Miles waited, patient enough, each time she stopped to capture some spotted joe-pye weed, or whatever she found interesting in the bark on birches, old-growth maples.
They passed a group heading down, were passed by another couple heading up.
He liked her company, liked she didn’t chatter endlessly, but could appreciate the quiet and the song of birds. He hadn’t made enough time for this lately, he admitted, for just walking through the hills and forest he loved.
She stopped, held up a hand. “Wait, I hear … Is that a waterfall?”
“Around the next bend in the trail. It’s small but scenic. Little White Falls. Resort property ends there, so we have the cutoff to loop back, or we can take the longer that runs through the national forest. It gets steeper.”
“Definitely the longer, but I want to see the falls.”
They tumbled down, dashing into the river below and foaming white against the weak-tea brown.
“It’s beautiful. It’s like music.”
And it sparkled over the rock, beat water against water so the river showed its floor. Where the shade spread, moss-carpeted limbs turned the light soft. Yet the sun struck the tumbling water, bright as a laser.
The couple who’d passed them took a couple selfies, then turned to take the trail back down. A group of three rose from a low rock ledge, then continued on up the trail.
Miles took the leash so she could pull out her phone yet again. While she got her pictures, he pulled the collapsible cup out of his pack, poured water into it.
A grateful Howl lapped it up.
He glanced up in time to see her take their picture as he crouched down to offer the dog a second cup.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I tossed an old plastic bowl in my pack. The cup’s better.”
She lifted her face to the sky. “This is the most perfect spot. I hate selfies,” she said looking back at him.
“I’m with you on that.”
“But it’s a waterfall, and I’d like to make an exception to my no-selfie rule.”
“Go ahead.”
“It includes you. It’s a waterfall, Miles, and the light’s perfect. So please, just this once.”
He should’ve known it would happen, just as he accepted refusing made him a jerk. He didn’t mind being a jerk, but he’d mind more spoiling the moment.
He stepped over to her.
“Thank you.” She held out the camera, turning it until she got the angle she wanted. “On three. Don’t scowl.”
“I’m not scowling.”
To solve it, she turned her face just enough to press her lips to his cheek. When his lips curved, just a little, she took the picture.
“What happened to ‘on three’？”
“That was better. Look.” She brought the photo up. “We’re adorable. And I’m going to do more of this.” She pocketed the phone. “That’s my solemn vow in front of the magic waterfall.”
They continued up. It did get steeper, and Morgan supposed she had Jen’s relentless workouts to thank for the fact she climbed without muscles twinging.
A group of teenage boys bounded by like antelopes, cackling like hyenas.
“It’s all fun and games,” Miles commented, “until somebody breaks an ankle.”
“What were they, about sixteen? The age of indestructibility.”
“Where were you at sixteen?”
“I honestly can’t tell you. I used to keep a book to write down the place and the dates. After the divorce, we kept moving around so much, I kept writing it down. Then I tossed it—which was stupid—when I went to college.
“Done with that.” She flicked her hand as if tossing something away. “But it was mostly a minor temper tantrum, and I regret it.”
“Your mom probably knows if you ever want to put places and times together.”
“Maybe, but…”
She went speechless when the world opened up. “Oh God! You didn’t tell me.”
“Makes a nice surprise. Not a half-bad view.”
“It’s glorious.”
A world of mountains, valleys, hills, rivers spread out in vivid greens, tender blues, the sturdy gray of rock in jutted outcroppings. The soft peaks as they rolled on spoke of age and endurance.
I’m here, and have been long before, will be long after.
She could see the folds and cuts of land and water, the rise of trees, the climb of trails, all so clear under the wide bowl of sky. And like a gift, the white tumble of a distant waterfall.
A painting, she thought, unframed and open to anyone who stood at this spot.