Chapter 18 Sadie
It’s rainy and muddy and there are mosquitos everywhere—but somehow, none of it has managed to ruin my day.
In fact, it’s been a pretty good day, all credit to Thorn.
I can’t stop thinking about this morning.
His lips. His hands.
His hands on me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed anyone—and a really long time since I’ve kissed anyone other than Caden. I’ve also never kissed anyone so quickly after meeting them. But then again, this week has been full of things I’ve never done.
I’m actually…having fun out here.
That said, I’m a little nervous for what lies ahead. The terrain has taken a turn for the dramatic: it’s wide and open, rocks and mud everywhere, the path we’re on headed straight toward the cliff full of switchbacks Thorn mentioned this morning.
The closer we get, the worse it looks.
“You really undersold how big it is, man,” Trey says, awed.
Zoe crosses her arms, coming to a stop. “You expect us,” she says, “to get to the top of that?”
Even from here, it’s obvious the switchbacks are going to be a challenge. They’re significantly steeper than any trail we’ve been on thus far, and there are five of them cutting across the face of the cliff.
“Try not to sell yourself short before you even start,” Thorn says.
“Just put one foot in front of the other, over and over, until it’s done.
” He glances from face to face, his gaze lingering on Zoe’s before ultimately landing on mine.
“If I had reservations about any of you being able to do this, I’d say so. But I don’t.”
I swallow. Thorn doesn’t have my terrible shoes, or the pain I feel in at least five places, or my heavy pack that’s definitely about to make this ten times harder than it would be if I were a minimalist. Maybe I have reservations about my own ability to do this—maybe I should say so before I crumple into a pile of backpack and bones halfway up the cliffside.
I’m too stubborn for that, though. I can put one blistered foot in front of the other, over and over, just like he said. It might be horrible—but the idea of making it to the top, especially when it seems so impossible, feels strangely exhilarating.
We’re barely up the first incline when Zoe’s voice echoes from down below. “I never signed up for this!” she calls out, trailing at the back of the pack with only Matteo behind her. “Did I ever express any interest in doing anything like this, Joshua?”
He keeps his mouth shut. Mercifully for us all, she doesn’t push it.
I, on the other hand, did sign up for this—and by the third switchback I’m seriously starting to wonder why.
Would it really have been so bad for me to just lounge by the pool with Abby for all of June?
That would have been the far more rational choice.
I want to cry, thinking of how incredible it would feel to be there right now instead of here, where I feel increasingly like I’m losing a war with gravity.
My pack is a million pounds heavier than it was when we started, even though there’s less in it thanks to my diminished snack reserves; my leg muscles have simultaneously turned to both lead and jelly.
I grit my teeth and keep going.
After the next turn, we’re dizzyingly high up. We’ve come so far, and we’re almost there—only one more turn after this stretch of the path—but there is a very real possibility that I might pass out before we get there.
“You’re doing a good job, Sadie,” Thorn says a few minutes later, when my progress grinds to a halt and I can’t help but take a break, slumped against the solid cliff wall just to give my back a little relief. “We’re almost there. You’re doing great, okay?”
I nod, but I’m too winded to talk back. It’s been pretty quiet for the last two stretches, most of us similarly struggling—even the tennis girls, whose staminas have bordered on inhuman until now—so I doubt anyone minds a couple of extra minutes to catch their breath.
Thorn’s eyes search mine. “How can I help?”
“Carrying my pack for me isn’t an option?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “Or throwing it off the side of the cliff, maybe?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I strongly suspect you’d regret that later. And even though I could carry your pack, I think you’d regret that, too, yeah?”
He’s right. Unfortunately. If I’m going to do this, I am going to do this—not in a half-assed way, but with every bit of strength I can muster.
“Distract me instead, then?” I suggest. “Keep my mind off how hard it is until we get to the top?”
“That I can do.” He grins.
“So,” I start, once we’re finally moving again. “How’d you decide you wanted to do this for a living?”
He gestures out at the expansive view. “I mean, look at it!”
