When I look in the mirror now, I’m less than I was before. Literally. My body has less mass, less muscle. I try to keep in shape, but I’m restricted in what I can do. The strength I used to have is gone. In the past, I could hike for eight hours with only a quick break for lunch. Now, we’ve walked for two, and I know I’m going to need to sit here for a while before we head back.

“This is gorgeous, Ben. Can we eat lunch here?”

I nod, having trouble forming words when she turns her vibrant smile on me.

There’s a flat rock, like a naturally formed tabletop, and the two of us perch on it while I pull the food out of my bag.

“What feast have you brought for me?” She rubs her hands together, and I laugh at her silliness.

“Well, princess, we’ve only the finest selections for your refined palate.”

“Oh, do tell.”

I put on my best haughty British accent and pull items from my bag with a spectacular flourish. “Our first course will be this lovely blend of nuts and dried berries, all gathered and assembled by blind nuns. Then, for our main meal, we shall explore a variety of PowerBars, delicacies prepared around the globe. And, for dessert, our chefs have procured the rarest of fruits. This wonder is referred to by the locals as an ap-pel.”

“It is glorious to behold!” Holly snatches the apples from my hands, as if they were made of gold, and does a great impression of examining them.

I’m the first one to break, letting out a snort. She giggles in return, tossing one back to me. We tuck into our meals, eating in companionable silence, the same way we hiked here.

When we’re done, Holly stretches out her legs and reclines back on her elbows. Now that we’re out of the woods, the sunshine finally reaches us. It warms the air and the rock we’re sitting on to an almost-comfortable temperature. Both of us stare out over the treetops.

“I can’t get over how beautiful it is here. Did your grandfather show this to you?” Holly continues to gaze out over the forest below.

“Yeah. He loved hiking. He’s the one who first told me about the Pacific Crest Trail. Always saying how he wished he’d tried to hike it when he was younger and stronger.” Bet he wouldn’t have screwed it up royally like I did. Veering away from those negative thoughts, I focus on Holly’s original question. “We’d come here in the summer and paint. Just watercolors mostly. Practicing. Or I’d draw. I’m better with a pencil over a paintbrush, but Grandpa was the opposite.”

She nods and doesn’t ask anything else.

But, suddenly, I have the urge to say more. I want to talk about him. I want to talk about him with her.

“He was the one who took me to get my first tattoo.”

This gets her attention, and she gives a half-smile and raised eyebrow. “How’d that go over with your parents?”