Sarah shrugged. “Hard to know. Natalie said they were still clearing the rockfall, and then they’d have to repair the trail washout. If the ground is dry enough for them to maneuver the Bobcats and backhoes in there.”

At Lily’s blank look, Sarah laughed. “Bobcats are like mini bulldozers. Very agile in close quarters. Great for moving rocks and dirt around.”

Lily thought of Chase’s newly healed shoulder, and the older back injury that had changed Chase’s life. “That’s hard labor.”

“Pretty much everything they do is,” Sarah said.

“She’s amazing,” Lily said almost to herself, thinking about what it must’ve taken for Chase to physically recover to the point she could do this work—despite never being totally pain free.

“Amazing,” Sarah murmured. “Amazingly stubborn, more like it.”

“That stubbornness is what made her incredible recovery possible,” Lily said gently.

“She told you, didn’t she,” Sarah said. “About the fall.”

“Yes,” Lily said simply. “And I’ve seen the damage. I treated her, remember.”

“And seen her naked,” Sarah pointed out.

Lily stiffened but kept her tone mild. “Afterward, yes.”

Sarah grimaced. “Sorry. That was an asinine comment.”

“You’re worried about her. I understand. So am I.”

“I’m not sure you really understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Lily said. They weren’t talking about Chase now, although she wasn’t certain Sarah realized that. “What are you afraid of?”

“Did she tell you she was climbing a route that had never been free-climbed before? Did she tell you that more than one older, more experienced climber cautioned her against it?”

“No,” Lily said.

“Did she tell you that when they called me they told me she wasn’t likely to walk again, if she lived?”

Sarah’s anger was so palpable, Lily prayed never to experience the fear that must have bred it. She drew a long breath. “I can’t even imagine how terrifying that must’ve been for you.”

“No,” Sarah said on a long sigh, “and what made it even worse was that I always expected it. Something like that, at least. The call in the middle of the night that there’d been a car accident, or they’d found her somewhere at the bottom of some fucking ravine.”

Lily silently waited.

“And you know what’s really the hardest thing of all,” Sarah said, her gaze fixed out over the glassy surface of the lake. “I hate, hate, that she can’t do what she loves to do so much any longer. That she can’t climb anymore, not like she did. It’s like clipping the wings on a bird. As much as I’m glad that she doesn’t free-climb, I hate that she can’t.”

“Of course you do,” Lily said. “You hate that she lost something that she loves, and it hurts her.”