Identity

“I rented a bike in the spring, a couple times, so I could tour the resort that way, get a better sense of the layout. I really thought about buying one, but it’s just too far to bike to work, and too late to risk biking home.”

“You don’t have to get a bike just for transportation.”

“No, guess not.” But she couldn’t justify just-because expenses. Not yet.

“Anyway, the way things are laid out? The walking trail around the lake, the hiking trails—at least the ones I’ve seen signposted. Then the zip lines, climbing wall, the cute little playground area. It all makes sense. I stopped in the Adventure Outlet, obviously, for the bike. Also smart to make it so easy to buy or rent gear, and right within sight of the ski lifts and runs. Then there’s the lake.”

She stopped to look out at the blue water dotted with kayaks and canoes. The mountains, green as their name, reflected on it. “I’ve never kayaked. I guess you have.”

“Sure. We’ll squeeze it in some weekend.”

“It’s something, to have all this at your fingertips really.”

“My great-grandparents bought the land and built the first lodge, the first couple cabins, because of the lake and that view.”

“You’re lucky they had that foresight. And what your family’s done with it. Building on it, yeah, but with respect. When I biked through, I’d spot a cabin, but it looked like it grew there.”

Howl, forgetting the insult of the leash, strolled and sniffed his way along the walking trail.

“Word is you’re going to transition to electric shuttles.”

“Yeah, by the fall peak. We’re putting in more charging stations.”

“Also smart.”

They came in sight of the ropes course, tucked in the trees. Morgan shook her head at the guests climbing, balancing, swinging high above her head.

“I can see doing that,” she said as Miles steered her to the trailhead, “when the zombie apocalypse hits, or the inevitable invasion by aliens hell-bent on exterminating the human race. It might be necessary to build rope bridges and walls, learn to balance on swinging tires and wood planks. But until then?”

She shifted her pack. “I’ll stick with hiking trails for my adventuring. And this is why,” she added, as they started the climb through the birch trail that gave the trail its name.

“It’s beautiful, already beautiful.”

“It gets better. Let me know when you’re tired of handling the leash.”

“We’re fine. I’m going to take a million pictures, so be prepared for it. Like now. Oh, I remember this. Wild lupine.” When she crouched down to frame the spears of purple, Howl licked her cheek.

Miles waited, patient enough, each time she stopped to capture some spotted joe-pye weed, or whatever she found interesting in the bark on birches, old-growth maples.

They passed a group heading down, were passed by another couple heading up.

He liked her company, liked she didn’t chatter endlessly, but could appreciate the quiet and the song of birds. He hadn’t made enough time for this lately, he admitted, for just walking through the hills and forest he loved.

She stopped, held up a hand. “Wait, I hear … Is that a waterfall?”

“Around the next bend in the trail. It’s small but scenic. Little White Falls. Resort property ends there, so we have the cutoff to loop back, or we can take the longer that runs through the national forest. It gets steeper.”

“Definitely the longer, but I want to see the falls.”

They tumbled down, dashing into the river below and foaming white against the weak-tea brown.

“It’s beautiful. It’s like music.”

And it sparkled over the rock, beat water against water so the river showed its floor. Where the shade spread, moss-carpeted limbs turned the light soft. Yet the sun struck the tumbling water, bright as a laser.

The couple who’d passed them took a couple selfies, then turned to take the trail back down. A group of three rose from a low rock ledge, then continued on up the trail.

Miles took the leash so she could pull out her phone yet again. While she got her pictures, he pulled the collapsible cup out of his pack, poured water into it.

A grateful Howl lapped it up.

He glanced up in time to see her take their picture as he crouched down to offer the dog a second cup.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I tossed an old plastic bowl in my pack. The cup’s better.”

She lifted her face to the sky. “This is the most perfect spot. I hate selfies,” she said looking back at him.

“I’m with you on that.”

“But it’s a waterfall, and I’d like to make an exception to my no-selfie rule.”

“Go ahead.”

“It includes you. It’s a waterfall, Miles, and the light’s perfect. So please, just this once.”

He should’ve known it would happen, just as he accepted refusing made him a jerk. He didn’t mind being a jerk, but he’d mind more spoiling the moment.

He stepped over to her.

“Thank you.” She held out the camera, turning it until she got the angle she wanted. “On three. Don’t scowl.”

“I’m not scowling.”

To solve it, she turned her face just enough to press her lips to his cheek. When his lips curved, just a little, she took the picture.

“What happened to ‘on three’?”

“That was better. Look.” She brought the photo up. “We’re adorable. And I’m going to do more of this.” She pocketed the phone. “That’s my solemn vow in front of the magic waterfall.”

They continued up. It did get steeper, and Morgan supposed she had Jen’s relentless workouts to thank for the fact she climbed without muscles twinging.

A group of teenage boys bounded by like antelopes, cackling like hyenas.

“It’s all fun and games,” Miles commented, “until somebody breaks an ankle.”

“What were they, about sixteen? The age of indestructibility.”

“Where were you at sixteen?”

“I honestly can’t tell you. I used to keep a book to write down the place and the dates. After the divorce, we kept moving around so much, I kept writing it down. Then I tossed it—which was stupid—when I went to college.

“Done with that.” She flicked her hand as if tossing something away. “But it was mostly a minor temper tantrum, and I regret it.”

“Your mom probably knows if you ever want to put places and times together.”

“Maybe, but…”

She went speechless when the world opened up. “Oh God! You didn’t tell me.”

“Makes a nice surprise. Not a half-bad view.”

“It’s glorious.”

A world of mountains, valleys, hills, rivers spread out in vivid greens, tender blues, the sturdy gray of rock in jutted outcroppings. The soft peaks as they rolled on spoke of age and endurance.

I’m here, and have been long before, will be long after.

She could see the folds and cuts of land and water, the rise of trees, the climb of trails, all so clear under the wide bowl of sky. And like a gift, the white tumble of a distant waterfall.

A painting, she thought, unframed and open to anyone who stood at this spot.

She wondered how it looked when fog crept through and rose in mists to blur the hills. Or when the trees turned vivid in the fall, or the winter spread its bright, blanketing white.

Today it said summer, with life at its peak.