I squint, try to figure out exactly what I’m supposed to be appreciating—from this height, we can see for miles. “At what?”
He scoffs. “At everything.”
“I see rocks. And mud. And lots and lots of trees.”
He bites down on a smile. “You’re thinking too small, focusing too much on the details,” he says. “Think of it like one of those Magic Eye puzzles—look at all of it together. What stands out? What does it make you feel?”
I inhale the damp afternoon air, trying to look at the world through his eyes.
When I look beyond the rocks and the mud and the trees—at the cut of the landscape, the far-off mountains carving a jagged line into the distant sky; at the butterfly that flutters past, and the hawk that swoops low across the horizon—I think, maybe, I see it.
“It makes me feel woefully powerless and small,” I finally say.
His eyes light up. “Yes! Yes. That’s exactly it.”
I laugh. “You do this for a living because it makes you feel powerless and small?”
He laughs now, too. “Okay, well, no. But also kind of yes? It makes me feel powerless in a good way—it’s freeing to think about how big the world is and how small I am. That no matter how big my problems feel, I’m just a tiny speck in the universe.”
I consider it. I think I know what he means, at least on some level—it’s a distraction from the real world, if nothing else.
But also, I feel calmer than I’ve felt in months.
Maybe it’s the fresh air? Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve done something that scares me, something so far outside of my comfort zone that I almost don’t recognize myself, all bug-bitten and sweaty and muddy-shoed.
I didn’t even put mascara on this morning, I realize.
For all the ways I’ve been miserable out in the wilderness, it’s been at least a little bit healing, too.
“So you feel, I guess…peace out here?” I ask. “Or maybe just simplicity?”
I try to imagine what it would be like to be someone like Thorn, whose entire home is probably less full than my backpack. For all the crap he gave me about Wild and Eat Pray Love, it seems like Thorn lives his own version of nature-heals-the-soul on a daily basis.
“Always have,” he says. “My dad used to take me on hikes when I was young—it was our thing. Orienteering, camping, everything. When Matteo moved in, he picked it up, too.”
“I bet your dad loves that you turned your adventures together into a career.”
He gives a sad smile. “He does, yeah. He misses being able to do it himself.”
“Wait, why can’t he do it himself anymore?” I ask, then immediately regret it—what if this is the sort of thing Thorn only talks about with people he’s known for more than one week?
But he doesn’t close himself off, doesn’t act like I’ve crossed some sort of personal boundary.
“Lots of reasons,” he says. “The biggest is his lung disease—he just can’t physically be out here like he used to, and it’s frustrating for him.
And because of the lung stuff, he had to take an office job in downtown San Francisco instead of all the welding and woodworking he used to do, so he’s also not nearby like he was before. ”
“Wow…that sounds like a lot of change.” Thorn seems to take after his dad, and I can’t imagine him being cooped up in an office. “Is he doing okay?”
Thorn shrugs. “Okay is a good word for it,” he says. “He’s learned how to manage. He likes the job itself even if he’s never loved living in the city.”
I watch as Thorn navigates a patch of mud in the path, his steps so quick and natural: the landscape isn’t an obstacle for him like it is for me—for all of us amateurs.
It’s familiar. It’s home.
“I think he feels like he’s only half living sometimes, though, not being able to do all the things he loves,” Thorn goes on, stepping over a thick, gnarled root. “This was his favorite place in the world.”
I carefully step over the same root. We’re so close to the top, only one more turn to go—and I’m so, so ready.
I’m keenly aware of the dizzying elevation we’ve covered, and of how narrow this path is, only eight feet between the cliff wall to our right and the steep drop-off of switchbacks at our left.
I’m ready for the relative safety of the scenic overlook, ready for a break.
I’m just past the thick root when the world turns to slow motion: there’s a strong tug at my pack, someone trying to steady themselves by using me as their anchor—and then the world goes sideways, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with the rough cliff wall.
I’m okay, I tell myself, breathing hard from the surprise of it, and from the relief that I’ve fallen away from the steep drop-off and not toward it.
