Page 60 of Double Exposure

Chapter Seventeen

Carter Weston

For the third time in a week, I touch down. The first time was for work. The second was for Jade’s search and rescue mission. And the third time is with her. For her. For someone I love and care about. “Girlfriend,” is the appropriate word. I think about it, take her hand, and squeeze it.

The ride up the mountain is beautiful. It’s mid-morning and Jace packed us a great lunch. I’m excited to show her the mountain. This foothill is a part of our family. It’s how we think of her. We are her stewards. In the warmer air, the scent of pine is immediate when we touch down.

Jade jumps to the ground. The snow here is mushy. There's no need for snowshoeing at this lower elevation. The Danish are a sticky memory at this point.

She catches sight of the bottle of white wine I managed to sneak into the daypack.

She looks at Brock as he gets ready to leave us.

“Yeah, it’s a date,” he says and waves at me.

We watch as the aircraft lifts up and then swoops down the hill toward home.

“This is like a date, isn’t it?” she says smiling. Her teeth are very white and her lips are dusky rose. I want to kiss her right here. So, I do. We touch our foreheads for a moment before we pull apart.

“We're going to go a little higher, up this way,” I nod toward a narrow deer trail to the right.

“Is there a trail?”

“Oh, there's a trail,” I say and explain how my brothers and I cleared the trail with our father. “Dad always said everything has a beginning, so we called it The Beginning Trail.”

“Kinda like us, at the beginning,” she says. “That sounds like a story.”

“A story?” I start up the trail.

“I’m still waiting to hear your favorite story.”

Brock had his fire tower. I had the falls. As I kid, I was damn sure I could get to it. That’s when our dad helped us clear it. Along the way, I showed her a couple of trees where we boys carved our names, with a little “C” for Codie.

Jade leaned over, took off one glove, and rubbed the lines with her index finger. “I would have loved to see you guys, you little boys all up here.”

After a half a mile, I stop and search for the rock.

“What are you looking for?”

“This,” I say and step off the path. I squat and shift a large rock to its side. Underneath, is a small metal box.

“This is like a treasure hunt!”

“Well, disappointing treasure. We thought we were so clever.” We sit down on a boulder for a minute and I open the box.

Its contents seem meager. Several hawk feathers, some pretty rocks, a bone and a few animal teeth, an owl pellet. They represent important finds from our collective childhood. A three-inch square of Codie’s yellow blankie nests in the center.

“Did you feel like you five owned the mountain?”

I shake my head. “No one owns her, we just took care of her.”

“What’s this?” She lifts a silver button.

“That’s off my dad's favorite jacket, and this,” I dig around a moment and then hold up a gold button, “is off Mom’s favorite sweater. She still doesn’t know what happened to it.”

She holds them both in her palm.

“After he died, Brock snipped Dad’s and I stole Mom’s. We were kids. It made sense then.”