10. Ethan #2
I considered the question as I ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. “Because it’s not about the road project,” I answered finally. “This path leads somewhere that matters to me. Somewhere I haven’t shown many people.”
She was quiet for a moment, processing this. “And I’m an outsider,” she said simply.
We walked in silence for a moment, her words sinking into the space between us, the forest around us changing subtly.
Pine gave way to maple, the ground rose in a gentle slope that soon required more careful footing.
I slowed my pace, making sure she could match my steps without rushing.
After about fifteen minutes, the trees began to thin, light filtering through the canopy in increasing amounts.
“We’re close,” I said, offering her my hand over a particularly steep section. She took it hesitantly, her palm warm against mine. I held on a moment longer than necessary, reluctant to break the contact even after she was safely across.
The path ended abruptly at a rocky outcropping that jutted from the hillside like the prow of a ship.
Unlike the carefully maintained overlook with its bench and guardrail, this place was wild.
There was nothing but stone beneath our feet and open sky above.
The view was both similar to and dramatically different from the official viewpoint.
“Oh,” Lena breathed. “This is...”
“Yeah,” I finished for her when words seemed to fail. “The overlook bench was my father’s public contribution. This was his private retreat.”
She turned to me, understanding dawning in her eyes. “He built both? The bench and this path?”
I nodded, moving to sit at the edge where the rock met a natural seat formed by the stone.
“The bench was his gift to Cedar Hills. This was his gift to himself, my mother, and later, to me.” I patted the space beside me, and she settled there, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the warmth of her presence.
“He found it while clearing timber for the workshop. The path was my idea. I wanted a way to reach it without scrambling through the underbrush.”
The story rose naturally, as if it had been waiting for someone willing to hear it.
“He’d come up here when things got hard.
When Mom passed, when the business struggled, when the tremors started getting worse.
Said the perspective helped. That seeing the town laid out like this, small but complete, made his problems feel smaller too. ”
Lena studied the view with new appreciation. “It does have that effect,” she agreed softly. “Everything looks more... manageable from up here.”
“Dad called it his ‘truth spot,’” I continued, the memory bringing a smile. “Said you couldn’t lie to yourself up here, not with the whole town watching. When things got complicated, he’d bring me here and we’d talk. No pretense, no deflection. Just the truth as we both saw it.”
“That’s rare,” she said, her voice carrying a note I hadn’t heard before. “Having a place where you can be completely honest.”
I turned to study her profile against the darkening sky. “Do you have one? A truth spot?”
She considered this, her fingers tracing the edge of the rock beneath us. “No,” she admitted. “I move too often. Never stay anywhere long enough to find one.” She glanced at me, then away. “Or maybe I never let myself look for one.”
“Why not?” I asked, though I thought I already knew the answer.
She took a deep breath, her eyes on the horizon where the sun was beginning its descent. “Because the truth usually hurts,” she said simply. “And it’s easier not to hear it when you’re always leaving anyway.”
The confession felt like a gift. Not polished or perfect, but real in a way that mattered. I wanted to reach for her hand, to offer some reassurance, but I wasn’t sure what she needed to hear.
Before I could decide, she turned to face me fully.
“I’ve spent my entire career keeping things temporary,” she said, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.
“Moving from town to town, project to project, never forming attachments that would make leaving complicated.” She paused, then added more quietly, “It’s refreshing to stand in a place like this.
A place that has lasted. Through storms, and generations, and it’s all the more beautiful because of it. ”
The sunset caught in her hair, turning the strands copper at the edges. I reached out, unable to stop myself, and brushed one back from her face. Her breath caught at the contact, but she didn't pull away.
We sat together as the light faded, watching Cedar Hills transition from day to evening.
We watched windows lighting up one by one, cars moving along familiar streets, the water tower catching the last rays of sun.
In the gathering darkness, my hand found hers on the rock between us, fingers intertwining.
I knew her well enough by now to know that speaking would just ruin the moment. She’d pull back, offer a rational reason why being here like this together was wrong.
And her hand felt too good in mine to let my mouth ruin it.
Later, walking back along the hidden path with flashlights to guide us, I realized something. I’d shown her a place that had been home to me, even when the town wasn’t.
And for however long, she’d chosen to stay there with me.