Chapter 27
Remi
The sun is shining as we walk the trail toward our mountain climb. It’s not far from the last site we visited. We even have the same guide.
Auggie and Benson are trailing behind the two of us, the brothers bickering about the most mundane of things. Actually, Auggie is bickering, whereas Benson is finally just speaking his mind. Auggie enjoys it, from the way he keeps prodding his older brother to continue.
“But not all meat has the same texture,” Auggie is saying, the lack of wind making it easy enough to pick out his words.
“No, but it’s not worth the chance,” Benson replies.
“Chance of what?”
“Getting a bad bite. It ruins the experience and puts me off my meal. I’d rather not bother.”
Auggie is quiet for a second. “What about bacon?”
“If it’s not cooked enough, it’s awful.”
“Bacon bits?”
Benson scoffs. “As if you can call that meat.”
My lips twitch.
“Okay, then explain the pants thing to me,” Auggie says.
Benson sighs like they’ve had this conversation already. “What about it?”
“You have six pairs of the exact same jeans. Same wash. Same style. Same everything.”
“Because it’s the most comfortable pair I own.”
“You own six.”
“You’re stating the obvious,” Benson says flatly. “Was there a question in there?”
Auggie growls, the sound more laugh than anything. “Why the hell do you need so many pairs?”
“Because they get dirty at the ranch, and I’m not doing laundry every day. Plus, sometimes they get holes or wear out. I don’t want to risk them not being available for sale the next time I need to replace a pair. Having backups gives me time to find a new favorite.”
“Can’t you just…pick something else?”
I look over my shoulder in time to see Benson’s appalled expression. Auggie must notice the same thing because he quickly backpedals.
“Yeesh, never mind. Forget I insulted your personal pants faith.”
“It’s not…faith,” Benson retorts. “It’s a carefully curated system meant to lessen the mental load each morning of picking clothes as well as mitigate discomfort from items that feel…wrong. Some clothing is offensive, and I’m too damn old to accept that sort of treatment from my wardrobe.”
Auggie catches my eye, amusement on his face as he repeats, “Offensive.”
“Have you met wool?”
My friend barks a laugh. “So I probably shouldn’t get you clothes for Christmas, huh?”
“Not if you’ll be disappointed if I don’t wear them,” Benson agrees.
Auggie snorts just as we come to a stop at the base of our marked incline.
It’s cooler in this area, the mountain shading us and trees stretching high, providing even more cover.
Benson is wearing his most comfortable jeans, along with a lightweight long-sleeved tee. I take a beat to appreciate the view.
“Agh,” Auggie complains, waving his hand in front of my face. “Stop trying to make babies.”
Benson, glancing our way, asks, “Do we really need to have this discussion again?”
Our guide coughs a laugh before injecting some professionalism into his voice.
He goes over the stretch of mountain we’ll be climbing, which is split into three separate parts.
The third is most difficult, featuring an edge near the top we’ll have to maneuver over.
He’ll be lead climbing again to place our anchors.
As he sets everything up, Benson pulls a granola bar out of his backpack. ‘Want some?’ he signs before ripping it open.
I must be giving the man heart eyes for offering to split his granola bar with me because Auggie makes another disgusted sound. I ignore him and hold out my hand. Benson breaks the bar in two and passes half my way, looking so pleased with himself my stomach swoops.
I lean up to whisper in his ear. “So damn good to me.”
Benson’s cheeks are red when I fall back on my heels. I hum to myself as I bite off a piece of the granola bar, making a mental note to share my trail mix later.
Once the first section of our climb is ready to go, we get into our gear. I don’t have my winter beanie this time, the weather too warm for it, so I slip on a ballcap to help keep my CI in place, the brim behind me so it doesn’t get in the way.
Benson looks at me curiously for a long moment.
‘Don’t like it?’ I sign.
He shakes his head slowly. ‘I do. Could you wear a cowboy hat sometime?’
My grin is slow-spreading. ‘Yeah. If you’ll wear chaps for me.’
Auggie gags. “I beg you, please. There’s not enough bleach in the world for this. Why am I even here?”
“Because you enjoy it,” I tell him, tossing grippy, fingerless gloves his way before slipping my helmet on over my ballcap.
He pulls the gloves on, even as he shudders. “Yeah, well, I’m starting to enjoy it a lot less.”
Despite his complaints, Auggie is the first in line to start his climb after donning his own helmet. The guide gets him strapped in before doing the same for Benson. They start up separate paths as I shrug my small backpack on.
It’s only twenty-five feet or so to our first stopping point.
