Chapter 29 Thorn
No one got a good night’s sleep, from what I can tell—which is great, since we have another long day of hiking ahead of us.
I’m not satisfied with how this stop on our itinerary has gone, to say the least. Alexandria Flats is always meant to be inspiring and motivating: Look how big the night sky is, I like to tell our groups before stargazing.
And even though this cliff is high and goes straight down, with enough ingenuity and bravery and confidence—and the right knots—you can conquer it.
I’m gonna go out on a limb and say inspired and motivated is very much not the mood today.
“I told you we shouldn’t have shared so much,” I overhear Hunter saying to Silas when they don’t realize I’m listening.
There’s no coffee this morning; apparently, they ran out.
I feel a little guilty having Sadie’s entire coffee stash tucked away in my pack, but I feel like it would raise more questions than anything—from her and everyone else—if I were to whip it all out right now.
When everyone’s packed up and ready to go, I give the rundown for today’s trek. The group feels so intimate compared to the first day: now it’s just Hunter and Silas and Trey, Parker and Emma, Zoe and her yoga—and Sadie. And me.
“We’ve got a full day ahead,” I announce to the seven exhausted faces staring back at me. “Matteo and Joshua should be able to meet back up with us at our next campsite, so for now, we’re going to continue as planned.”
Sadie’s words from last night echo in my mind as I go on in more detail about our itinerary—the foothill path along the southern rim of the Mackenzie Lake Loop—and the reminders I give every single morning: bug spray, sunscreen, don’t forget to hydrate, and on and on.
I am attentive, I think to myself. I am responsible.
But as we set off, the doubts creep in. I can’t shake my conversation with Danica, the confidence she has in me: Can I just say what a relief it is to have someone like you in a situation like this?
I want those words to be true.
I need those words to be true.
But do I really have the focus, the willpower, to be the leader she’s relying on me to be?
Last night was good progress. It took incredible restraint to leave Sadie’s tent when I did; I slept out under the stars again, but it was even lonelier than I expected without her by my side.
I couldn’t stop thinking about our waterfall kiss—how the day started so perfectly, the two of us together in our own little world, but went steeply downhill from there.
Dueling shades of guilt battled it out in my head all night long: that I let my guard down in the first place—and that I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Which is why I can hardly look at her today.
It’s not that I don’t want to—
It’s that I want her too much.
We trek single file along the foothill path, following the shape of the landscape, each view more incredible than the last as the path winds higher and higher.
There aren’t any designated rest stops like on other trails in the park—just a few areas where the path widens a bit more than it does elsewhere.
Despite the scenery, it’s one of our more arduous hikes.
“Wow, it’s really pretty up here,” Sadie says quietly, pulling me out of my head. It’s the first time we’ve spoken all day—I’m painfully aware of how little I’ve said to her since last night.
“Yeah,” I reply. “It really is.”
A flash of blue catches my eye in the treetops below.
My tradition along this stretch of the trail is to count all the mountain bluebirds—whenever Dad or I spotted one flitting between tree branches for the first time each trip, he’d whistle the melody of their birdsong.
One time, a bird sang back. We used to wear matching ball caps in the exact shade of their feathers, but mine eventually faded so much it was practically white—a reminder that everything changes in time, like it or not.
We pause for a snack break in midafternoon. With no benches or boulders to sit on, most of the group sits down on the trodden dirt path—even Sadie, who most certainly would have scoffed at the idea on her first few days out here.
Zoe is the only one who insists on standing.
“I’ve got a tarp if you want it?” I offer, but she declines.
I settle down between Sadie and Trey, then rummage around in my pack for a protein bar. There’s a vibration from one of the interior pockets—my phone. Maybe it’s Matteo, finally checking in to let me know how his progress with Joshua is going?
When I pull it out, though, it’s not a text notification on the screen, and it’s not from Matteo at all—it’s an email from Sky Ranger.
I swipe it open.
To: august.thorn@
From: skyranger@
Subject: Update on the Job Opening
Hello again, Thorn,
Hope all is well. Brief update here: I’ve got someone with serious interest in my Lead Hiking Guide position, but since I offered to you first, I thought it was only right to circle back to you before moving forward.
This isn’t to pressure you unduly, but if you do think you might be interested in making the move—especially to my Arizona or Texas locations, where I have the most need at the moment—I’ll give you priority if you want the job.
I know there are a number of factors to consider, so I truly don’t mean to pressure you—but if you are interested, the sooner you can let me know, the better. I can hold it for a day, maybe two.
Talk soon,
Sky Ranger
“Thorn?” Sadie says. “You good?”
Only now do I realize I’m not looking at my phone so much as fixated on its screen like I’m trying to decipher an alien language.
“Oh, yeah, it’s just an email,” I tell her, though the words feel inadequate as they roll off my tongue.
It’s hard to describe the feelings that hit while reading Sky’s email: an immediate gut reaction of I could never leave followed by the smallest whisper of But what if I did…? It’s been months since he first brought it up, but now that I have to make an actual choice—and soon—it feels real.
I can measure my life in experiences I’ve had on the trails of Valerie Forest National Park: first with my dad, later with Matteo and Dad, and for the last six years, with the tour company and the thousands of trekkers I’ve guided along the way.
I’ve got roots deep as any trees out here—it’s hard to imagine ever leaving, both on the personal and professional fronts.
That said, I can’t help but wonder what life would look like if I were to move somewhere else. I don’t know anyone in Arizona or Texas—
Except, actually, I do. Sadie lives in Texas.
I tuck my phone back inside my pack, resisting the urge to check just how far the drive would be between Sky’s tour headquarters—somewhere in the Hill Country—and Austin, where Sadie lives.
I shake the thought out of my head, try to put it completely out of my mind.
The very last thing I need right now is to think about spending more time with Sadie.
We make it without issue to our campsite: one day (mostly) down without a coleader, and one more to go.
Tomorrow is the traditional day of solitude and silence that we work into every itinerary prior to summitting Mount Valerie, and Sparrow Valley is the perfect place for it: between the peaceful meadow, the nature trail, the stream lined with flowers and boulders and trees, and one of the park’s more majestic waterfalls just down the waterbed, there are a multitude of places we can all spread out without being too far from each other.
If I’m honest, our day of solitude and silence can’t come soon enough.
I’ve fallen hard for Sadie Whitlock, despite my best efforts to resist her, and I need to get my head on straight.
The trek is on my shoulders alone right now—I can’t afford any distractions if I’m going to be the leader Danica’s trusting me to be, the leader the group deserves. I have to be able to trust myself.
The only way to do that, as much as I wish otherwise, means putting some distance between myself and Sadie. It’s the last thing I want—but it’s for her own good. It’s up to me to keep her safe.
If her safety means sacrificing my own comfort, well, that’s what I have to do.