It was funny, really, the ideas that people grew up with, about love and marriage and happily ever after, Clare thought. She had, quite naturally, based her own expectations on the actions of her parents, who always found time to spend together, even when there wasn’t any. An only child, she treasured those moments when her father would come home from work, often with little gifts for her and her mother, and always with a big smile on his face.
“Because you wait so patiently for me,” he would say in his heavy Greek accent.
They would eat dinner at the kitchen table, make quick work of the dishes when they were done, and then, if it were warm enough, the three of them would go out and sit on the porch, or if it were too chilly, they would sit in the living room, in front of a crackling fire, and talk about how their day had gone. And of course, weekends were all about being together.
When she was little, her father was building his business. When she was older, he was running the business. By the time she was grown and ready to go out on her own, the business was running him. But he always made time to tell a joke, discuss a problem, explain an issue, kiss a bruise, or hear her prayers. It was what she had always thought her husband would give to their children.
But Richard wasn’t her father. And although she knew that he loved his son and daughter dearly, he couldn’t seem to balance his business life and his family life with quite the same ease as his father-in-law had. He was often preoccupied and restless and distant, with little time for either of them. Which was what made today’s excursion so special.
And it appeared as though he was actually enjoying the picnic, although Clare knew he wasn’t exactly crazy about ham and cheese sandwiches. He engaged his children in a dialogue about how the mountains were formed, and he even struck up a conversation with a couple of men who were also picnicking with their families. Then, when lunch was over, he suggested they might like to try something a little different.
“Instead of the main path, why don’t we take one of the trails down?” he said, pulling out the map they had gotten at the main gate and pointing to an alternate path. “One of the fellows I was talking to comes here a lot and he says there are a lot of black tail deer on this trail.”
“Deer?” Peter cried. “Can we feed them?”
For some unknown reason, it was the boy’s favorite animal. At home, he and his sister often put out food for the deer, although he had no way of knowing that his mother’s generosity was mostly to keep the animals from eating her roses. Then he would do whatever he had to do to make himself stay awake in order to watch when they came, quietly, timidly, in the night. But this would be altogether different. Among other things, this would be in the daylight.
“I don't know if we’re allowed to feed them,” Richard told him. “But we can at least say hello.”
“I’ve got some of my corn chips left,” Julie whispered to her brother. “I was keeping them for the trip home, but we can just sort of drop them along the way, and maybe no one will notice.”
“We don’t know anything about this trail,” Clare said uncertainly, because she and the children were far from being experienced hikers. “Are you sure it won’t be too difficult for us?”
Richard shrugged. “As long as we’re careful, I don’t see why we shouldn’t at least try it,” he said. “It may be a bit off the beaten path, but that should make it fun, and I don’t think the park people would put it on the map if it was considered dangerous.”
In his youth, Richard had successfully climbed Mount Rainier, Clare knew, and the Olympics couldn’t compare to that. Besides, they were having such a wonderful day that she decided not to argue.
They said their goodbyes and left the other families behind them, venturing off down a narrow rocky path that had been cut right into the very edge of the mountain.
“Walk slowly, and whatever you do, don’t look down,” she told the children, after glancing over the edge herself into the treacherous ravine below. “It’ll make you dizzy.”
Which of course was the wrong thing to say, because then they all had to look, holding onto each other, just in case.
No one had chosen to follow them, so they had the trail all to themselves. The only sounds they heard were the rustle of the dense foliage they were clomping through as they cautiously made their way down, the scrape of their shoes against slippery rock, and the occasional squawk from a flock of birds circling high above them.
After perhaps fifteen minutes, Peter looked back at his father. “Where are the deer?” he called. “You said there were deer.”
“I don’t know,” his father said. “The fellow told me they were plenty around here.”
“Maybe they’re shy with people, like they are at home,” Julie said, turning to her brother behind her.
It was then that it happened, just as Julie was turning, just as her mother was saying what a good idea this had been after all, that Clare abruptly tripped and fell over the side of the mountain, and now found herself clinging to a rock for dear life.
She could hear the children screaming. And when
