Chapter 31 Thorn
Well, that was the cherry on top of the shit sundae the last couple of days has been. And unlike so much of the rest that’s gone wrong, this particular mess is entirely my fault.
Sadie has been the best part of this trek by far—I never meant to hurt her.
If I could, I’d spend the rest of our time together out here with just her: exploring the wilderness by day, exploring each other by night.
And I don’t just mean physically, though of course there’s that—I want to know everything about her, what she loves and what she wants, what scars she’s endured and overcome, what made her cry that day on the cliff, what compelled her to leave so many of her comfort items behind out of nowhere.
All of this is why I had to say what I did.
All of it.
I don’t know how to do my job and spend time with Sadie, it’s as plain as that.
Being with her is disarming—not in the bad way she assumes, but because she makes me feel like a different person altogether.
A person who was put on this planet for more than the job that requires so much focus; a person who was put on this planet to actually live, not just help others along on their own journeys.
If I think about that too much, it makes me not want to do my job at all. Which is obviously not an option right now, seeing as seven people—Sadie included—are dependent on me to get them through the rest of the trip.
The way I see it, my job isn’t just to know how to fix problems—it’s to keep them from happening in the first place.
I didn’t see the warning signs with Dad until it was too late: his labored breathing the last time we came out here, how we had to cut our trip short and head out from Wild Gate, straight to the ER.
I didn’t see the warning signs with my parents, either, in the months leading up to their divorce. The signs were there—but I assumed they’d fade in time.
I didn’t see anything coming when it came to Blair, or Matteo, or Peru.
Maybe Matteo was right, back at the cliff—maybe, if I’d just paid better attention, I could have saved myself a lot of pain.
Well, I’m paying attention now.
If I’m vigilant, no one will get hurt.
I make my way back to the campfire, scan to see who’s missing. Everyone’s here but Zoe.
“Did Zoe go to bed already?” I ask.
“She’s in her tent,” Parker says. “Went there a while ago.”
“I can go check on her, if you want?” Emma offers.
“That would be great, thanks,” I say. “Just need to give everyone the rundown for tomorrow.”
The fire crackles and pops, loud against the otherwise silent night.
Emma is always able to draw out the talkative sides of Hunter and Silas and Parker, but once she’s gone, they revert to their usual introverted ways.
Trey can also usually be counted on to fill the silence, but he’s preoccupied with getting a splinter out of his thumb at the moment.
Sadie’s extra quiet tonight, too. I hate seeing her like this—defeated, frustrated, upset—and I especially hate knowing I am the reason for it.
Emma returns, Zoe in tow. The circles under Zoe’s eyes look almost like bruises in this low lighting, shadows and firelight flickering across her face.
“Hey, everyone,” I say. “I’ll make this quick—I know you’re eager to get some rest. But tomorrow is our traditional day of solitude, so I just want to go over what that will look like since it starts at sunrise.”
All eyes are on me except Sadie’s.
I swallow, trying to shake off the way it snags my attention, the way I wish I’d worded things better when we talked—the way it would be so much easier if someone else were in charge and I were just another hiker.
But that’s not my reality right now, so I’ve got to find a way to put my feelings aside. To put myself aside.
“The traditional day of solitude,” I go on, “is built into every itinerary as a day of rest before we summit Mount Valerie together. From sunrise to sunset, we’ll spend the entire day in silence—no talking to each other, except in cases of emergency.”
“A whole day of silence?” Zoe says, arms crossed and clearly ready to get back to her tent. “What are we supposed to do? That sounds super boring.”
“We like to build in time for reflection,” I reply. “Is this trek everything you expected it to be, or totally different? Is there anything that surprised you along the way? Have you experienced any big shifts in perspective? Things like that.”
Parker and Silas and Hunter look eager, while Trey and Emma seem less convinced—and Zoe is just impatient.
When my eyes land on Sadie, she finally looks up.
Her intensity is magnetic. I can’t turn away.
She breaks first, though, so that’s that.
I clear my throat, trying to remember what I was going to say next.
“I have a couple of extra pens and can tear out some journal pages if anyone wants to write out their thoughts,” I go on.
“There’s also a nature trail if you want to take a walk—it’s a pretty short loop, and all I ask is that you don’t stray from the path.
We’ve got plenty of space to spread out, so you’ll feel alone throughout the day even if you’re not totally by yourself.
Don’t go so far away that you’re off my radar—and this waterfall pool isn’t one you want to swim in, by the way.
The last thing we need is for someone to get lost or hurt. Any questions?”
I glance around, leave space for the others to speak up.
