I waited until we’d hiked for another mile or so, winding higher and higher, as we followed the twisting turns of the Grizzly Creek trail. Creek, it turned out, was as big a misnomer as the boggy stream Avery and I had crossed earlier. Fed by the forty-three-acre glacial lake looming above at the mountaintop, this creek was a true force to be reckoned with. Our first face-to-face encounter with it featured the pummeling freight-train roar and sniper-fire spray of a massive twenty-foot cataract shooting down slick rock into a seemingly bottomless fern-lined pool.
For once, it wasn’t just me who was overcome by the physical wonders of the world. The whole group of us stopped and stared. Even Tomás was outwardly impressed, which felt a little bit like hell had frozen over.
“Is this Grizzly Falls?” he asked me.
“Check your map,” I told him.
He looked down to see what I already knew: that we were still a good mile or so from Grizzly Falls. By comparison, this section of the creek was so small and insignificant it didn’t even register on the trail map.
“Shit,” he breathed.
I nodded, letting a smile rise to my lips, willing to offer it to him, but he’d already turned away, walking swiftly over to where Shelby and Clay stood. I took that opportunity to slip my hand from Rose’s and sought out Mr. Howe, who was resting with his back against a boulder and letting the waterfall wet his face. I sat next to him. Gathered my courage.
“I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” I said. “I screwed up. We shouldn’t have gotten separated in the first place. It won’t happen again.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He reached to squeeze my shoulder. “I’m the one who shouldn’t have left you alone with them. Especially knowing about your health. That was my mistake, you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I nodded but only felt worse about things. My health wasn’t what had gotten us separated from the rest of the group or made me stick my hand down Avery’s pants or led me into the gorge and across the stream to lie in the grass with a strange woman I wasn’t sure I should trust. I’d done all those things on my own. Me and my poor judgment.
“Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“You should take it easy for the rest of the day. Rest when we get to the meadow. If the altitude gets to you or anything, you let me know. Okay?”
I nodded again before running my hand through my hair. “Do you hate me?”
Mr. Howe paused. “No, I don’t hate you. Not even close.”
“Oh, okay. Good.”
“I hate that you would think that.”
My shoulders twitched. “Sorry.”
“Is there something else you’re upset about?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. It’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”
“Well, you can talk to me,” he said. “Anytime. Even about dumb stuff. I’m a good listener. Lucia’s taught me well.”
I pushed my lips into a smile. “Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
“Hey, what time is it?” I asked because I needed to change the subject. Disappointing people you cared about always felt worse when they acted so nice about it.
Mr. Howe pulled his phone out. “Almost two. Should take us another half hour before we get to the meadow. Then we’ll set up camp and do some exploring. But you should really rest.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
I pointed. “Your phone works out here?”
“Not really. There’s no reception.”
“But you’re able to check the weather?”
“What about the weather?”
“It’s just, well, I heard there was a storm,” I said.
“You heard?”
“Yeah. Those people we ran into earlier told me. One of them said a storm was coming soon. A bad one.”
“Who were those people? Archie said something about a church group?”
“They said something like that, but . . .”
“But what?” he pushed.
“But I agree with Archie. I don’t think they were who they said they were.”
“So who were they?”
“I don’t know. They said they were planning on camping for the weekend, but that we should leave before some storm came in.”
This got Mr. Howe to lift his eyebrows. “Sounds like they don’t want us here.”
That was exactly what I’d been thinking, and I was glad he agreed with me, but I still didn’t do what I should’ve done at that moment. I didn’t tell Mr. Howe about all the other things that were worrying me. Like Maggie lying about where they’d come from. Or the Preacher’s tattoo and how uncomfortable he made me feel. Or that I’d told them both right where we were planning on sleeping that night.
Worst of all, I didn’t tell Mr. Howe about the loaded gun in Archie’s backpack. I didn’t tell him about that or any of those things because I didn’t want to disappoint him more than I already had. And besides, right then, Mr. Howe started yelling at Archie, who was pretending he was going to push a clueless Clay into the river. It was a nice sort of yelling—he wasn’t mad—and pretty soon everybody was goofing near the water, splashing one another with sticks and throwing rocks in the pool to see how deep it was, and in the next moment Mr. Howe leaned back, turned his face to the sun, and gave this long sigh of contentment, like a dog who’d found his bone after digging for the thing all damn day.
Who was I to ruin that for him?
—
The afternoon stretched, lingered, and overstayed its welcome, but we finally reached the lush meadow where we were meant to set up camp. Grizzly Lake still wasn’t visible, but made its presence known nonetheless in the form of a towering waterfall. From hundreds of feet above, a great whitewater rush shot straight over sheer granite cliffs, arcing in a long, tumbling free fall that came crashing down onto huge piles of boulders. The air foamed with alpine spray as the river thundered through the meadow before continuing down the mountain.
Impressive as the sight was, I have to admit it felt strange knowing we’d be sleeping beneath such a massive—and yet unseen—body of water. That we’d have to trust nature would do just what it’d done for the last ten thousand years, which was to stay put and not kill us all. Faith, I guess, is the word I’m looking for. Or maybe suspense. Of the ticking-time-bomb variety.
Excused from doing setup work due to my “medical condition,” I walked out and sat alone on the far edge of the meadow and took in the view. Something rare and fearsome opened inside of me as I did this. Whether it was exhaustion from the day, my weakness, my migraine, I didn’t know. But rather than gaze up at the waterfall, at what lay ahead, I stared down at the valley we’d come from, at the road we’d driven in on and the snaking river we’d camped beside.
All of it, I realized from where I sat, was a reminder of perspective, of futility, of the fact that every system we thought we knew was in reality so much bigger than ourselves. Big enough that our insignificance—in time, in space—was all but guaranteed. This even got me thinking about God a little, which wasn’t like me. Pondering questions about creation or the afterlife or how I might be punished for my sins was rarely worth the effort. Or so I’d found.