Epilogue 1
Marissa
Two weeks later, the second desk arrives.
It’s sixty inches. Oak. I ordered it from a furniture maker in Bozeman who does custom work and I paid extra for rush delivery because I’ve been working off a folding table for fourteen days and my professional dignity has limits.
Levi carries it in with Kai’s help. They set it against the wall where the dents are and it fits perfectly because I measured twice and I don’t make measurement errors.
“It’s bigger than mine,” Levi says.
“It’s a better desk.”
“My desk has character.”
“Your desk has coffee rings and a gouge from 2019. My desk has cable management.”
He grins. The crooked one. The one that started all of this. Then he kisses me in front of Kai, who says nothing, because Kai never says anything, and walks back to the raft launch to prep for the afternoon trip.
I sit at my desk. My desk. In my office. In the business I’m rebuilding with the man I love on a mountain I chose.
The website is live. The new one, with the real photos, the two-click booking system, and the Instagram feed I update three times a week.
Bookings are up thirty-one percent since the relaunch.
I track this because I track everything.
Levi says the numbers don’t matter. The numbers always matter. That’s why he has me.
My laptop is open. I have three client calls this afternoon (Atlanta clients, still on the books, working remotely like I said I would).
I have a brand proposal for a kayak rental company in Flathead that Levi connected me to.
I have a content calendar that runs through November.
I have a life that looks nothing like the one I planned in January and is better than anything I could have put on a laminated itinerary.
My phone buzzes. The group chat.
Jenna: okay so remember the backcountry trail I mentioned on the hike? the one past the ridgeline?
Claire: The one you wanted to explore alone? In the wilderness? With bears?
Jenna: there are not that many bears, Claire
Claire: One bear is too many bears
Jenna: I pitched a photo series to a magazine. Montana backcountry. Remote trails, untouched landscapes, the works. They said yes.
Jules: JENNA
Jenna: I’m coming back to the mountain. Next week! Just me and my camera. For two weeks!
Tori: Solo backcountry? For two weeks?
Jenna: I’ve done Iceland solo. I’ve done Patagonia solo. I can handle Montana in August. Plus it’s just a week or so of camping. I plan to visit with our girl too.
Paige: That’s amazing, Jenna. The photos are going to be incredible.
Claire: Please tell me you’re bringing a satellite phone.
Jenna: I’m bringing a satellite phone, Claire.
Jules: Marissa, make sure she doesn’t die on your mountain.
I type back: I’ll make sure she has a plan. And a map. And an emergency contact list. And possibly a GPS tracker.
Jenna: I don’t need a GPS tracker. The phone has it built in.
Me: You’re getting a backup GPS tracker.
I put the phone down. Jenna’s coming back. To shoot the backcountry, the deep trails, the parts of the mountain that tourists don’t see. She’ll be up past the ridgeline, past the waterfall, into the remote stretch where the terrain gets serious and the cell service disappears.
I mention it to Levi that evening. We’re on the porch of his cabin (our cabin, I should say, though I haven’t fully moved in yet because I need to organize the closets first and he has no shelving system and we’re going to discuss this).
“Jenna’s coming back next week,” I say. “Photography project. She wants to go deep into the backcountry. North side of the mountain.”
“The north side?” He looks at me. “That’s remote. Really remote. There’s nothing up there except timber and rock and Jasper’s place.”
“Jasper? The cheerful and chatty one from the bar?”
“That’s the one. He’s got about forty acres up there. Doesn’t love company.”
“Jenna asked to take his photo and he looked at her like she’d asked to burn his house down.”
“That sounds right.” Levi takes a drink of his beer. “She should be careful up there. The trails aren’t well marked past the ridge. It’s easy to lose your bearings.”
“She’s done Iceland solo.”
“Iceland has roads. The north side of this mountain has Jasper and a lot of opinions about trespassing.”
I file this. I’ll make sure Jenna has maps, a satellite phone, and a plan. I’ll text her the trail conditions. I’ll probably build her a laminated itinerary whether she wants one or not.
The sun is setting. The mountain is gold and purple and the air smells like pine and the river is somewhere below us, running the way it always runs. Levi puts his arm around me. I lean into him.
My sister is five minutes away. My business is growing. My desk is sixty inches of oak with cable management. My friends are scattered across the country but the group chat never stops and one of them is coming back next week to chase the light on a mountain that changed all of our lives.
I planned a one-week reunion trip. I got a life.
Not bad for a woman with a clipboard.