Page 49 of The Strawberry Field
Jake navigates toward the open water. Hattie lifts her nose to the sky, ears flapping in the wind. She looks like pure joy.
Ten minutes later, we slow near a sandy stretch at the base of Smith Mountain.
“This place is beautiful,” I say.
“It really is,” Jake agrees.“I’ve been to Lake Como, and yeah, it’s stunning, but Smith Mountain has its own kind of magic.”
He guns the engine just enough to push us onto the beach, then cuts it. Hattie leaps off and takes off down the shoreline to sniff.
“Ladies first,” Jake says, motioning for me to climb off. He follows, then pulls our bags from the storage compartment.
I’m wearing shorts, hiking boots, and a small backpack. Jake has a bigger one slung over his.
“The water’s still cold,” I say, testing it with my toe.
“It won’t warm up until June. I usually swim by April, but with a wetsuit.”
We sit and lace up our boots. I catch myself noticing how strong his legs are, athletic, solid.
“What do you do to stay in shape?” I ask.
“I run. Mostly trail runs. Clears my head. How about you?”
“Not much lately. This might be a wake-up call.”
“You’ll make it,” he says, standing and adjusting his pack.
A small part of me wants to tell him I’m not sure. But another part, faint, but alive, wants to try anyway.
He leads the way to the trail. Hattie bounds ahead, tail high.
“How about I go first,” Jake says.“Just in case we do meet a snake.”
“Yes, please.”
“You know I’m never letting you live that down, right?”
I roll my eyes.“I had a feeling.”
I smile then. It feels strange. A lightness pressing up against the weight of so much darkness. But I let it come. And it feels good. Like the first rays of sun at dawn.
The climb starts steep. I follow him step by step, already regretting my severely lagging fitness level.
“You good?” he calls back.
“Still with you.”
The trail zigzags through underbrush and trees. After twenty minutes, we pause on a rocky outcrop. Jake pulls out a bottle of water for Hattie, who laps it up gratefully. Then he hands me one.
“Thanks,” I say, drinking deeply.
“Did you ever hike this mountain growing up?”
“No,” I say.“We talked about it, but never did. I know Tommy would’ve loved it.”
“Yeah,” Jake says, brushing something invisible from his shorts.“He would have.”
“It’s okay to talk about him,” I say gently.“I miss talking about him.”
