Chapter 6 Sadie
The full force of the pain doesn’t hit until I’ve unfolded myself from my tent and taken my first steps.
It’s my best (and only) idea right now.
In the meantime, I’m determined to push through with a smile.
No complaints—not out loud—because even if Caden’s not here to witness this misery, I feel like he’d still sense it somehow.
Thorn feels almost like a Caden proxy, anyway: I can read it all over his face, how he took one look at me and thought, Seriously? This girl? She won’t make it a day.
I kind of need to prove something to him, too—especially after how he called me princess.
So, no. I will not be admitting, to Thorn or to anyone, that I felt every single jagged rock underneath me last night, even through my cushion and my sleeping bag and my heating pad.
The kettle is already in use when I reach the fire. I didn’t bring my own—believe me, I considered it—since Abby pointed out that a kettle was on the list of supplies the tour group would be providing.
What I didn’t count on were three other guys who were as into coffee as me. I wait patiently as Trey, Silas, and Hunter prep their AeroPresses. All the water is gone by the time they’re through with it, so I have to wait even longer for my own to come to a boil.
I’ve just finished setting up everything I need—my favorite ceramic mug, a foldable filter that functions the same way my V60 does at home, and my premeasured coffee grounds—when I hear a throat clear behind me. I turn and see Trey, his hat with the Mark Rober logo turned backward.
“Onyx Coffee Lab!” he says, delighted, pointing at the box I set down with my gear. “You’ve got good taste.”
I laugh. “I’m just glad I’m not the only one who brought fancy coffee on a wilderness hike.”
“They said to pack only the essentials, right?”
This guy is buzzing so hard he probably had three fully caffeinated cups before seven a.m.
“Anyway,” he goes on, talking just a little too fast, “I was just gonna offer some of ours if you want it? Unless you’d rather make your own, which I’d totally get. But if you want some, we’ve got enough. If you like Onyx, you’ll like ours.”
“Oh, right—you all own a coffee shop together, right?” I overheard snippets on our hike yesterday.
He points to an octopus tattoo on his forearm, its sucker-laden limbs curled and winding around to the other side. “Cephalopod Coffee out of Portland,” he says. “That’s our logo.”
Anyone committed enough to get their brand’s logo tattooed on their forearm is probably also committed to making sure said brand is of good quality—that it won’t go out of business within two years, rendering said tattoo pointless and regrettable.
Then again, he has a lot of tattoos, so maybe he just liked the way it looked.
“I’m good for today,” I say, gesturing to my filter full of grounds, “but thanks—I’ll totally take you up on that tomorrow.”
Between waiting forever on the kettle and the time required to actually prepare my coffee, it’ll be another ten minutes before I’m able to drink it.
Back home, the slowness of this routine is one of the best parts: the smell of the coffee, the heat of the swirling steam, the soothing sounds as it drips into the mug—it’s calming, and helps me start the day off right before I ever take a single sip.
Now, though, I’m increasingly aware of how long the process is.
Instead of relieving stress, it’s adding to it—everyone else has finished breakfast already, and I’m the only one still trying to wrap up.
Matteo put the fire out the instant my water finished boiling, and the coffee bros headed back to their tents to pack up a little while ago.
The others around camp are already doing the same.
Zoe is the exception: she’s off on her own, working her way through a complicated yoga routine while Joshua takes care of their tent.
Suffice it to say, I’m a little self-conscious.
My coffee is finally almost ready to drink when I hear footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder and see Thorn, eyebrows knitted together as he surveys my…situation.
“We’ll be heading out in fifteen,” he says. “Think you’ll have your palace ready to go by then?”
First princess, now palace—
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Oh, yeah.” I take my first glorious sip of coffee, the picture of nonchalance. “You should see my trophy case back home, I’ve won a few for speed-packing. Palaces included.”
The corner of his mouth turns upward, the barest hint of a grin.
“Great,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “Sounds like you’ve got it under control.”
“Completely under control,” I reply. “Blink and you’ll miss it!”
But I absolutely do not have it under control.
I am the opposite of a speed-packer: it is a mystery beyond all mysteries how everything I took out of my backpack ever fit inside in the first place.
Even when I consult the photo I snapped in the REI backpack aisle—a diagram of how everything should fit inside to make the most of the limited space—I can’t make it work.
And everyone’s waiting.
Waiting and watching.
The longer I struggle, the harder it gets. How do zippers work? Have I ever used one in my entire life? I’m sweating from the effort and it’s barely nine in the morning.
Without a word, Thorn swoops in at my side and—after the briefest Is this okay? glance, which I definitely don’t refute—starts slipping everything into my pack. He has to try three configurations before it works.
“You can have one of my speed-packing trophies after this is all over,” I say quietly, for his ears only, too mortified to look at him. “Thank you.”
He gives my backpack a little pat before moving on to take care of my tent.
“Hope you took notes,” he says. “There’ll be an exam tomorrow.”
Heat floods into my cheeks—his tone is stern but his eyes are playful—and the whole scenario makes me want to crawl into a hole. Preferably a hole stocked with a nice clawfoot bathtub and eucalyptus bath salts and a chilled glass of rosé, but beggars can’t exactly be choosers out here.
