“Good boy.” Jacob pats him on the head and turns to me. “You just have to be firm with him.”
“I try, but he only listens to you. I think it’s your deep voice.”
“Maybe we should sign up for obedience classes.”
I laugh. “For him or me?”
“Both,” Jacob replies with a smile.
We start walking again, and Scooter trots beside me. He glances back at Jacob repeatedly, seeking approval and looking very eager to please.
“He worships you,” I say.
I can’t blame Scooter. I feel the same. Sometimes I wonder if Jacob’s a saint.
The trail is steep and challenging, but it feels good to exert myself in the fresh air. I realize I’ve been hibernating since early November, when it became necessary to scrape ice off the car windshield every morning.
“This day doesn’t feel real,” I say as I step carefully over exposed tree roots and feel a strain in my calves on the upward climb.
“I know,” Jacob replies. “I feel the same way. It’s like we’re in another universe.” He’s walking ahead of me, leading the way, while Scooter, off leash, follows behind me. I sense that he’s being protective, which makes me love him more, even if he doesn’t always listen to me.
“I’m glad we skipped the library,” Jacob says. “Even if I flunk that quiz on Monday, this is worth it. Life is short. And I love this place.”
“Me too.” I’ve hiked Cape Split since I was a child, once a year with my parents. It was a summer highlight and a family tradition.
Jacob stops at the top of a steep cluster of boulders that function as steps. He turns around. “You doing okay?”
“I’m great,” I reply, but that doesn’t stop me from accepting his hand when he offers to pull me up and over the last big boulder. By this time, I’m perspiring, but it’s rejuvenating with the wind in the trees and the distant roar of the ocean at the base of the mountain, the fragrance of mud and decaying leaves all around us. It’s a two-hour hike to the top of the peninsula, but the payoff is worth every ounce of spent energy because the point at Cape Split is a natural wonder. It overlooks the Bay of Fundy from a height of two hundred feet. It’s like standing on a narrow precipice at the edge of the world.
When at last we reach the summit, we emerge from the shade of the forest onto a hairpin turn around a narrow break in the cliff. We pause to stand at the wooden rail and look straight down a vertical drop to the pebbled beach below.
“This is giving me the creeps,” I say. “Which is weird because it was always my favorite part of the hike when I was a kid.”
Jacob lets the thought linger, turns it over in his mind. “Maybe, as we get older, we develop a clearer sense of danger because we become more aware of our mortality.”
I feel a cool breeze blow across my forehead. “That’s very deep thinking, but it makes sense.” I back away from the rail. “Let’s keep going.”
Jacob follows with Scooter, and we emerge onto a field of grass, flaxen in its winter dormancy. I stop and gaze at the breathtaking views of the bay while Jacob hooks the leash on to Scooter’s collar.
“I’ve never seen it like this before.”
In summer, grass and wildflowers grow tall here. They dance and sway in the wind. But today, aside from the evergreens, all plant life seems dead. Blades of grass are flat, crisp, and darkened by rot.
But nothing is dead. I know this. Beneath the ground, the shoots are protecting themselves from freezing temperatures. They’re conservingtheir energy during these shorter days and reduced sunlight. They are surviving. In time, the grass will green up. It will come alive with the arrival of spring.
Suddenly, laughter startles me out of my musings, and I turn. Others are sitting on camping chairs, enjoying a light lunch or taking photographs at the cliff’s edge.
Jacob leads Scooter across the summit toward the point, but I hang back, watching them with nothing but love in my heart. I close my eyes for a moment and take in the scent of damp earth and spruce needles and the salty fragrance of the bay. I listen to the waves crashing steadily onto the beach below the cliffs, and I marvel at the miracle of this planet—the glaciers that formed the very ground I’m standing on, and the thousands of years of swirling waters that eroded this high curvature of land, turning it into something like a crooked finger, pointing west.
Jacob kneels and gives Scooter a good scratch behind both ears. Scooter leans into it, hard, and I smile.
I’ve been blessed. But why? Was I simply born under a shining star? Or did some powerful force from above consider me deserving? If so, I don’t understand the reason. I only know that I’ve been incredibly lucky. I met the love of my life in my own neighborhood, at the exact right time. God has been very good to me.
It’s not possible to sit on the grass because the ground is wet from the recent rain, so we find a fallen tree trunk to sit on. I open the backpack and dig for the water dish for Scooter. I peel off the plastic lid, and he laps greedily while I reach back into the bag for our tuna sandwiches. I pass one to Jacob and unwrap my own.
After a few bites, Jacob lays his hand on my knee. “Are you aware that it’s been nine months to the day since you took that pregnancy test?”
I tip my head back to look skyward. “Yes. I thought about it a lot over Christmas. I wonder where we’d be right now if the test had been positive.”
