"Many times."
"Did you fight it?"
"I backed away slowly and made noise. That's what you do."
"But what if you had to fight it?"
"Then I'd probably lose. Bears are very strong."
Tommy had looked deeply disappointed by this answer. I'd had to turn away to hide my laughter.
I'd started seeing a grief counselor in the next town over. Talking about Lily in ways I never had, mentioning the good memories, not just the loss. How she used to steal my sweaters.How she sang off-key in the shower. How she'd once convinced me to sneak out at midnight to watch a meteor shower, and we'd both gotten poison ivy.
And I called my father. Regularly. He'd visited last month, meeting Cole and Sarah properly. He'd watched Sarah show him her bee drawings, listened to Cole explain the intricacies of hive management, and smiled more than I'd seen him smile in years.
"My girl is living again," he'd told me quietly, pulling me aside. "Your mother and Lily would be so proud."
The words had healed something I hadn't known was still broken.
Now, hiking up this gentle trail, I noticed things differently. Not scanning for threats, but absorbing details. The way sunlight pierced the canopy in dusty golden shafts. The complex song of a bird hidden in the underbrush. The clean, resiny scent of pine sap warming in the sun.
"Tell me about Rebecca," I said as we walked, the creek murmuring beside us.
Cole's expression softened. "She would have loved this. A day like today, hiking with Sarah. She wanted her to be brave and curious. To ask questions about everything."
"She's definitely curious. Yesterday she asked me why the sky is blue, and I had to Google it."
"What did you tell her?"
"Something about light scattering. She seemed satisfied."
"She's both," he said. "Brave and curious. You've helped with that."
"We've done it together," I corrected.
"No, I mean it." He glanced at me, something serious in his expression. "A lot of that joy, that willingness to explore, comes from you. From showing her it's okay to be afraid of some things, as long as it doesn't stop you."
"I'm an excellent role model for being afraid of things."
"You are. Seriously." He squeezed my hand. "She watches you face your fears. That teaches her more than anything I could say."
We rounded a bend, and the sound of the creek changed from a murmur to a roar. The trail opened into a small clearing, mist hanging in the air, and there it was.
A waterfall.
Not enormous, it was maybe thirty feet tall, but it was perfect. A silver ribbon of water tumbling over mossy black rocks into a deep, clear pool fringed with ferns. The mist was cool on my face, carrying the mineral smell of wet stone. The roar filled the space, drowning out everything else.
"Whoa," Sarah breathed, her earlier bouncing energy tempered into reverence.
"Stay on the dry rocks, bee," Cole reminded her. "The moss is slippery."
She nodded and ventured forward with careful steps, the caution he'd taught her now instinctive. Cole and I found a large, sun-warmed boulder and sat down, shoulders touching. He had to lean close for me to hear him over the water.
"This okay?" he asked.
"Better than okay." I looked at the waterfall, the pool, the light fracturing through the mist into tiny rainbows. "It's beautiful."
"The first time we came here, you would have had a panic attack."
