“I’m shocked you were brave enough to try it,” Sadie says. “I’d rather have no coffee than bad coffee.”
“Thanks for sharing your stash, by the way,” Hunter says, and Sadie raises her vanilla milkshake to his chocolate one in cheers.
It’s news to me that she shared her stash, but it makes perfect sense: Sadie doesn’t gatekeep the things she loves—she wants everyone to experience them, like how I am whenever a brand-new hiker sets foot in the park.
It’s hard to believe Sadie was brand-new at the start of this trek. She’s come so far, overcome so much. I’ve met a lot of different people out here, but I’ve never met anyone like her: someone so completely out of their element that, somewhere along the way, shemadeit her element.
She still stands out, don’t get me wrong, thanks to her loose interpretation of the packing list: her long, beautiful hair under that cute black ball cap; her yoga-studio clothes that haven’t faded under nine days of sunshine and one of rain; her shoes and her pack and her eye mask and her pajamas and that bikini at Mackenzie Lake that left an indelible mark on my memory.
But despite all that—or maybebecauseof it—she seems more at home out here than I ever expected based on my first impressions.
I’m really going to miss her on the next trek.
“Can we move out to Lavender Fields pretty soon?” Matteo says, dipping a fry into what’s left of his milkshake. He’s been pretty quiet ever since we got back. “We’ve been here so long this bench has fused to my ass.”
Lavender Fields—aptly named for its meadow full of purple flowers, a scene that’s particularly beautiful during golden hour—is only a ten-minute hike away. As soon as we get there, my adrenaline wears off and a deep exhaustion sets in. I want to make the most of the time I have left with Sadie, but for once, I think I truly overdid it. The only thing that will help is sleep.
“Go rest,” she tells me. “We’ll all be right behind you, honestly. Even my sleeping bag sounds good at this point.”
She looks completely spent, too, now that we’ve set up camp and daylight is quickly running out; her hair falls over one eye, casting a shadow.
“Tomorrow,” I say as I reach up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “we won’t be staying long before we head out, but we’ll at least be here for one last sunrise. Want to watch it with me?”
Her eyes are pale green pools in the sunlight. I never want this day to end—but it’s fading fast, and so am I.
I’m already dreaming when her voice cuts through the haze: “Wouldn’t miss it.”
DAY ELEVEN
Lavender Fields to Mackenzie Lake Loop Trailhead
There’s an inscription carved into the wooden sign at the Mackenzie Lake Loop Trailhead that reads:THOUGH THE MOUNTAINS NEVER CHANGE, THE MOUNTAINS CHANGE YOU. If you look closely at its post, you’ll notice it is covered in scratches—rest assured that these were not made by any wild animal, but by every hiker who came before you. Tradition holds that each hiker, upon completing the loop, reserves the right to carve a small tally line into the post. Use a pocketknife or a humble house key to make your mark.
—Henry Herrington,Backpacking the Sierras: A Beginner’s Handbook(Fourth Edition)
39SADIE
We’re perched on a huge granite rock, rewriting our memories of the last boulder we sat on together: instead of him telling me how much easier it would be if I were farther away, he wraps his arm around me, pulling me in close. I tip my head to his shoulder.
It all just feels so perfectlyright.
I didn’t bother making coffee—today’s coffee can wait.
The sunrise, on the other hand, will happen whether we’re ready or not.
When the first rays peek out over the horizon, the view nearly takes my breath away. It is utterly unadorned: no clouds for as far as I can see, just a brilliant ball of fire making its way into the sky.
“It never gets old,” Thorn says. “I’ve seen a thousand sunrises—thousands, maybe. They’re never the same.”
I could tell him so many things right now: I could tell him how it took hours for me to fall asleep the night he was gone because I was worried he might not make it to Matteo, or back to us. I could thank him for helping me realize I’m the sort of person who enjoys a good sunrise every bit as much as I enjoy my silk eye masks. I could tell himthat for all the ways this trip has been uncomfortable and challenging and terrifying, I’d do it all over again—especially if it meant I’d get to do it with him.
I could tell him all of this and more.
But our time is limited, and with every inch the sun climbs higher above the horizon, I’m reminded of the hardest thing I’llhaveto tell him, only two hours from now: goodbye.
We sit together, soaking it all in for as long as we can.
And then it’s time to go.
