Chapter 82
Liz hadn’t joined the others for a swim. She padded barefoot in the shallows, alone, salt water lapping coolly at her ankles.
The last time she’d swum in the sea, Joni had been with her.
She pictured the arctic-blue waters, Joni swimming over to her, dark hair slicked back, eyes glittering.
She had reached for Liz’s hand, their wet fingers entwining, as she’d thanked her for organizing the hike, saying, “We came for this.” Joni’s this had been that golden moment: the four of them, together, in the ocean.
Liz dipped her hand into the clear water, reaching for a shell. She turned it over in her palm, examining the sunburst of ridges and smooth interior. Then she carried it to the shoreline, carefully placing the shell in the pattern she’d created, pressing its damp surface into the sand.
“You didn’t fancy the swim?” Maggie asked, approaching, wet hair dripping down her shoulders.
Helena had reinstated Freddie on her back and joined them, too.
“Not this time,” Liz said quietly.
Maggie looked down, her gaze registering the pattern of shells and pebbles that Liz had arranged. Cockles, razor clams, and limpet shells weaved together to form letters that stretched across a meter of beach.
J O N I G O L D
Maggie smiled, eyes misting. “It’s beautiful.”
“I dreamed about her last night,” Helena said quietly. “I often do. The mountain. That night in the cabin. Walking over the ridge. The thunderstorm. All of it.” She rubbed her arms as if she were cold.
Liz dreamed about her, too. Sometimes she’d wake in a cold sweat from a recurring nightmare.
In it, she was standing on that pinnacle edge, heart splintered with rage, hands gripping Joni’s shoulders.
Only, in the nightmare, Liz didn’t step back: she pushed.
And as Joni fell, eyes widening with terror, Joni cried out, “You wanted me dead!” That’s when Liz would wake, breathless, disoriented—reaching for Patrick, the light.
Other times, though, the dreams were good. That was what she tried to hold on to. Joni singing to a beaming crowd in the lodge. Chocolate shared around a campfire. The lush green grass at her ankles as she strode out beneath a blue sky.
Tears leaked from her eyes.
“Liz?” Maggie asked, placing a hand on her arm.
“I still can’t get my head around it. How are we here, and she’s not?”
“I know . . . ,” Maggie said gently.
“The hike—it was my idea. If I hadn’t suggested it, Joni would still be alive.
I feel so guilty.” She shook her head. Swallowed.
“But . . . but I also feel angry! So fucking furious with her! She did the very worst thing to me—she slept with Patrick!” Liz kicked the display of shells, scattering them across the shore, leaving a darkened gouge in the sand.
“But then she followed it by doing the most selfless thing of all.” She looked at her friends. “Joni died for us. And I don’t know how I’m meant to feel.”
After a time, Maggie said quietly, “There is no meant to when it comes to feelings. You feel what you feel.”
“I miss her. That’s what I feel,” she said, tears rolling freely now.
“I miss everything about her. I miss her laugh. I miss how impulsive she was. I miss the version of myself I was when I was with her. I miss the way she’d walk into a room and the energy would change.
I miss smoking together. I miss her drama and light and lust for life.
I miss her so much!” She covered her face with her hands as her body was racked with sobs.
“And if it hadn’t been for me, she’d still be here. ”
“You’re right about one thing,” Helena said.
“Joni died for us. And that’s why we’re not going to stand here and beat ourselves up or waste time feeling guilty.
I could kick myself for all the awful things I said to Joni on that hike—holding her to account over my mother’s funeral, sharing that video, grilling her over the cocaine—but where is the good in that?
I’ve wrestled with those demons—turns out there’s a lot of time for that when you’re up half the night feeding—and you know what I’ve realized?
Joni wouldn’t want that. She’d want us to start living.
Like she did. In the moment. Fast and hard and bright and fully. ”
Liz wiped her face, nodding through her tears. Helena was right.
Freddie, strapped in the backpack, started to whine.
“We’re trying to have a moment down here,” Helena said, reaching back to gently squeeze his toes.
Undeterred, Freddie continued to grizzle, little fists pumping in agitation.
“Looks like it’s time to move,” Maggie said.
“Start walking. I’ll catch you up,” said Liz, who was still barefoot.
She pulled on her socks, then pushed her sand-dusted feet into her hiking boots, thumbs brushing over the worn leather.
She paused for a moment, noticing how the heels were beginning to wear down and one of the eyelets was coming loose.
Her boots were tired, sun faded, and dusted with fragments of soil and sand and mountain dust. She’d walked in rain and mist and sunshine.
She’d walked in pain and in happiness. She’d walked to get somewhere, and to leave another place. But she would always walk.
If the mountains had taught Liz anything, it was that the journey was never about reaching the peak. You climbed—and kept climbing—to push through the struggle and experience the glimpses of beauty along the way. For how the climb made you feel.
Before leaving the beach, Liz repaired the pattern of shells, so that Joni’s name remained by the sea. She stole a final look at it, then turned and jogged after the others.
Maggie was walking at Helena’s side, the two of them humming a light tune to soothe Freddie. The path was wide enough for Liz to join them. The lullaby they were humming was familiar and calming. Freddie’s murmurs quieted, his fingers softening.
Then Liz realized: the song was familiar not because it was a lullaby, but because it was one of Joni’s.
The corners of her lips turned up as she began to hum, too, the vibration of the notes sending a ripple of pleasure through her body. She could feel the music inside her, easing her muscles, releasing tension in her shoulders.
She looked ahead to where their path flowed across a cliff top gilded by lowering sun, and she felt Joni’s presence somewhere in that light, watching: the three of them, her music on their lips, taking one step after the other, and continuing to walk.