But then I register Brittany, who was right behind me, now dangerously close to the edge as she struggles to regain her balance. She must have tripped on that thick root—and tried, unsuccessfully, to stabilize by grabbing onto my pack.
Her shoes are covered in mud—she’s sliding—
And I’m too slow, too stunned, to help.
Silas, who’s closest, springs into action, grasping the handle of Brittany’s backpack—but the straps start to slide off her shoulders, and she’s still flailing, seconds away from a treacherous plummet.
Thorn is at her side a split second later, curling one strong arm around her waist to pull her back from the edge.
The rest of us look on, speechless.
Brittany, shaking, lets out a wail that echoes far below. Parker and Emma rush to her; Silas stands as a strong barrier so they don’t come anywhere close to the edge.
“Are you okay?” Emma asks, while Parker’s face says everything we’re all thinking: Brittany could have died just now. We’re high enough up, and the terrain is rocky enough below, that the fall wouldn’t just have been painful—it would have been devastating.
I blink, my cheeks hot with tears as that reality sinks in.
That could have been any of us. That could have been me.
“My ankle!” is all Brittany, breathless, can manage.
I can see the swelling even from here. What will she do? It’s not like we have crutches just lying around, and we still have a long way to go before the end of the trek.
Also, I cannot reiterate this enough: Brittany almost died.
My mouth has gone dry at the mere thought of it. It’s terrifying.
Life—the gift of being alive—suddenly feels much more fragile than it did just a few minutes ago.
“Can you put any weight on it at all?” Thorn asks.
His deep voice is calm, controlled. The only hint of stress I see on him is the crease between his eyebrows—well, that and the veins popping on his lean forearms, adrenaline still going strong.
Brittany winces as she tests it out, shakes her head. She’s clearly in a lot of pain.
It’s slow going after that. Brittany wraps her arms around Silas and Hunter, who support her as she hops on her good foot; they’re both tall and sturdy, while she’s petite but athletic.
When we all finally make it up to the top, the guys settle Brittany onto a bench at the scenic overlook while the rest of us take in the view.
“Hey, Danica,” I overhear Thorn saying ten minutes in to our extended break. He left a voicemail for her immediately after the incident, but she only just called him back.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. No, I think she’s done—yeah.
” His voice sounds more exhausted than I expected, given how rare it is for him to ever seem anything but perfectly composed, perfectly capable.
“Can we push the supply drop up by a day, do it tonight instead? If we skip Thimbleberry, we can be at Wild Gate by six, if that works for you.”
When he’s off the phone a few minutes later, my curiosity gets the better of me.
“What’s Wild Gate?” I ask.
“It’s a campsite,” he replies. “A little less remote than the other places we’ve spent the night—running water, toilets, the works.
We always do supply drops there since it’s somewhat accessible by car, but Danica will still have to hike about a quarter mile in order to get to us.
It’s the closest spot for a pickup if Brittany can’t finish out the trek. ”
I take it in: Brittany will most likely be leaving us tonight.
I’m not particularly close with Brittany, but it will be weird to not have her here. She’s got good energy and she’s always sharing her snacks.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur.
Thorn and Trey and Matteo take turns carrying Brittany’s pack in addition to their own gear, trading off every fifteen minutes or so.
And the rest of us? We just keep our heads down and try not to cause any more scares.
I feel shaken by today’s events—I think we all do.
It was a close call, like the day I almost slipped at the waterfall.
I definitely didn’t realize just how exposed we’d all be when I signed up for this.
Having Thorn and Matteo to guide us has always felt like a safety net—
But we’ve had two near-disasters despite that.
The stakes out here are more than just bug bites and sweat and rain and the utter absence of all but my most portable comforts; more than the massive headache I feel from today’s lack of coffee, and the way all of my muscles and blisters are screaming for rest. Everything hurts.
At the same time, things could be so much worse right now. For Brittany—or me, or any of us if we’d stepped the wrong way.
The shock of it all lingers even after we get to Wild Gate.