More and more packages arrived, indicating hikers were on the trails. A few straggled in here and there, but none of them had traveled great distances—it was still too early in the spring. One couple had been hiking for six weeks, having started in Wyoming, planning to head farther south through the Rockies if the snow had melted enough. Two guys came over the Rockies from the south and reported it was passable—they had picked up the trail on the north rim of New Mexico. There were several people who’d hiked from Boulder and planned to go all the way to Durango.

On the weekends there were hiking groups who were out for the day or maybe one overnight on the trail. Cal wanted to visit with each one of them, asking about what had motivated them and how their experience had been.

Then it happened, right at the end of April.

“Maggie, your dad is doing great. He must be the poster child for bypass recovery. I saw him hauling flour sacks for Enid, patching the rain drain on the outside of the store, putting a little WeatherAll on the porch rail and throwing the ball for Beau. He’s been cleaning out grills, hosing down your back porch and garden and I caught him doing a little maintenance on his truck. Nothing too serious, the truck is running fine.”

“I wish he wouldn’t push it,” she said.

“He’s not, according to him. He said the doctor gave him the go-ahead. Normal activities. And if he feels any discomfort, he’s supposed to rest. But he seems to be fine. You seem to be fine. Any thoughts of going back to work? Going back to your house in Denver?”

“I’m going back next week for a day to be deposed for that lawsuit, but to practice?” She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m thinking of staying through summer. Poor Sully. I can tell he wishes I’d go. My mother has been calling a lot—she’s appalled by my defection. Not just that I’m not practicing at the moment, but even worse for her—I’m spending my time here. I’ve been here seven weeks and by the texts and emails, people are surprised I’ve stretched it out this long. For now, I’m staying. Do you think I’m crazy, too? Because neurosurgeons just don’t do this?”

Cal laughed and shook his head. “Listen, life’s too short to choose unhappiness. Until you figure out how to live on your own terms, you do whatever you have to do. When I figure out what that means, I’ll be happy to share. For me, for now, I have a little exploring to do. Many times growing up we didn’t have a house anywhere and you’ve got two. I think you’ll be okay. You won’t get any judgment from me.”

“Well, this is Sully’s place, really. At some point I’ll have to work. I can’t expect my father to support me forever.”

He took a deep breath. He took her hands in his. “Maggie, I’m going to go away for a little while,” he said. “The time is perfect. I’m acclimated to the altitude, the forecast is good and I want some of that trail experience.”

“Why don’t you just make this your base camp and go out for a day here and there, like we’ve been doing?” she asked hopefully.

“I want to go north from here, camp along the way, watch summer hit Colorado, maybe go through Wyoming...”

“That’s a long hike,” she said.

“Not nearly as long as some. It’s what I came here to do. I have thinking to do—like where I’m going to settle, what I’m going to do for work. I’m thirty-seven and at loose ends. I had this crazy idea the Continental Divide would level me out, give me a sense of balance, make the answers come easier. I think the solitude on the trail might be good for me.”

She felt a panic in her gut. “I’m never going to see you again, am I.” She did not state it as a question.