For the first time since they’d left the city, she felt truly relaxed. All day yesterday, she’d been uneasy about the trip. She’d enjoyed the cash store, its cluttered charm and odd people, but had been troubled by how dismissive Oscar and Tracy were, and then later, by Todd’s naïveté. And she’d felt on guard at the ranger station, where she and Oscar had gotten curious looks from some of the other people. This is our wilderness too, she’d wanted to say—but as usual, she kept her mouth shut. And then the change in route had unsettled her, not to mention their drive down the bumpy and deserted road to get to an unmapped trail.

But dinner had helped. Tracy’s competence with the fire, the fact that the fire pit had actually been there, had reassured her. And she was feeling more at ease with the guys, as Oscar’s edge dulled a little and Todd loosened up. But she’d also been aware of the world beyond their circle of light, the deep growing darkness of the woods. And as the evening went on she’d grown anxious again—not only about their trip, but about being so far removed from everything she knew, with no easy way to get back. She remembered how she’d felt when her great-aunt died and she was about to enter foster care—the fear and uncertainty, the sense that no one knew or cared where she was. As the darkness had settled around them, the trees transformed into silent sentinels that looked ready to wake up and move. And when everyone shoved their food and toiletries into the black cylindrical canisters, when they debated about how far away from their tents was far enough to place them, when Tracy put the bear spray right next to her in the tent, fear had filled Gwen’s chest and prickled her skin; she was sure that a bear would appear at any second, at first indistinguishable and then suddenly there, as if formed of the darkness itself.

But there’d been no bear, not even a hint of one. Just the hard, cold ground, with a few rocks digging into her, ground that she realized too late was slightly sloped, so that she always seemed to be rolling left, and when she finally did manage to get to sleep, she dreamed of falling over a cliff. It had taken hours, though, to sleep. She had lain awake with her eyes open, listening to the frogs, jumping at every sound in the woods, while Tracy—positioned head to toe—slept heavily beside her. She’d needed to pee but was afraid to leave the tent, the relative comfort of her sleeping bag. And so she’d stayed in one spot, alert and cold, until sleep finally overcame her. The last time she’d looked at her watch, it was almost one thirty.

Now it was morning, though, now it was light, and the fears of the dark had subsided. She was proud to have made it through the first night—and glad to be awake, and alone. The creek was chattering and lively, making its way past mossy rocks and under fallen branches, rushing in the spots where the banks grew narrow, flowing gently when the shoreline receded. The trees looked harmless in daytime, and in the light she saw the bark, the beautiful parallel downward patterns that moved and flowed like water. Gwen heard the high-noted chirping of one bird, the lower calls of another, the insistent tap-tap-tapping of a woodpecker, which she spotted high up in a tree, its red head a blur against the black of its body. The tree was full of pine cones which dangled like earrings. Across the creek she saw two squirrels winding down around a trunk, tails swishing, both of them stopping just above the ground and nattering at each other. She looked up and saw that the top third of the canyon wall was touched by light, so bright it appeared to sparkle. Huge swaths of granite were broken up by small plateaus that housed hearty, improbable trees. What a beautiful place, Gwen thought. She had never been anywhere like this. She couldn’t believe how different it was from the chaparral and dusty trails near LA.

But even as she appreciated the beauty of the spot, she felt sad about Robert. She just missed him, was all. There was so much he had never gotten to do, and it felt unfair that she was in this lovely place that he would never see.

Suddenly she thought of a story that Devon had told her, about a hiker who’d been killed by a falling boulder. It had taken him a long time to die. The boulder, a bathtub-sized chunk of granite, had caught the man square in the chest and pinned him to the ground. The hiker had two friends with him, but they couldn’t get the rock to budge. One of them stayed with him while the other went off for help. The trapped man’s legs were free, his face unobscured, so his friend talked to him and wiped the sweat off his brow while he slowly bled to death from inside. By the time the rescue workers arrived three hours later, the man was unconscious. It took them the rest of the day to dig him out.

It occurred to Gwen that this was what grief was like. It was like being crushed under the weight of something that she couldn’t get out from under, or remove. And she wasn’t sure, even as she went on with her life, that it wasn’t slowly killing her.

Now she heard voices behind her—Todd and Oscar had emerged from their tent. Oscar was fiddling with his gear, and Todd was stretching, bending over to touch his toes and then leaning sideways. Gwen sighed and walked back to the tents. For a moment she was self-conscious about not having on any makeup, but her concealer was buried somewhere in her backpack.

“Morning,” Oscar called as she approached. He was wearing sweatpants and a jacket and his hair was a disheveled mess, which made him look younger, endearing.

“Morning,” she said. “How’d you guys sleep?”

“Okay. Except I woke up once when I heard footsteps outside, thought it might be a bear. But it was just Todd, out to take a piss.”

“You do look kind of bearlike,” Gwen noted.

“Good morning to you too,” Todd answered. Then, to Oscar: “Wish I’d known you were awake. I could have messed with the tent and really had some fun.”

“Very funny,” Oscar said. Then, to Gwen, “How’d you sleep?”

“Not so great. I kept thinking I was hearing things. But I feel good now. It’s a beautiful morning.”

“It is,” Oscar agreed. “But it’ll be even more beautiful when we have some coffee.”

“I think Tracy’s working on that now,” Todd said.

Gwen looked toward the fire pit and saw that Tracy, who’d reappeared, had a fire going and was placing a pot of water on the grill. “I’ll go help her,” she said.

Tracy was already in her hiking pants and fleece jacket, with her hair pulled into its usual ponytail. She looked happy and awake, not a hint of sleepiness or stiffness, as if she’d spent the night in a luxury hotel.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she called out. “You hungry?”

“I am, actually. Hey, where’d you go?”

“Just up the trail a ways. To see how it looked. I woke up around five and it was already light, and I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep. The trail looks good—clearer than I expected.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it is. You want some coffee?”

“More than anything else in the world.”

Tracy had brought over one of the bear canisters, and now they took packets of instant coffee and made themselves two cups. Eventually the guys came over and they all had bowls of instant oatmeal, which Tracy had brought for the whole group, sitting in their chairs from the previous night and laughing at their nighttime discomforts.

“How is it that you sleep so well outside?” Todd asked Tracy, after it was clear that all the others had slept badly.

“Clear conscience,” Tracy replied.

“How do you manage that?”

“It’s easy. Pure living. Plus, I don’t have kids.”

Both Todd and Oscar groaned, and Gwen imagined they felt the pull of their families. She was feeling guilt too, about not being able to call her sister on her birthday. And she wondered about the group she missed yesterday, about how Sandra Gutierrez was doing. But in truth, she was glad to be away. She suspected that Todd and Oscar felt the same, because they were, despite their momentary outburst of guilt, both giddy and energized. She was relieved that they seemed to be getting along and weren’t trying to out-guy each other.