Page 7 of Falling

We finish our breakfast quickly. I know she’s anxious to get on the trails. When our packs are loaded and we’re layered properly, we drive to Glacier Point.

There are several cars in the lot, but no one is around. I suspect we’re between the diehard hikers and the recreational ones. We shrug into our backpacks. Geneva has a rare smile on her face.

“Lead on,” I say, handing her the GPS.

She strides toward the trail. I have to move quickly to keep from getting left behind. She sets a punishing pace. By the time she finally stops at Illilouette Falls, I’ve realized I’m not in as good a shape as I think. The two-and-a-half miles down the mountain feels more like fifteen.

“Wow,” she whispers. That makes the blisters threatening my feet all worth it. “Have you ever seen anything like it?” She grins at me, and my knees grow weak.

“Never,” I agree. I’m not talking about the scenery. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes are shining when she looks at me, and I’ve never seen anything better than Geneva with a smile.

“Why haven’t we done this before? What were we thinking?” she asks with a laugh.

“I guess we weren’t.” I pull out my phone and snap a couple of pictures with her in them. She’s even in a good enough mood to agree to a selfie. Must be the lack of oxygen.

“Ready?” She starts back down the trail before I can protest, and I fall in step behind her.

The trail to Nevada Falls is longer and full of switchbacks. We meet another pair of hikers going in the opposite direction up the mountain. They must be insane. Downhill is hard enough. After a quick greeting, we continue toward the falls.

Geneva veers off the trail after a series of switchbacks. The path is unmarked, but she acts like she knows where she’s going, so I follow. I have to give her credit, the view is amazing.

We decide to eat something in a clearing just big enough for us to sit down. I pull out a pack of tuna I see her eat at the office. There’s trail mix, mandarin oranges, peanut butter crackers, and cubes of cheese.

“You’re good at this,” she says, scooping out the tuna. If she could see my legs shaking, she wouldn’t say that. “We should do this more often.”

“Maybe we’ll have more time now to take some time off.” I offer her the trail mix. She takes a handful.

“Do you think Rand would want to come?”

“I think so.” The hint of uncertainty concerns me. Geneva is nothing if not self-assured. It hasn’t occurred to me until now that Rand’s new life might be having more of an impact on her than I realized.

“I bet Brontë will be onboard also,” I continue. “We should plan something for the four of us in a couple of months. Maybe a trip to Big Bend to check out that park.”

“We should probably keep going,” she says after considering my suggestion in silence for a moment.

“Are you sure we don’t want to take the Muir Trail? I read it’s not quite as steep.”

“Come on, Peter.” Standing, she helps me up. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

There’s the Geneva I know. We rejoin the main trail and continue on. We hike through small streams and switchbacks until we eventually reach Nevada Falls. She insists we take the footbridge for a bird’s-eye view of the falls. More photos, a quick snack, and off we go.

We reach the Mist Trail, and I get a good look at the steep rock staircase we have to descend. I would really like to turn around. We should turn around, but Geneva is excited about pushing us past what I believe we’re capable of. We start our descent slowly, picking our way down the rocks.

I know why they call it the Mist Trail. A gentle mist adds to the treachery of the descent, making the rocks wet. We should have turned around. I’m standing higher on the trail trying to catch my breath for a minute when it happens.

One moment, she’s on her feet, heading down. The next, she goes down, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. She cries out as she slides several feet down the rocks. My heart leaps into my throat. I can’t tell how far she’s fallen.

“Geneva!” I yell, throwing off my backpack. I scramble down as carefully as possible with my heart thundering in my chest. I kneel next to her. Her face is scrunched in pain.

“Where are you hurt?” My hands seem to have a mind of their own as they touch every inch of her body for injuries. She finally slaps them away. Weirdly, it’s comforting.

“My ankle,” she says between gritted teeth. I move so I can access her ankle. I can already see it swelling inside her boot.

“I don’t want to take your boot off. If it’s broken, I could do even more damage.”

She nods her head.

“Do you think you can put weight on it?”

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