Page 102 of Something Like Fate

He fixes his luminous smile on me and takes my hand across the counter. “All right, let’s go to the Dolomites.”

The next day, we take a series of trains north to the Italian Alps, bordering Switzerland and Austria. The north is like a different country entirely. It’s filled with Alpine-like villages with sleek chalet-style buildings and steep roofs to shed snow in the harsh winters. The backdrop of the Alps is just stunning.

I continue with myyesmentality.

Staying in a rustic outdoor yurt? Let’s do it.

Doing a nearly vertical sixteen-kilometer hike in the mountains? Why not?

Stay another month? Abso-freakin-lutely.

40

Caleb decides not to return for school in the fall and officially drops out with zero regrets, though it does result in a nasty argument with his parents over the phone. But even his parents can’t dampen our spirits. We make the Dolomites our home base from which to launch our travels around Europe. We both manage to get jobs. Caleb serves at a little restaurant in town that specializes in Tyrolean dumplings, and I find work at a farm.

One day when Caleb and I are out for a bike ride, a huge hound wearing a bowtie starts chasing us. It follows us up a hill, where we meet Martine and Dax, hobby farmers who take in and rehabilitate abused or neglected animals with the aim of putting them up for adoption. I spend the entire day there, in heaven with the animals. And by the time I leave, they offer me a part-time job.

I help with whatever they need, refilling water bowls, washing blankets, playing with the dogs, and assisting with clerical work.

Martine tells me I have a special way with the dogs, and it occurs to me that maybe this is what I want to do.Maybe this is my path.Work with dogs. Maybe become a trainer, own a kennel, and open up a rescue eventually. It’s not that I hadn’t considered it, but it never seemed like a viable path. More like a pipe dream. Until now. Caleb thinks it’s an excellent idea, although we don’t discuss that it’s not a career conducive to traveling for long periods of time. That seems like a problem for future us.

For the next six months, we use our days off to travel around Switzerland, Germany, and Austria. We challenge ourselves to the most extreme hikes. Winter arrives early in the north, so Caleb wants to hit as many trails as possible before the snow comes.

I develop killer calves and muscle tone in places I didn’t even realize I could. It’s only when we’re hiking the Tofana di Mezzo with some hostel friends (our fourth hike in two weeks) that my body decides it’s done. I take a misstep on a loose rock, and a sharp twinge of pain shoots through my knee. I shift awkwardly before I can utter a sound, and my legs give way.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Caleb asks, clutching my arm to help me up.

“No, I can’t stand,” I manage through a wince. The pain is intense, like a lightning bolt radiating up my leg.

Caleb carries me on his back to the hostel. But by the time we get ice on my knee, it’s already massively swollen. The next day, I’m still unable to put weight on it, which sucks since we’d planned another big hike. To be honest, after all our adventuring, I could use a little quiet time. I suggest we watch a movie at the hostel. Hovering over my iPad in our crappy, creaky hostel bed with my leg propped up isn’t exactly an ideal night in. But it feels like a luxury after being on the go for so long.

We select a heist film, one where they drive flashy cars all over Europe that Caleb seemed intrigued by. Only twenty minutes in and he’s bored. He’s tapping his knee, fidgeting. Usually, he’s in a good mood. But he seems down and irritated.

I can’t help but imagine watching this with Teller. We would have already dissected how unrealistic the car stunts are, or bickered about who would drive (me, obviously) and who would shoot (also me) in the event of a high-speed chase.

“Sorry,” Caleb says when I ask what’s wrong. “I haven’t watched TV in ages. My attention span is shot.”

“Usually people try to detox from screen time, not nature,” I tease.

He doesn’t smile. “It just really sucks your knee isn’t going to be better for the hike tomorrow,” he says, pouting like a child being told they can’t go outside for recess.

“I know. I really wanted to go on that hike.” It’s a lie. Even if I could, I don’t really want to go. I’m burned out and just need to sit still for a bit. But now doesn’t feel like the time to admit that.

Caleb is quiet for a few minutes, trying to watch the movie. But he finally gets so antsy, he has to stand. “Wanna go play some Frisbee or something?”

“I can’t run with my knee,” I remind him.

“Shit. True. How about just a walk around?”

“There are stairs and cobblestone literally everywhere,” I point out, frustrated by his inability to comprehend my handicap. I know he doesn’t intend it, but he’s making me feel bad for being injured. Like I’m putting him out, holding him back from life or something.

He lets out a sigh and turns a wistful gaze toward the window. “Can we at least go sit by the lake or something?”

It’s December, so the weather is frigid. The last thing I feel like doing is bundling up in my snow gear.

It makes me think back to Cinque Terre. Sure, we did some relaxing on the beach, but it was always after an exhausting day. And it was never long before Caleb ran into the water, desperate to move. At first, Caleb’s “always on the go” persona was exhilarating. But lately, it’s exhausting.

“You could still go, you know,” I finally say. “On the hike tomorrow.”

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