On The Precipice

CHAPTER TWO-1

CHAPTER TWO

If he’d been happier to see Nina, I would have really liked the guy. But who am I to judge anyone else’s relationship? I decided to make my exit so they could talk or whatever.

Alone in my room, I put in my earbuds and let the sounds of Keola Beamer’s Hawai’ian slack key guitar music carry me back to the trade winds and the crashing waves and the feeling of infinity that had changed me. Infinity is different from eternity. It has no beginning and no end. It just is. That’s what I’d felt on Kaua’i.

I’d been playing this very album the night Margot and I had camped out on our way back to the Kalalau trailhead. The music had attracted the attention of a guy named Wayland who had come to the Na Pali Coast, Kaua’i’s eastern shore, a few years ago and had never left. It was illegal to live in the forest there, but he was not the only one. There were quite a few "Kalalau Outlaws."

Wayland had given Margot and me what he called Kalalau names. He’d dubbed her "Intrepid" because of her determination and tenacity on that rugged trail, and because of her bravery in climbing off the ledge she’d fallen onto. And he gave me a name I will never forget: "Trailblazer." He’d said I was seeking myself in the wilderness and that I would lead the way for others. I was still trying to understand what he’d meant, but I sure liked the sound of it.

I let my mind drift back over my experiences on Kaua’i as the music played. When the album ended, an idea came suddenly into my mind, the kind of suddenness that has a sharp point to it. I’d heard Nina playing a song more than once in the evenings, alone in her bedroom, one I didn’t recognize. But I’d caught enough of it to find it.

I remembered the line: I hope I’ll know him if he’s ever near.

Nina had told me she and Luc were not in a serious relationship. I think her words had been, "It’s not like I’m going to marry him." That was last May. So when I heard that song, the sadness and the near-hopelessness of it struck me. If Nina had been playing a whole album, that one song wouldn’t have felt significant. But she’d played just that one song.

So I searched for the lyrics. It turned out to be a song by Karla Bonoff, "If He’s Ever Near." And one line in particular hit me: "I thought you were the one." It goes on from there about not seeing the lies in his eyes, and about giving up trying to see love, and how hard it is to see love when it’s right in front of us, so how do we know when it’s there?

I pulled my earbuds away from my head and sat on my bed in a kind of stunned silence, unable to reconcile what I knew of my sister with a woman whose search for love was bringing her down. And now her words, "not like I’m going to marry him," rang hollow.

When someone makes a decision, it’s usually based more on emotion than facts. And it wasn’t just in my study of psychology that I’ve seen this born out. It has worked that way in my life and in the lives of people I’ve known.

The idea for some time had been that I’d take this gap year to apply to some number of schools, and after a short stay with Nina, a visit to Maine to see El Speed, and then maybe a little more time with Nina, I’d move close to my top choice of schools in the hope that I’d get accepted there. So when the time came for me to pick a top choice for my master’s degree program, although I planned to apply to a few different schools, I followed my heart. I decided to move to Maine and hope Orono wanted me as much as I wanted to be there.

A huge part of the draw was El Speed, no question. But there was something else that influenced me. It was a call from Margot.

On our trip without the other hikers back to Ke’e Beach, where the Kalalau Trail started, Margot and I had confided in each other about a number of things. Her story was that the inappropriate interest her father was taking in her wasn’t discouraged by her alcoholic mother or her unsympathetic brothers. She’d started hiking years ago as a means of escape, and now that she had her Master’s in Social Work she was ready to leave all that far behind. Since hugging each other farewell at the airport on Kaua’i, we’d exchanged a few texts. She’d told me she was actively looking for work.

Luc had arrived on a Friday, and on Saturday evening, while I was cleaning up after another of Luc’s French-themed dinners that Nina and I shared with him, my phone rang. I saw that it was Margot. To no one in particular I said, "I’ll call her back later." No one offered to step in and take over the clean-up job for me, so it was another half hour before I shut the door to my room and called her back.

"Hey, Intrepid," I greeted her with the name our Kalalau outlaw had given her.

"Hey back, Trailblazer." I could hear the grin in her tone, and I answered it with one of my own. I could still see the look she had given me over dinner at the lodge where we’d stayed our last night on Kaua’i. She’d leveled those green eyes at me, and she’d smiled a smile that had appeared innocent, and she’d said, "So Conroy is bi? But not you?"

Unsure where she was going, determined not to assume anything, all I’d said was, "Uh, no."

The smile had taken on new meaning. "Too bad."

Conroy was bi. He’d made that abundantly clear, along with the fact that he was putting down roots nowhere and for no one. That wasn’t me. I’d decided I was ready for a real relationship, one in which neither of us would cringe if the other said I love you. But it would not be with a woman—not even Margot, as compatible as we seemed to be. Still, she was dear to me. I’d helped save her life, and she’d rewarded me with a level of trust she gave to few other people.

Over the phone line, I heard the excitement in her voice. "Nathan, I have such news! Maybe for both of us." She paused, perhaps waiting to test my enthusiasm.

"Spill, Margot."

