Page 77 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“Uh, no. I wasn’t able to have any.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bug said. “That’s tough. A friend of mine went through rounds and rounds of fertility treatments before she gave up and adopted.”

“How is she doing with that?”

“She’s happy and fulfilled,” Bug said. “She says she should have quit a long time before she did. She’s taken in a couple of at-risk kids—older ones—and says it’s hard work, and there are some tough days but overall, she feels she’s doing something really positive.”

“And her husband is on board with that?”

“One hundred percent,” Bug said. “They’ve built a nice family.”

Lucky woman.

“How did the semester go?” Joe asked his son. “We’ve been so busy I forgot to ask.”

“It was long,” Bug said. “Kids seem less and less prepared for college every year. Sure, they can read at a basic sixth-grade level, as long as the text isn’t very challenging, but interpreting what they’re reading is a lost art. And trying to get them to express themselves on paper? They never met a meme they didn’t like. It’s all declarative sentences without anything substantial to back it up.”

“Sounds deadly,” I commented.

“Some days,” Bug admitted. “But then that gem comes along: a finely crafted paper that makes me look at things in a way I never did before. That makes it all worthwhile.” He smiled, an exact replica of his father’s expression. “I love my job. I’m making a difference, no matter how small, and it allows me to lead the life I want to have: a slow, sustainable existence.”

I could picture his ranchette with its small herd grazing in the cool mountain air, a dog with a tail that almost wagged itself off when he came home, and great aromas in the kitchen where his wife played with their new child.

Had I not been so impatient, it might have been the life I could have had with Joe.

But it was the road not taken. No use wallowing in remorse.

I’d made my choices and lived my life. There wasn’t going to be a do-over. Once Joe left to travel on to wherever he was going, my life would be my own to create.

~ ~ ~

Parking was difficult to find at Mammoth. Summer was in full swing and with it the hordes of tourists that made the trek to the large parks of the Rocky Mountains. Their campsites, RVs, and hotel rooms were well-equipped, but they had the perspective that came from a carefully constructed living environment.

We dodged large families with five or six children, inevitably one in a large stroller, or even two in a double stroller that took up the entire path. Twenty-somethings threw Frisbees to each other without regard to anyone else. And determined elders used their motorized devices to mow down whoever was in their way.

Amid all this chaos, a few determined elk tried to graze, while a bison stood at the edge of the official buildings like a statue.

“I thought we’d do the Wraith Falls Trail, come back and have lunch, then do as much of the Mammoth Springs Trail as we feel up to doing,” Joe said. “There are a lot of staircases involved in that one, and I’m not all that into stairs on a hot day with lots of people.”

“I agree with you there,” I said.

“I’m hoping to come back again in the fall with my family,” Bug said as we headed to the trailhead. “In my mind I’ve always thought it was a long way from Dillon, but four hours isn’t bad, especially once you get that place in Ennis, Dad.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Joe said.

We ambled through the sagebrush, marshland, and small pine and fir trees to get to the falls. While the trail was more crowded than I would have liked, the view was definitely worth the walk. It was easy to see how the falls got their name. Shimmering water spilled over ripples of rock. There was still a steady flow for mid-July, but there were already spots where the water no longer flowed. The water was a thin layer, looking ghostlike in its whiteness.

I took a photo with my phone, then tried to imagine what types of pictures I wanted to take if I had a better camera. A fern clung to a piece of rock at the edge of the falls. It would be nice to zoom in on that. Momentarily, a bit of light caught the falls just right, producing a momentary rainbow. Catching it would require quick reactions. No time to fiddle with settings.

“What are you thinking about?” Joe asked.

I told him about the trip to the camera store, Jane’s questions, and my assignment.

“I’m glad you’re moving forward with this,” he said. “I think photography will suit you, and fulfill something inside you that’s been missing all these years.”

“You mean something other than true love and children of my own?” I snarked at him.

“I’m sorry you didn’t experience that through your life,” he said. “And no, photography won’t replace that but if I’m right, it will help ease the pain you feel.”

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