Chapter 56
Joni woke. She could hear the light snores of the others in the dim. A deep gloom had settled over her, like a heavy weight pressing against her chest. A feeling of dread suffused her.
Her first clear thought was: I need the cocaine.
She hated herself for it. Hated the magnetic pull, her blood hot and desperate, craving the hit. When she was on tour, it was easier to call this feeling by another name: partying, getting high, life on the road.
Out here, in the clarity of the mountains, it had only one: addiction.
She stole silently out of the lower bunk.
Her calves were tight and knotted from yesterday’s ascent as she tiptoed stiffly across the icy floorboards.
She’d slept in her shorts and fleece but now, with the woodstove out, the cabin was frigid.
Her bare legs pricked with goose bumps, and she could see her breath in small, shallow clouds.
She crept through the dim toward the chair where Liz had draped her jacket. Carefully, she picked her way around Erik, who lay on his roll mat, sleeping bag pulled to his chin. Reaching the jacket, she slipped her hand into the pocket. Empty.
Her heart kicked between her ribs. She needed the cocaine!
Behind her, Erik stirred. She froze, hearing him rolling onto his side, pulling the sleeping bag tighter.
Joni waited, barely breathing. After a few moments, once she was certain he’d settled, she slid her hand into the second pocket of Liz’s coat.
There! The familiar shape of the bag, the weight of it in her fingertips. The relief was golden.
She grabbed her own jacket, pushed the cocaine into its deepest pocket, and made for the door, grabbing her hiking boots as she went.
She stole out into the early dawn, taking a full breath as her feet met the damp ground and the cabin door closed quietly behind her.
—
Joni walked a little way, bare toes clinging to the rocky path. The morning was cool and clouded, mist thickening the air with tiny particles of moisture.
She moved quickly, wanting to put space between her and the cabin, so she could do this in private. The path was stone and earth, descending gradually along the edge of the mountain.
She glanced over her shoulder but could still see the cabin. She needed to be out of sight.
Joni must have been walking for about fifteen minutes when she noticed a smooth outcrop of rock overhanging the mountain edge. It looked like a platform suspended above the clouded mountain valley.
Drawn toward it, Joni left the trail and moved closer. The platform was only a couple of meters wide and hung—seemingly impossibly—above air.
One day, this rocky pinnacle would snap, tumble down the mountain face.
What day would it choose?
Three decades’ time?
Tomorrow?
Now?
She stepped onto it.
She looked out over the wide-open landscape, taking in the undulating mountains, the coast in the far distance, revealed in glimmers by drifting bands of cloud and, below her, a silver river snaking far, far down.
Breeze against her face, cocaine heavy in her pocket, a slow dawning arrived. This was the spot, she realized. The front cover of the geography project she’d made with Liz. They’d known it was somewhere on the Svelle route, but here it was.
Joni didn’t feel any sense of elation, because this moment was supposed to be for the two of them—fulfilling their childhood promise together.
Forged in innocence. Yet the reality was something darker: here she was, alone, a bag of stolen coke stuffed in her jacket.
That’s who Joni Gold had become. The sort of person who went through her friends’ things.
Who’d walk out on her band. Who didn’t show up when it counted. Who lied. Cheated.
Yesterday, Helena’s words had hit bone. Everything she’d said was true. Instead of going to the funeral, Joni had stayed on tour, gotten out of her mind. Hadn’t even raised a glass to Helena’s mother. Hadn’t even known what day of the week it was.
That’s who she was.
Someone who’d do that to a friend.
Someone who’d do worse.
She wondered what it would feel like to take one more step. Right off the edge. That moment of weightlessness. The plunge downward, the breath of cloud against her face.
She moved forward a touch—and waited to feel something.
Her heart rate didn’t change. Low, steady. She waited to feel a burst of fear—of something stronger than the loathing. But there was nothing.
She eased her feet further forward.
There was no one to stop her except herself.