My heart threatens to stop in the seconds he stalls, but then he laces his fingers together and holds them out like a step stool for me to climb onto. I use his hands to leverage me part of the way up the rope. With each additional pull, I feel myself wiggle free of everything I was. I let go of what I thought I had to be, until I’m at the very top, staring out over a glassy mirror that shows exactly who I am. A girl who feels more like herself plunging into an icy crater with the boy she loves than she ever would be surrounded by strangers in a state across the country.
Miles climbs the rope behind me until his body surrounds mine. I know as soon as our feet touch that water, it will crack it wide open, and we’ll emerge two new people with a whole world to see. One that can change us for the better if we let it.
And with that thought, we jump.
EPILOGUE
“I’ve given this a lot of thought…” Miles starts to say as he strokes his hand up and down my bare arm.
I hold my breath, wondering what to expect, as I reflect on all the time we’ve shared together.
It’s been nine months since Shepard gifted the truck and trailer to Miles and me. He moved back to Montpelier where he and his dad could watch over each other. I think he knew that it was the only decision that would make Miles feel comfortable leaving with me.
At the end of the summer, we pulled the trailer out of Bear Lake and hit the road to see the States. We started on the Pacific coast, making our way from Port Angeles, Washington through Long Beach, Oregon, and along the coast of California.It turns out, you don’t need to go clear across the country to feel like you’re starting over.
I had to buy a brand-new sketchbook by the time we reached San Diego. I’ve learned that even the detailed strokes of a pencil aren’t enough to capture the magnitude of beauty there is to see in the world. Only memories can do that.
I send my parents weekly texts with pictures—a modern-day postcard—so they know I’m okay. That, and we promised tocome home for the summer. They sold our home in Boise and reside full time at the cabin now. It feels more like home for me too, anyway.
“Kiss, marry, kill,” Miles continues, interrupting my thoughts. A wicked grin creeps across his face. “Ryan Reynolds, Brad Pitt, Ryan Gosling.”
I laugh. I can’t believe this is the guy who once thought that game was absurd.
I wrap my leg even tighter around his, burrowing into the crook of his arm. “Hmmm, now that’s a hard one. I’m going to say… kiss Ryan Gosling, marry Ryan Reynolds, and kill Brad Pitt.”
The stroke of his hand comes to an abrupt stop. “You wouldkillBrad Pitt?!” he shouts, a look of horror tattooed on his face. But when I pull away, I see that he’s stifling a grin.
“Okay. I see what you’re doing. You’re just making it a big deal because I did.”
“No, no. What girl wouldkillBrad Pitt? He’s Brad Pitt! The single biggest sex icon there ever was!”
“Miles.” I nudge him.
He pulls me in closer and whispers, “Kiss me,” as his lips close over mine. They feather over my skin in the intimate way that I’ve come to know as my home. As he kisses me, he traces circles on my ring finger, sliding something onto the end.
“Marry me,” he whispers next, and my eyes drop to my hand.
I gasp at the sight of a dainty gold band wrapping the base of my finger, the petals of a wildflower etched in the center of it. It’s simple, but the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Tears well in my eyes as they flit from Miles to the ring and back to Miles again.
“You’rekillingme,” he groans, dipping his head into my shoulder to hide his face. “Don’t make me Brad Pitt.”
I giggle, gripping the sides of his face to get him to look at me. “Yes!”
His eyes widen. “You will?”
“Of course I will,” I say, kissing him senseless. Then I gape in wonder again at the shiny gold band. It’s hard not to stare at it.
He rests his head on my shoulder. “Do you like it?”
I nod, having trouble coming up with the words to express just how much. I wasn’t one of those girls who dreamed up what she wanted her future ring to look like. He could have given me a plastic ring with a gaudy red gem superglued to the top of it from a twenty-five-cent machine at the mall and I still would have loved it. But this…
“It was your mom’s,” he says, brushing his fingers over the wildflower and then down my knuckles.
“What?” I gasp, lifting my eyes to his.
“She said your dad gave it to her the day you were born.” He looks down at the spot where it’s engraved, and laces our fingers together. “She was sad when she no longer got to carry you inside her.”
A giggle-hiccup escapes my lips.That sounds like my mom.
