Page 40 of Big & Lily

“Oh, I’m with her. I don’t even know how I’m sitting up right now. I guess you all figured out this adventure life isn’t really my thing.”

Luna puts her hand on my arm. “You’re doing great.”

She has such a soothing demeanor, so generous with her assurances, so easily able to meet you where you are. Even if where you are is a clumsy, out-of-shape, in-over-her-head housewife on an ill-planned and unadvised wilderness trip. She must be a great mom. She’s the kind of parent I always thought I’d be. Instead, I turned into the one frantically putting out fires while my own hair is ablaze.

“Youguys make everything look so easy,” I say, with a heavy sigh. It’s been a day.

“We have a lot of experience. Many trips into the mountains. Many peaks summited. Stars counted. Vistas shared. Although... it’s been a while. Not since...” She trails off and stares into the fire. She is quiet as Jace stands up to jab at the logs, sending a new set of embers upward.

“She’s sick,” she finally whispers. “I mean, she’s sick again.”

“Oh, Luna.”

“She went through all the treatments. The chemo, the radiation. She lost her hair, she lost her breasts, we both almost lost our minds. But she beat it! She rang the bell. We were so relieved.”Luna picks up one of the pine cones scattered on the ground around camp and tosses it into the firepit. It sizzles and snaps. “Then, at her last checkup, we got the news. It’s back. They think they missed something far back, on the back wall of the breast, and in her lymph nodes.”

“I’m so sorry, Luna.”

“We have to start all over again. Well, she does. The thing is, she’s not sure she wants to do it. So, we came out here. I’m hoping being in Alaska will clear her mind and give her the strength to say yes. She wants to block it all out, to forget about all of it. She wants to pretend it isn’t happening.”

Sounds familiar. I guess there’s a lot of that out here in Alaska, where you can easily get lost—on the trail, in the wild terrain, and maybe, if you wander far enough, in your mind.

“It’s always been on our bucket list, a trip like this, as I said the first day. I thought if we moved it up, came now, she’d realize what life could be like if she only fights a little longer. Easy for me to say, but what am I going to do? I’m trying.”

Now it’s my turn to lay a hand on her arm. “You’re doing great.”

We are all trying. Trying to help the ones we love. Are we succeeding? Like the Magic 8 Ball says, ask again later.

“She doesn’t want anyone to find out. You won’t say anything, Bridget?”

“Of course not.” Another secret I’ll tuck in my pocket. I turn an invisible key at my lips. “Safe with me,” I say.

Luna looks tired too. She drags herself off the log with a groan. “That’s me, shuffling off.”

“Good night. Can’t wait for tomorrow’s death-defying act.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Such a hoot,” she says, and then she waves to Lily and the men and does indeed shuffle off.

My sister and the others are sitting on the other side of the fire, partially obscured by smoke now rising from it. The sun, while notsetting, is weakening, giving the light around us a yellow tinge. I’m too beat to join the group, my social batteries have run out for today. My little twin bed is calling me, but getting up is too much of an effort, so I just stare off into the woods behind the dinner barn, in a bone-weary haze—until I see something move out there. I blink and sit up straighter. No one else sees it, they’re facing the opposite way. I stand up slowly and walk toward the barn. No one notices. Closer to the barn, I see what had moments ago looked like simply a shadow. It’s a fox.

I freeze.

Is itmyfox?

Hi, little guy, I say in my head, fearing any sound would scare him off. I glance back at the group. They are missing this. I can’t say I’m not happy about that. I want the fox to be here just for me. I step gingerly, not wanting to make a snap or a crackle or a pop. The fox watches me. I silently ask him not to run away. He doesn’t. At the far end of the barn, the corner closest to the woods, there is a bench. Like a slow-motion video, I step over to the bench and lower myself down. The only sound I make is a creak in my knee, but somehow the animal takes pity on my old legs and stays.

We sit in silence, my fox and me. We blink at each other.So nice of you to find me, I say, but still only in my head. I want him to stick around a little while longer. I tell him about my day—the lake, the capsizing, Lily’s nonsense with Dane, and now, Mimi’s diagnosis. He promises not to tell anyone, at least that’s what I see in his golden eyes. My exhaustion evaporates and is replaced with a relaxation I haven’t felt in... well, in a long time. I don’t have the urge to pull out my phone and send a photo of the fox to my kids, which is always my first thought when I see something I think is cool. I don’t want to summon the rest of the group and point out my find. I’m happy to sit on this bench and share the evening with a new friend. No further agenda.

After a few minutes, the fox, who is now named Merlin, a suggestion he agreed to, shakes his head like dog and turns back to the woods. I understand. We can’t stay here all night. Foxes have things to do. I stand, and Merlin bounds off without so much as a goodbye.

I walk back to the firepit. It’s finally time for bed. I’m sure even Lily will agree and join me. The fox visit has left me feeling content, even with today’s drama, and my lost luggage, and my unpredictable sister to chase after. Jace is still poking at the fire. Ian and Xavier are playing cards. Lily is gone. So is Dane.

“Bridget,” says Jace when he sees me. “Interest you in a game of rummy? I’ve got another deck.” His smile is strained as he glances over at my cabin.

“No thank you, I can barely keep my eyes open. Night, guys.”

“How about one last drink? A nightcap, yeah?”

Now he glances at Ian, who also glances over toward my cabin. “Thank you anyway,” I say quickly. I turn and drag myself down the gravel path. Nothing looks untoward, the curtains are drawn, the frying pans are nestled in each other by the door. Why do people around here have to act so weird about me going to bed? Everyone must be overtired, I think as I turn the doorknob.