No one does.
I’m just about to wish them good night and good luck when Sadie catches my eye.
“So, just to be clear, when can we talk again?” she asks.
Something about her question sends my mind straight back to an hour ago—the way I told her it would be most helpful for the two of us to not talk anymore, even though that’s the last thing I actually want—and it throws me for a loop, making me forget the context entirely.
When can we talk again?
I force my attention back to what she’s actually asking: after our collective day of solitude and silence, when can the group feel free to talk again?
“Sunset tomorrow,” I say. “Silence is a discipline, so just do your best. If you forget, it’s okay to reset and start fresh.”
When we’re done, Zoe heads back to her tent without another word. Everyone else seems eager to talk as much as possible while they can. They start with Two Truths and a Lie—with a dash of Truth or Dare—that culminates in Emma launching into a very loud, very off-key song.
I don’t realize I’m watching for Sadie’s reaction until her eyes flick toward mine. This would most definitely spark some sort of flirty banter between us on any other night—but tonight, again, she just looks away.
They move on to more ghost stories, and Parker tells everyone about the house where her grandmother lives, which definitely sounds haunted.
“Could you keep it down?” Zoe interrupts a while later, not even bothering to poke her head outside her tent. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”
Emma and Trey exchange an eye roll, though everyone lowers the volume a few notches without Zoe having to ask twice.
As loud as the others have been, Sadie’s hardly said a word, a shell of her usual self. If anyone’s noticed, they haven’t shown it.
“I think I’m going to try to sleep, too,” she says a few minutes later, out of nowhere. “Y’all have a good night, okay?”
It takes everything in me to not follow Sadie to her tent—to not take back every word I said earlier—but she’s been front and center in my thoughts all night as it is. If I’m this distracted not talking to her, how much worse would it be if I were to give in?
I can’t stand the thought of her thinking I don’t want to talk to her, though. That I don’t want her around.
There has to be some way I can show her how I feel without risking the steep slide of accidentally falling into her tent for the rest of the night.
I help Silas and Hunter and Trey clean up around the campfire before heading to bed—and that’s when it hits me, courtesy of the speckled blue camp cup Hunter uses every day.
When everything is still and quiet, I slip over in secret to Sadie’s tent. I’m thankful for the crescent moon, which gives off just enough of a glow that I won’t have to turn on a light of my own.
I hold my breath, careful not to crunch too loudly as I step through gravel and fallen branches to get there.
Just outside the door to her tent, I set everything up where there’s no chance she’ll miss it: both boxes of coffee, the various pieces of her pour-over equipment, and her favorite mug—all of it acting as a paperweight on top of my note, scribbled hastily on a page torn from my journal.
Sadie’s so close right now, and the temptation is real; I hurry back to my tent before I break down and ask if I can climb into hers instead.
Make it through the rest of this trek, I tell myself. If she’s still on your mind after that, you can…
I pause, unsure how to even finish that sentence.
Can what?
Can tell her how much I’ve enjoyed getting to spend time with her, knowing she’s just going to fly back to Texas while I’m ushering in a brand-new wave of hikers for the next adventure?
It suddenly seems like a never-ending cycle: I’m a pony at a state fair, walking the same circles over and over.
And while the rider dismounts after a little while, I never leave.
The track just gets deeper and deeper the longer I’m on it, a trench that’s simultaneously comforting—it’s what I know, what I’m good at, and in a lot of ways, a home I love—and stifling.
At what point does the trench become a trap that I’m unable to climb out of?
Maybe I should have thought twice before writing back to Sky Ranger, maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to say no.
But what other option did I have? Now more than ever, Danica needs me.
It’s not like she has a stable full of reliable guides just waiting for their turn in the ring—she’s got Jess, who didn’t plan well enough to be here and got stuck in Hawaii.
She’s got Matteo. She’s got a few others, too, but they’ve made it clear they’re not here for the long haul.
What would happen to the tour company if I left?
More than that, I simply love being out here. I always have.
Right?
Sure, it’s the same thing over and over, but the people make it different every time—it’s never the exact same adventure, and it always brings new challenges. It’s never bothered me to this extent before.
Tonight, I can’t seem to let it go.
For the first time in as long as I’ve been a hiking guide, I’m starting to wonder if I’m less of a risk-taker than I’ve always believed. If I truly want to be brave and stretch myself, maybe I should consider stepping out of the rhythms I’ve built here and try something new—
With someone new.
But the idea of leaving the pony circle of these trails feels overwhelming, if I’m honest.
What is my life outside of this place?