"Okay. Here’s the thing. I got a job! And it’s kind of in your neck of the woods. I’ll be working for a recovery clinic in Maine, doing school outreach and a few other things. Isn’t that great? Addiction recovery! Right up your alley!"

That was great news. She’d be far away from Idaho and her poor excuse for a family. "Congratulations! What part of Maine?"

"The clinic is just outside of Bar Harbor. So, Mount Desert Island. I’ve never been there—I did my interview on Skype—but online the area looks absolutely gorgeous. Rocky coastline, pine trees, wildlife—and Nathan, mountains! Okay, they’re not very big mountains, but they’re supposed to be great fun to hike. So that’s right up your alley, too!"

"I’m sensing a pattern."

She laughed her honest, musical laugh. In my mind I saw her toss her long, strawberry blond hair over a shoulder. "Smart man. Yes. Not only is there a pattern, but listen to this. They have another opening. It’s an administrative post, but wouldn’t it be a great introduction for you? I know you want to work in addiction recovery. Wouldn’t this be a good place to get your feet wet while you figure out your next move?"

I was trying to take in all the information she was throwing at me, thinking how I’d just recovered from the aftermath of visiting a methadone clinic, when she added, "So during the week you’d have this job in a recovery clinic, and on weekends you could hike! We could hike! I mean, of course we wouldn’t always have to hike together, but—oh, hell, Nathan, say something!"

"Okay, um… wow? Sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for, but—Jesus, Margot, I need to take this in. I mean…. Okay, so I was kinda sorta thinking I might move to Maine anyway, because I’ve decided—and this is only in the last couple of days—that U of Maine Orono is my first choice."

"But that’s perfect! Didn’t you tell me your best bud is there?"

"He is. And I haven’t even told him yet."

"So, listen, how about if I send you information about the clinic, and you can check it out. If you decide it looks good and you want to contact them, you can say I told you about the job. Maybe they’d even have something else, something more along the lines of what you want to do for this year."

I barked out a short laugh. "As if I had any idea what I want to do ‘for this year.’"

"So I’ll send it?"

I took in a deep breath. "Sure. Why not?"

I’d never been to the Maine coast. And I’d certainly never been to Bar Harbor, the largest town on Mount Desert Island. When I looked up images of the area on the internet, I was hooked. Maybe it wasn’t Kaua’i, but Margot had been right; it was gorgeous.

I sent a text to El Speed. Can you imagine me living on Mount Desert Island?

Maybe ninety seconds later I saw, Hell yeah. Is that an option?

Maybe. We’ll see. I’ll get back to you. I got a thumbs-up icon in reply.

Nina spent most of Sunday at work, while Luc went to meet friends for brunch. I was not invited, but that was fine by me; I had work to do.

First, for some fun and maybe to whet my appetite for the place, I perused scenes of Acadia National Park. Even though it was not Kaua’i, it offered its own majesty, its own mystery. The mountains, as Margot had said, were not high. But—hell, that just meant I could take an afternoon hike, or spend a weekend day and claim a few peaks at once. And in different seasons, which Maine offered in a way Hawai’i did not, the same hike would look different. I knew from hiking in New Hampshire’s White Mountains that a vista full of green leaves looks almost entirely different when the leaves are crimson and gold, and different still when the dark green of pines shows through bare branches.

Another appeal was that with small peaks, I might once again be able to do some winter hiking. My very first climb, up Mount Chocorua in New Hampshire, in a friggin’ snowstorm, had nearly been my last. The effects of the frostbite my feet had suffered would be with me for the rest of my life, so vulnerability to cold severely limited what outdoor activities I could do in winter. But a short hike? That seemed do-able.

Next I looked into the clinic where Margot would be, Bar Harbor Recovery Center. They had a number of outreach programs, which made sense; her job seemed like it fit into that category. They had a staff of several people, some with professional-sounding titles, and a front desk receptionist. The open position was for an administrative assistant, supporting the counselors as well as the executive staff. It required typing skills, which I had, and experience with a couple of standard computer-based applications, another couple of checkmarks for me. One thing it said made me wonder whether Margot was right, whether it really would be a good starting point for me. That one thing was this statement: "Minimal contact with clients." I knew "clients" meant addicts. If I had minimal contact with the people who needed help, people whose treatment and recovery I wanted to focus on when I was ready, why couldn’t I just as well be on the sales floor of a hiking goods store?

I had just sat back in my chair at the dining table, staring at my computer screen, when I heard the lock turn in the door, and then Nina came in. I turned just my head toward her.

"My god, girl, you look done in." And she did. Her hair was not its usual sleek self, her skin looked almost blotchy (which just didn’t happen to Nina), and her typical proud posture had slumped.

She stood still and closed her eyes briefly. "You have no idea." She sighed. "Luc still out?"

"Haven’t seen him since maybe eleven or so."

"Good. I’m taking a long, hot bath. See you in a few hours."

I knew she was exaggerating. And in fact, she was back out in about forty-five minutes, looking much more like her usual self. She sat in the chair across from me at the table and grinned. "I’m not good at relaxing."