty yards of it.”
There’s a rustle of plastic as Tracy adjusts the bag. “You’re paying for however many massages it takes to un-fuck my body from this ordeal.”
“What do we get?” Eric complains. I don’t have to glance behind me to see the look he’s exchanging with Sam. “I don’t drag myself out of bed at one in the morning to hike a goddamn mountain in the dark for nothing.”
“You do for your sister,” I remind him, letting Tracy and Matt pass so that I can join my brothers. “And you get the satisfaction of knowing you were there when she got married.”
“If I don’t die of oxygen deprivation before we make it to the top.” Sam shoves me up the trail. “Keep going. If we miss sunrise and you try to make me do this again, I make no promises you’ll survive the hike down.”
Tracy and Matt’s laughter floats back down the trail. I’m glad they’re still having something of a good time. While we could have hired photographers who specialize in weddings, in the end, Wes and I decided that we wanted to be surrounded by the people who care about us the most.
The thwack thwack thwack of helicopter blades in the distance fills the air before long. I don’t want to know what it cost, but since Wes rarely throws around his money, I didn’t argue when he chartered a flight for his mom—and mine—to be flown to the top of the mountain.
Everyone else, my whining brothers included, was given the option of hiking or flying. It’s their own fault they’re not on the chopper, though in hindsight, I probably should have sent the dress up that way. I was too paranoid to let it out of my sight.
My relationship with my mom is still rocky, but things are getting better.
It helps that Wes relocated to Colorado and we live together now.
My brothers and I still help her when she really needs it, but we’re not at her constant beck and call.
Mostly, though, I think it’s the therapist she’s been going to. We’ll get there one day.
I’m not sure the same can be said of Wes’s father.
They’re still not speaking. In the end, it was his father who got banished from the ranch, not us.
The fact that his mom filed for divorce when she found out about his dad’s threats didn’t help matters, but she seems a lot happier, and that makes Wes happy.
We crest the summit just as the eastern sky takes on a warmer glow.
It’s cool up here, which is going to make changing into my dress unpleasant, but at least the breeze dries the sweat off my skin quickly.
A pack of wet wipes does the rest. By sheer coincidence, they’re the same brand I had in my car the day Wes fell in the mud.
Or maybe not, if the smirk he throws my way is any indication.
With Tracy wrestling a sheet into a privacy screen, I strip out of my hiking clothes and carefully get into the dress.
It’s the one extravagance I allowed myself, a bespoke creation from one of Tracy’s LA designer friends modeled after the pink dress I wore in my Nature Shots cover.
This version is the palest blush and more elaborate, with a long train and tiny crystals sewn into the bust that start thick along the sweetheart neckline before trailing down the skirt like scattered stars.
Then, almost as carefully as I handled the silk chiffon, I remove my watch and peel away the gauze hidden beneath the band.
I told Wes a tiny white lie that I burned myself baking cookies, but I think he’ll forgive me when he sees the delicate numbers and letters inked into my wrist. We’ve hiked this summit enough times now that he’ll recognize the coordinates as soon as I rotate my wrist after he slides the ring on in a few minutes.
I’m just pulling my hair out of the heatless curlers I put in at the start of the hike when the helicopter touches down on the far side of the summit.
Tracy stretches her arms wide, holding the sheet in front of me and protecting the dress from the dust the blades kick up until they slow and eventually stop.
My mom’s voice carries in the sudden silence as she declares Wes to be her favorite son-in-law.
“He’s the only one you’re getting!” I yell from behind my sheet, sharing a laugh with Tracy right before she shouts for Wes to look away.
Maybe it’s silly after we just spent the last couple of hours hiking a mountain together, but we decided that once we were in our wedding clothes we’d try not to see each other until the moment Tracy and Matt were ready.
I almost tell her not to worry about it when she hands the sheet over to Eric and picks up her camera, but the look on Wes’s face when he sees me a few minutes later?
That deserves to live on in pixels and print for the rest of our lives.