“It’s so…different. Beautiful.”

Sarah’s smile was soft, the sunlight edging her hair in gold. “It is, isn’t it.”

“And you grew up with this every day.”

They turned to walk back up to the lodge, and Sarah said, “We lived only fifty miles or so from here, but at a higher elevation. Longer winters, but glorious springs. My parents made the trek down the mountain a few times a year for essential supplies, but we would go weeks at a time without seeing anyone else. They were busy cataloging animal and bird migrations, and documenting how changes in climate affected wildlife habitats and life cycles.”

“And you never thought about doing anything else? Being a naturalist?”

“Not for a minute.” Sarah paused in front of the lodge. “Same for you, right? Both your parents are doctors. Family tradition.”

Lily nodded. “You’re right. Family tradition.”

“How are they, your parents?”

“Tired, but for them, the last few years have just been business as usual. They met when they were both working for Doctors Without Borders in Uganda. War—and that’s what it felt like when the pandemic hit—was nothing new for them.” She glanced away. “I was the one who wasn’t prepared.”

Sarah’s arm came around her shoulders. “No one was. Or at least almost no one.”

Lily took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Well, we’re winning now, aren’t we.”

“We are.” Sarah squeezed and let her go. “And it’s time for R and R.”

The sound of laughter, high-pitched, excited, floated down from the row of cabins on the crest above the lodge.

“You’ve already got campers in residence,” Lily said, happy for the diversion. She really didn’t want to talk about things that couldn’t be changed. Just the opposite. She was so ready for some kind of change. She just didn’t know what it would be.

“A few kids arrived last night. Most will be coming in today.” Sarah grinned. “Be prepared for a day of chaos.”

“Right,” Lily said. “I could really do with a cup of coffee. I don’t suppose…”

“Please,” Sarah said. “Does the sun rise in the east? Come on inside. It was the next stop, anyhow.”

Sarah led Lily through the double carved oak front doors into the great room, as large as a cathedral with the soaring two-and-a-half-story-high ceiling, hung in the upper reaches with huge swinging chandeliers. The stone floors held at least a dozen oversized leather sofas and chairs, plus low chunky wood tables gathered into separate seating areas. Two staircases climbed the side walls to a balcony and rooms above. The river rock fireplace, wider than one of the rooms in her apartment on the Upper East Side, occupied the far end of the room. The logs stacked on the hearth were easily a foot in diameter and six times as long. The air smelled faintly and not unpleasantly of woodsmoke, a little bit of lemon, and pine—the real kind, not the cloying scent that came in a bottle or from those horrid things on the dash in the taxis in the city.