In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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"Whatever," she says, shoving my shoulder. "You are the most together person I've ever met."
"If you'd asked me three weeks ago, I'd have said I was perfectly fine. Perhaps your crisis is rubbing off on me."
"Now that," she says, pointing her finger at me, "seems likely. Crisis osmosis."
"Can't be good for either of us," I say. "You need your crisis."
"And you need your calm." She steps in front of me and walks backward along the path. "Or maybe—hear me out—maybe my crisis and your calm balance each other out. Like we'd be good for each other."
While I do not see a need or value in a crisis, I can admit, at least to myself, that she's fun to be around. "Careful," I say. "You're in danger of violating rule number forty-one."
"Oh shit. What's rule forty-one? I left the list in the truck."
Of course she did. "No falling down on gravel paths."
"That is not the rule." She laughs.
"It is. It is a rule. Shame you can't remember any of the ones you wrote down last night."
"No. No, it's not. And if you remember, you should really tell me. Keep me on the straight and narrow."
"Straight and narrow, eh? Stepping off the path would be another rule violation. Not convinced crafting so many about trail walking was the best idea." Rule number forty-nine, no banter, is quickly falling by the wayside as well.
"There's not a single rule on these sheets that's about trail walking."
"You sure?" I ask, tugging my sunglasses out of the side of my pack and sliding them on. "I'll listen while you list all the rules."
"You're being a jackass on purpose." She whirls around, and her ponytails sways behind her.
"That was rule number one," I say. "In case you need help getting started."
"Just pretend I'm putting on headphones." She mocks sliding them over her ears in front of me. "Noise canceling ones."
"Want me to pry one up and ask you if that means you don't want to talk to me?"
She pretends to adjust them on her head, and I huff out a laugh. Joke's on her. I'm perfectly fine with silence.
~ * ~
Or perhaps the joke is on me. Gwen doesn't say anything else on the way to the summit, and it's unsettling to think she might be upset with me. I don't know why I care. The only reason I'm walking this trail in particular is because she wasn't fully prepared for a grizzly encounter. Not that I am, but at least we'll have the advantage of numbers. Hopefully.
We're both huffing and puffing by the time we pop out of the tree line beside a large white rock. At the top, the view is incredible.
