Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Water, food, jacket, first aid kit, camera…
I double-check my bag and grab the last camera lens to carefully place inside. And just as I do, my phone rings. My eyes flick to the clock on the wall, and I know it’s Mom. It’s 6:00AM, and she always calls at 6:00AM before I leave for a hike.
“Hi,” I say as I lift my phone to my ear.
“Hi, honey,” Mom’s sleepy voice sounds through the speaker.
A pang of guilt hits me at how tired she sounds, because she wakes up early every Saturday morning when I go out on a hike, just to check in before I leave. But it’s also become part of our routine, and… I like it, and have unfortunately come to rely on it.
“All ready?” Mom asks.
“Yeah,” I say, scanning the contents in my bag one last time. “Just finished packing my bag.”
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day out there for you,” she says. “You’re heading to Cobbler’s Path, right? ”
“Yeah.”
She releases a long breath. “I know I say this every time, but I worry about you out there all alone on those long hikes. Please make sure your phone is fully charged.”
“It is,” I say as I zip my backpack. “And I won’t be alone.”
There’s a slight pause. “You won’t be?”
“No.”
“Who’s going with you…?” she asks slowly.
Now it’s my turn to pause. Of course she’s surprised. I never go hiking with anyone. I don’t do anything with anyone. “Trevor,” I say tentatively. “The vet.”
“Oh,” Mom says, sounding much more awake now. “Really? That’s great! Sounds like you’ve made a good friend.”
I stare down at my backpack on the table and my brow furrows in confusion. Did I? Friends have never been my thing. The idea of getting close to someone, spending time with them, sharing interests… it’s always made me uncomfortable. I prefer to be alone, where things are predictable and there’s no pressure to connect and perform.
But… Trevor and I share interests. We’ve spent time together. So, I guess that could make him a friend.
But still, something about that just feels… weird.
“Yeah…” I trail off, an unfamiliar feeling taking hold at this realization. But my eyes flick to the clock and I shift my thoughts, because I need to leave in less than two minutes. “I have to go.”
“Ok, honey,” Mom says gently. “Have fun and be safe. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I say as I sling the backpack over my shoulder.
I shove my phone in my pocket, grab my keys, and head outside into the crisp morning air. The sky is in that delicate in-between stage, slowly shifting from the deep blues of night to the pale purples and blues of early dawn, like a soft, gradual unveiling of the day.
I take a deep breath as I let the fresh air fill my lungs, and slide into my car. And as I pull out onto the road and make my way towards Cobbler’s Path to meet Trevor, I try to hold on to this peaceful feeling.
But my mind just keeps circling around one thought.
He’s a friend.
Right?
The trailhead is quiet as Trevor and I walk side by side, the soft crunch of dirt under our boots the only sound in the stillness around us. This part of the path is just under one kilometre, and is an easy walk until we reach the coastline. There, it will open up to sweeping views of the ocean over jagged, rocky cliffs, and the hike will become more of a challenge. But right now, as the parking lot disappears behind us, we’re surrounded by towering trees that cast shadows across the path as the sun starts to climb.
As we walk in silence, I glance at Trevor beside me.
I invited him here.
It’s like a completely different part of me came out when I was at the clinic with him, and I told him I changed my plans to be there. Then we started talking about hiking and… I asked him if he wanted to join me this weekend.
I’ve never done that before, with anyone.
And now he’s here.
But I’ve never done this before.
My heart starts beating fast as the reality of this sinks in, and I lift my hands to grip the straps of my backpack. But this is so confusing. Because as uneasy as I feel, I also… don’t mind it. Even though we’ve only been walking for about five minutes, and we haven’t said anything since we left the parking lot. But it’s not uncomfortable.
It’s different.
And the more I focus on this feeling, the less I understand it.
Trevor turns to look at me, and I quickly bring my gaze back to the path before me.
“Have you done this hike before?” he asks.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the dirt beneath my boots. “Not yet this year though.”
He’s quiet, so I glance at him again. He looks relaxed and at ease, watching the path ahead as we walk. And it looks like this is right where he wants to be.
“Have you?” I ask.
He turns his head to look at me, and my gaze immediately drops to his mouth so I can keep my attention on him while he answers. My eyes trace the lines of his lips, taking in the way they move around each word as he speaks, and the way they tilt up more at one corner. I’ve noticed they always seem to do that… like he’s always on the verge of smiling and laughing.
“A couple years ago,” he says.
I nod again, turning away from him as my pulse quickens, and my confusion grows. Why am I feeling like this…?
I get anxious around people. Especially a lot of people. But I don’t get anxious out here.
And I invited him out here.
But I haven’t felt like this with him before.
Is this an anxious feeling? It feels different somehow…
Because he’s a friend? I’ve never been good at that, and have never wanted friendships to work out, but… I think I want this to work. I think I like having him here. He cared for the bi rd and invited me to visit. He doesn’t ignore me or tell me to stop talking, or make me talk when I don’t want to. He rescued a raccoon, he?—
“Where’s Neville?” I ask, coming to a stop.
Trevor stops too and turns to look at me with surprise. “He’s at home.”
“All day? Alone?” My heart is now thundering, and my hands squeeze the straps of my backpack.
Trevor smiles with a nod. “He’s got a comfy setup. He’s all taken care of.”
Suddenly, it’s like all the anxious energy swirling around in me finds a target and latches onto this one, tangible thing. The vague and confusing feelings I can’t make sense of are now rushing towards this problem, as something I can grasp and focus on, and my mind locks onto it, feeding into the worry and letting it grow like wildfire.
“What does he do when you’re gone?” I ask, the questions flowing now that the floodgate has opened and I have an outlet. “Does he have food? Is he inside or outside? Does he have somewhere to go to the bathroom? Does he have somewhere to sleep? What if something happens and you don’t know…”
Trevor steps towards me with a soft smile and a shake of his head. “Raccoons are nocturnal, and even though he’s quite domesticated, he enjoys a quiet day to sleep. He’s usually waking up in his comfy bed when I get home, ready for a rambunctious night,” he chuckles. “His food dish is full if he wakes up looking for a snack, and he’s actually litter-box trained.”
I release a breath and let his answers sink in, but the worry remains.
“And if something happens…” I ask, lifting my eyes to meet his for a moment .
He nods thoughtfully, before I drop my gaze to his mouth again to watch his words.
“Well…” he starts slowly. “I think that’s a risk we all take every day.” His shoulders rise and fall with a gentle shrug. “We never really know what’s going to happen, right? But we just keep living. We take care of what we can, and hope everything works out.”
I nod as those words settle over me. “Yeah,” I say quietly.
His lips turn up in a smile, and I lift my eyes to meet his again. Then he tilts his head towards the trail. “Keep going?”
With another nod, we both turn and continue our walk down the trail.
But I can’t help but steal another glance at him.
We never know what’s going to happen… and we take risks every day.
I don’t take many risks.
I like my structured routine. It’s safe, and I know exactly what to expect.
But I’ve been taking risks with him. I changed my regular plans to go to the clinic, and I invited him here, into my space, and my routine, which I never share with anyone.
I have no idea what this means.