“Exactly,” George says. “You’re already on the right track. There seems to be a consensus thatfeelingyour feelings, even the negative ones, is important during this phase.”
I sputter out a laugh. “Wow. You sound so emotionally mature.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“You’re speaking like a therapist, that’s all. So how do you suggest I do this?”
“It’s not too complicated. If you feel shitty, then you need to say to yourself,Hey, I feel shitty.Respect the shittiness.Honorthe shittiness.”
“So there really is no sex cult?” I say.
“Afraid not.”
I stare out the window at the slope of a mountain. Its peak is so high, it disappears into the clouds. It’s almost terrible in its majesty—this is terrain designed for confronting life’s greatest mysteries.
“I feel lucky I get to do this with you,” I say.
“Same.” He hesitates, then adds, “And I feel a bit guilty.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m here because you got hurt.”
“You can’t feel bad about that. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, you tried to warn me.”
His reply is quiet but forceful. “I should have tried harder.”
Chapter Thirteen
There’s another long stretch of serpentine driving before we make the turn toward Tofino in the late afternoon. I can smell the ocean’s clean brine as beaches appear through the evergreens, and I catch a glimpse of pale sand and silvery surf out George’s window. Here, the highway tunnels through the temperate rainforest of the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve.
“The trees are monstrous,” I say.
“Among the tallest and oldest in the country,” George tells me. “The largest western red cedar in the world grows in the reserve. It’s called the Cheewhat Giant.”
I’m completely in awe.
A paved multiuse trail runs parallel to the road, and we pass cyclists, families out for a stroll, and joggers. One guy has a surfboard strapped to the side of his bike. There are signs for sites with names like Incinerator Rock and Radar Hill and, more alarmingly, tsunami hazard zones and evacuation routes.Finally, George turns off the highway when we reach a sign for Moss & Stone Resort.
Tree branches create an arch over the gravel driveway, and at first, all I see is green—from the ferns that fan at the feet of the firs to the plush blankets of lichen that nestle around their trunks. The canopy is so thick, only the vaguest glimmer of light breaks through its cover.
The property is dotted with town house villas clad in blue-gray siding that blends into the landscape. Pink rhododendron and blue hydrangea grow in massive, bloom-filled bushes around the pebbled paths that lead to the town house entrances. The main building is like an enormous beach house, but distinctly Pacific Northwest in style, with massive carved cedar pillars and beams—both rustic and modern, and definitelyexpensive. Through the trees, beyond the resort, lies the ocean.
I hear its soothingwhooshas soon as I step out of the car and into the mizzle. The air is thick enough to taste, a cool spoonful of salt and seaweed and spruce. George walks to my side, and we stare into the branches of the most enormous tree I’ve ever seen. Its trunk is so thick it would take a group of people linking arms to give it a hug. It’s odd how much I want to do just that. This secluded slice of paradise is formidable in its majesty. I may be tired, but looking up at this impossible tree, I feel more alive than I have in months.
“Do you know what kind this one is?” I ask, staring into the ancient limbs.
George is good with this sort of thing, but he also has apps on his phone for ID’ing plants and bird songs. For his eleventh birthday, my mom helped me buy him a thick book calledTreesin Canada, full of photos, illustrations, and identification tips. He keeps it on his bookshelf in his condo, the pages dog-eared and annotated.
“A Sitka spruce.”
“How can you tell?”
“The long branches—the way they slope downward. See how straight the trunk is? And how the bark looks like scales?”
A fat droplet of water falls from a branch—plop!—onto my face. I feel George’s stare, and I glance at him.
His hair has already coiled more tightly in the damp. There are dark spots on his chest from where the tree has dripped on him. Hedoestake up more space than he used to; it wasn’t just the car. His shoulders, chest, and arms—they’re all slightly thicker. Purposefully toned.
