Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Forty-One

Mrs. Gallagher said I knew where Enrique is. And there is only one place I can think of that he would go.

But I do not want to go there.

I surprise even myself when, less than five minutes later, I'm sliding into a parking spot too small for my car and shimmying out of the door, throwing my ratty backpack over my shoulders and slinging Mrs. Gallagher's small bag of rations onto my elbow.

The waterfall roars in my ears and the sky is brushed with a deep orange.

"Isn't it beautiful?" A young boy shouts nearby, eyes bright with excitement as he bounces on his toes.

"Yeah, it really is." I answer him, scanning the area for a face and form I've grown to know. But he's not here. A man in a black hoodie, a woman in a pantsuit, two people who look as though they capsized while attempting rafting, and the family whose son had just engaged me. But no Enrique.

I don't want to believe he's gone up the mountain. I don't want to face that. Not now.

"I can do this," I say, giving myself a pep talk.

"Do what?" the young boy asks again.

"I just don't want to walk up there is all. I'm trying to convince myself to walk through the forest." I have no idea why I'm still chatting with him.

"My daddy always says sometimes when you have to do things that are scary you should take three deep breaths and then do the first thing. He says even big scary things are just lots of small things and I shouldn't be afraid."

"That's... actually not bad advice."

I turn to see the little guy smugly nodding, arms crossed in front of him.

At least being schooled by a five year old gives me a good anecdote to tell if this doesn't go how I'm hoping. And hiking alone through the woods is definitely a scary thing.

Deep breath. The fresh air swirls around me, flipping my ponytail around behind me.

Second breath. I shift my backpack so the weight is even and hike the reusable bag from Mrs. Gallagher onto my shoulder.

Third breath. Time to take the first step.

And then another, following the only path that leads up the mountain Enrique pointed to that day we sat by the water. Or, at least, I hope it's the right one, because I'm armed only with my snacks and a haphazard array of clothes.

I am wildly underprepared for my first solo hike.

And it shows. By the hour and a half mark, I've screamed at no less than three small animals and accused a backpacker of being a moose.

My legs cry out in pain and I'm pretty sure a blister is bleeding when I finally find a large, flat rock to sit down on.

It's only after I'm sitting that I realize the reason there's a flat rock here is because it is actually a stylized bench.

"You alright?" a passing hiker asks, pausing before turning up the switchback.

"I'm fine," I lie before correcting myself. "No, actually. I've got blisters so bad even leaving my shoe on hurts."

Why I'm telling her this, I don't know. But I need help and whether or not she gives it isn't in my control. I'd rather look weird than sit here in pain, unable to go up or down in the encroaching darkness.

"Why don't you take a break. Drink some water. Do you have any pain medicine? It might help you finish the hike."

Do I have any pain medicine? I flip my backpack around and dig through the compartments, finding a dressing gown, a left slipper, and three colours of lip gloss but no pain medication.