We’re on the trail in no time after that. Thorn tells us we’ll be spending most of today in Valerie Forest again, but that the campsite we’re working toward is just outside it, about six miles from here.
I’m near the back of the pack today, just ahead of the tennis girls and Matteo.
I hadn’t realized he was so chatty—he’s barely spoken to Thorn the whole time we’ve been out here, despite the fact that they’re supposedly leading together.
With the girls, though, you’d think there was a million-dollar prize at stake for who can ask the most questions.
Matteo is easily the front-runner in that contest right now.
Two miles in, the trees start to blend together, and I wonder how anyone ever made it all the way through this forest in the first place without getting hopelessly lost.
Thorn navigates effortlessly, pointing out the various birds that flit across our paths (I’ve already forgotten their names) and the sound of water in the distance.
I have to strain to hear it at first, but the longer we walk, the louder it is—until suddenly, the woods open up and the water is right in front of us, a frothy, bubbling river that cuts across the landscape.
We come to a stop, waiting until everyone has caught up.
“Behind me is the L’Heureux River,” he practically yells, fighting to be heard over the water.
“The next segment of our hike will follow alongside it until we reach the main event: L’Heureux Falls.
Please be extremely careful on this portion of the trail—the steps are rocky and can get slippery from all the mist coming off the waterfall. ”
His gaze lands on me, and my cheeks heat up: I can read everything he’s trying not to say—between my heavy pack and my lack of hiking boots, I’m a disaster waiting to happen.
Have fun and don’t die, Caden’s voice tumbles through my head.
Emphasis on the don’t die.
Matteo leads the way this time as we set off down the riverside path, which—at the moment—is still flat and dry and not that different from walking on the trail.
Joshua and Zoe are directly ahead of me now, and seeing them together makes me wonder: What would it have been like if Caden had actually come on this trip?
In theory, it would have been nice to do this with someone I already knew instead of completely on my own.
But at the same time, Caden and I wouldn’t really have been with each other so much as awkwardly keeping our distance the whole time—in a group this size, it would have been lost on exactly no one that we have History? together, and probably way more uncomfortable than I imagined.
I’m really glad he wasn’t here to see me holding up the whole trek this morning, or how Thorn had to repack my whole bag for me.
I’m also glad Caden isn’t here to see me treading carefully up this rocky path. It’s definitely getting steeper—the aforementioned steps Thorn warned us about—but they’re still dry for now.
As soon as we round the bend, L’Heureux Falls comes into full view: the waterfall isn’t quite Jurassic Park levels of majestic, but that’s mostly because it’s crashing over a solid rock wall and not the green jungles of Kauai. Still, it’s gorgeous.
It’s also very, very wet.
A fine spray of mist fills the air and covers every surface, rocky steps included. It only gets worse the closer we get to the scenic bridge overlook.
I slow to a snail’s pace, terrified I’m going to slip right past the guardrails and into the river below, a cruel and early end to this wilderness adventure.
What on earth was I thinking? Why didn’t I realize hiking boots were on the list for more than just reasons of comfort—but for traction, too?
I’m so green at this I don’t even know what I don’t know, despite all my research.
I take a few tentative steps, then a few more.
It’s slow progress, and all is good—
Until the dark part of the next rock turns out to be moss, slick and slippery, and the toe of my right sneaker glides right out from under me.
My entire life flashes before my eyes.
I’m not thriving right now, not one bit. I’m flailing, trying to steady myself before I twist my ankle or fall to my death—
But just as I’m about to go flying into the rocky, raging river, a strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back from the brink.
My heart pounds, still very much in I’m going to die mode, but the rest of me is steady. The rest of me is safe.
“It’s okay,” I hear Thorn say, his calm, deep voice cutting through the crash of the waterfall. “You’re okay.”
His hand is at my hip, fingertips digging deep to hold me in place. He doesn’t move a muscle, probably because I’m still giving wild animal in fight-or-flight vibes…or maybe because he’s afraid I’ll start to slip again the instant he lets go.
I blink, stunned and a bit shaky.
“You’re okay, Sadie,” he repeats. “I’ve got you.”
“Thank you for helping me…again.” I’m irritated that he had to, but grateful.
“It’s what I’m here for.”
He glances down at my shoes but, mercifully, doesn’t give me a hard time about them.
Finally, he moves his hand off my hip. It’s a thousand degrees cooler already. He keeps a close, vigilant distance behind me, ready to step in again if needed.
We slowly make our way up to the L’Heureux Falls Crossing bridge.
I had hoped to do an epic vlog recording here, but all I can manage is a quick panoramic sweep of the scenery before my phone case is slick with mist. The stone steps are just as treacherous on the opposite side for our descent; I put one foot in front of the other until—finally—we’re back on dry ground.
Thorn stays behind me the whole way, the two of us at the back of the pack even once we’re caught up with the rest of the group and en route to whatever else might try to kill me out here.
He doesn’t say a word.