“Does that mean a storm’s coming?”
“It means we’ll probably get some cloud cover tomorrow. Maybe a touch of moisture. We can check again in the morning. It’s a pattern over time that really tells you something.”
I nodded. We were both silent for a moment. Until anxiety wrestled away my better judgment.
“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Howe?”
“Sure.”
“How’d you meet Lucy?”
He slid his phone away before answering. “We met in college. At Berkeley. We ended up in the same co-op our sophomore year. Although we didn’t start dating until after we’d graduated.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we were both with other people at the time, and we were really good as friends. I guess we didn’t want to change that.”
“But you had to know at some point, right? That you wanted to be together? And that you made each other happy?”
He beamed. “Absolutely. I still know it. Every day I have with her is a joy.”
“That’s cool,” I said, although I wanted to ask if their life together was such a joy, why’d they spend so much of it apart? Her in DC, trying to change the world. Him on top of mountains, trying to conquer it.
Mr. Howe glanced over at me. “Where are these questions coming from? Is something going on with you and Rose?”
“Sort of. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“I guess I don’t always know if she likes me.”
“You don’t know if she likes you?”
“No.”
“How many years have you been dating?”
“Two.”
“And that’s not long enough for you to figure that out?”
I rolled my shoulders and shuffled my feet, but liquor inspires honesty if nothing else. “Not really.”
“I see.” Mr. Howe did his beard-tugging thing. “Then can I give you a piece of advice? Something you might not want to hear?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Well, look, first of all, I know your mom. I’ve known Jana a long time, okay? We grew up together.”
“Okay.”
“I also know her life hasn’t been easy. With her mom dying the way she did, and her dad—well, none of that changes the fact that she probably doesn’t make your life too easy, either.” He paused. “But now you’re with Rose, Ben, and she’s different from your mom. That’s a good thing. It’s really good. But different can be tough to figure out sometimes. Just like it’s tough to grow up being told that when someone doesn’t want you it means they need you. Or that if something hurts it means you’re meant to do it again. It’s also tough to find out that with other people the opposite can be true.”
I was confused. “But Rose doesn’t hurt me.”
“Maybe that’s because you won’t let her.”
I frowned. I didn’t know what to say.
Mr. Howe put a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to explain what I mean?”
“No,” I said, more abruptly than I intended.
“Are you sure?” He drooped at my response, making me feel like an asshole and also embarrassed for him, because he seemed pretty eager to share whatever advice he had in mind. But I wasn’t in the mood for a father-son pep talk, despite knowing how deeply he longed to be someone’s father. More proof, I suppose, at how terrible I was at being a son.
“I’m sure.” The world beneath me was spinning again. I wanted the conversation to be over.
“All right, then,” Mr. Howe said. “I think it’s time for me to turn in. Make sure you get some sleep soon. Tomorrow’ll be another long day.”
“I will.”
“Those guys, too.” He nodded at the card game, which was growing rowdier by the minute.
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will.” Mr. Howe stretched and stifled another yawn with the back of his hand. “You’re a good kid, Ben. You really are. We make a good team, you and I. I hope you know that.” Then he smiled and gave me a quick wave good night, and I nodded and waved back and watched as he shuffled off with his telescope toward his small one-person tent.
Those were the last words he ever spoke to me.
DAY THREE
24.
I WOKE TO the sound of voices. Whispering. Laughter.
Followed by furtive shushing.
My eyes opened. I let them stay that way, despite a pounding headache. I was reluctant to slip back into dreaming. There was too much darkness sloshing around inside of me. Booze, too. Struggling to sit up, I realized I was still extremely drunk. And none the better for it.
The light inside the tent was grainy. We’d left the fly off, which meant I could see to the sky, those dappled bursts of the Milky Way, a swirling mix of stardust and memories. I turned my head to the side and looked for Rose. She wasn’t in her sleeping bag. In fact, she wasn’t in the tent at all. That was strange. She’d been in there earlier. I remembered that clearly. She’d put me to bed—giving me water and patting my back, imploring me not to puke in my sleep and die. I’d promised I wouldn’t. After that, I’d assumed she’d stayed with me.
Clearly not.
More whispering. It sounded farther away now and I was intrigued. I also had to piss, so I slipped on a pair of track pants and my hiking shoes with no socks and squeezed my way into the night.
“Shit!” I inhaled with a hiss as soon as I was on my feet, darting across the meadow like a rodent. I had no clue what time it was—it had to be after midnight—but the temperature had dropped significantly. My teeth chattered and bumps rose on my arms. I hurried to find a tree and a shadow, which was all the cover I needed. Pissing by moonlight wasn’t meant to be complicated, and that, I thought, was a wonderful thing.
When I was done with all that wondering, I searched for the voices I’d heard. The campsite itself was dark and still, but not far beyond the line of tents, at a point where the ground sloped toward the water, I spied a light. Or what I thought was a light. I stared at it for a few moments, my brain working slowly, unsure if I could trust what I was seeing. Finally, I staggered forward. Slowly at first, then faster.
There was nothing stealth in my approach. But the roar of the waterfall hid my footsteps and my chattering teeth until I came upon the source of the light and the whispers. Lights, plural, to be more precise. Because every single one of the six figures huddled together by the waterfall was holding a flashlight.
They didn’t notice me, just kept up with their talking or whatever it was they were doing. The sight of them out here in the middle of the night more than confused me. I was mystified. Because I recognized them all, even in my drunken haze: Archie, Dunc, Shelby, Tomás, Clay, and yes, Rose. My Rose.
I stood gaping at them. They were dressed in dark clothes, their voices low, urgent. And despite the moonlit cloud of pot smoke hovering in the air, it was clear this was not a party or a raucous game of cards or even a late-night round of drunken shit talking. No, this was a conversation.
A serious-sounding one.