Our guide once again sets up anchor points as the three of us rest for a minute and enjoy the view.
There’s a field down below us that’s filled with yellow glacier lilies and what I suspect are spring beauties.
They’re small and white, practically blanketing the earth beneath the pops of yellow.
I give Benson a nudge, his leg pressed to mine. “What does that remind you of?”
Auggie and Benson both look where I point. It’s Benson who answers, “You?”
Huffing, I work hard to collect myself and my fluttering heart before saying, “I meant, like, an object.”
Benson merely shrugs. “They just remind me of you.”
“What do they remind you of?” Auggie asks me.
I look back at the flowers, a small smile on my face. “Warm cornbread. Or…buttered popcorn and movie night under a blanket. The way the sun shines on the white slatted fence around my mom’s garden. Her ridiculously large sunhat. That first sip of lemonade in the summer. The smell of pennies.”
“The smell of pennies?” Benson cuts in. “Why?”
“It’s like…fun and childhood, I guess? I rarely ever use coins now, but they remind me of the summer festivals in town when I was young and would buy my own donuts. Yellow and white are comforting. Warm. They’re possibilities of future mixed with anchor points from the past.”
Auggie hums. “I just see flowers.”
Benson’s brow furrows as his gaze moves from the wildflowers to me. “Does all color make you feel like that?”
“Yeah? I guess so.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Oh God,” I moan. “Don’t ask me that. It’s like asking me to pick a favorite child. Or chick.”
“Buttercup might be mine,” Benson says, the words sounding like an admission. “Don’t tell the others.”
I snort a laugh. “Your secret is safe. But no, I like all colors. Life should be full of different sorts of emotions. Different kinds of memories. I could never pick just one.”
“Mine is black,” Auggie says. “Like my soul.”
“Your soul is not black,” I combat, reaching past Benson to shove Auggie’s shoulder. “You’re more like an oil slick, all colorful and jewel-toned.”
“What?” he asks, shock on his face. “You can see my soul colors? Are they…on me now?”
“I don’t see them literally,” I say as Auggie runs his hands over himself like he’s wiping spiders off his skin.
“Do I have colors?” Benson asks.
I pick at my nail as I nod. “Of course.”
“What are they?”
Christ, I almost regret bringing this up. “You’re like…heirloom corn.”
“Corn,” Benson repeats, his eyes creased as they rove over my face. “So yellow?”
“It’s more than that. Yeah, there’s yellow. But there’s also orange and earthy red.” My gaze skips to his hair before I find his eyes again, the brown watching me closely. “Light purple. Gray-blue. An almost translucent pink. Green.”
I wonder if Benson realizes they’re also the colors on the ranch after a rainstorm. The clouds, the mountains, the earth. If he remembers our conversation about rain clouds, he doesn’t mention it.
His regard sure does feel heavy, though.
“Oh, we’re ready,” Auggie interjects, the only one of us paying attention to our guide.
We get back at it, this slant of mountain full of easy handholds and pits for our feet. The incline is less forgiving, however, far more vertical than our first climb. Realistically, I know a fall only means a short, five-foot drop. But I’d still rather not slip.
My fingers are aching by the time I clear the second checkpoint. I shake them out, watching as Auggie reaches the flat edge. He rolls onto his back on the surface, groaning dramatically. “I’m so out of shape.”
I eye my slip of a friend. “If you want to visit the ranch more often, I can show you which hay bales need to be moved.”
His head rolls my way slowly. “Our friendship has limits, Remi.”
I snort, bending down to pat his helmet.
Benson has a small smile on his face as he reaches the ledge, his cheeks rosy above his beard. He’s clearly having a good time, which makes every single ache in my arms and legs worth it.
Auggie pants out a breath. “I wouldn’t have…taken you as a daredevil.”
“It’s easy if you don’t look down,” Benson claims.
“Uh-huh,” Auggie deadpans, trying to collect the energy to stand.
Benson unclips himself as our guide joins us, landing spryly on his feet. “Y’all ready for the next one?”
Auggie whines.
We take another breather as our guide preps the final leg of our climb. He’ll be the first up top this time to help the rest of us over the ledge that juts out. We’ll also go up individually, instead of in twos, since there are fewer safe paths to ascend.
I sip my water as we wait, a couple birds flitting around the top of a tree just below us. Benson watches them, as well, content in a way that has me feeling the same.
Once we’re ready to go, our guide talks Auggie through the final stretch, letting him know the best spots to grab on to and where he needs to take some risks. For all Auggie’s talk of being out of shape, he has no trouble with it. The guide pulls him up over the top, where he disappears.