Something—someone—was holding her up.
Thank you.
She sat there for a good long while, listening to the cadence of the night, soaking in the holiness of the moment. Finally, Angela rose and headed back to camp. And when she settled her head onto her pillow, this time her mind was as fatigued as the rest of her. She fell into a sleep that promised to be more restorative than any she’d experienced in a long, long time.
34
Angela’s verbal beating on day three had nearly undone Eva. What misery would day four hold?
Eva walked side by side with Marc along the ridge of a mountain in one of the most beautiful landscapes she’d ever seen, but her heart still felt like the sorest muscle in her aching body right now.
The path before them was packed tight with dirt, boulders scattered on either side to form a solid trail, and it twisted to and fro along the mountains, rocky outcroppings towering over them and then falling away. Thankfully a good solid taping and some ice had helped her ankle feel better last night, but if she wasn’t careful today, one wrong move could easily make her physical state in as much turmoil as her emotional one.
At the moment Angela hiked several feet behind them. She’d been subdued all morning and had barely spoken. If she felt guilty about the fact they’d started thirty minutes behind all others, giving them only eleven and a half hours to complete Stage 4, she didn’t show it.
Above them, the sky seemed darker today, as if sensing Eva’s mood—only glimpses of the sun among clouds, building and gathering in anticipation of what seemed like a storm. Grief was such a strange thing, much like the weather in New Zealand. She could be walking along enjoying the day and—boom! Sudden rain would wash away any plans she had for an activity outside.
Eva put one trekking pole—one foot—in front of the other and sighed.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Eva?” Marc asked. “You wouldn’t talk to me last night. Will you now?”
Eva longed to take her fingers and smooth out the wrinkles marring his forehead, but her hands remained wrapped around her poles.
He kicked a small rock in his way. “Remember what we agreed to at the airport?”
No pulling away. Open communication. “Yes.”
“So?”
She lowered her voice so her sister-in-law wouldn’t overhear. “Last night Angela challenged my reasons for being here.” She summarized the conversation. “And I’ve been thinking about it all night and all of today. I hate to admit it, but she’s right. Brent wasn’t perfect. And maybe I’ve been pretending he was. I did that when he was alive too.”
“What do you mean?”
The emerald cliffs around them flattened out, and wild bushes, grasses, and other small plants scattered across the mountaintop.
“I admired him so much. He really did enthrall me and my artist’s heart to no end. And instead of us forging a life together, I think I sort of did whatever he wanted. I was so wrapped up in him, in the exciting life he led, that it became what I wanted too. But there were a few things . . . I mean, it’s my fault for not speaking up, I guess. But then again, it’s also his fault for never asking.”
Like having children. He thought they’d have time, but he’d been wrong. And his death had left her all alone.
“That’s heavy stuff. How did you feel about what Angela said about living your life as a shrine to Brent?”
“I suppose she said it because I worked somewhere that was important to him and ran this race in part to honor him. But is that really so wrong?”
“No, but . . .” Marc spoke slowly, with deliberation. “Don’t you think there’s more to it than that?”
“Like what?”
“Look, I don’t understand what it’s like to lose a spouse. I would never presume to judge you. At all. I hope you know that.”
“But . . .”
“Have you thought about what life looks like when we get home?”
“I’ve tried.” Whew. It was getting warm, despite the clouds. “Constantly. But I can’t quite imagine it.”
“Not even in practical terms? For example, are you planning to go back to the heart center, or do flowers again? Will you clear out Brent’s office at home and closet like you’ve mentioned you need to do? And will we . . .”
She studied him, the way his hands white-knuckled his poles. “Will we what?”
“Will we still be together? Or will you decide that