I spin around and the shock must be written all over my face, because Elliott quickly steps back. “I was just kidding. It’s none of my business.”
I wipe hurriedly at my eyes. “God. You must think all I do is cry.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Sorry. I was just . . . having a moment with the universe.”
“Don’t apologize. I bet half the people who make it up here are reduced to tears by this amazing view.” He comes to sit next to me. “And the other half are reduced on the inside, they’re just not in touch enough with their emotions to let the tears out.”
“Which half are you?”
“I might have sniffled a little,” he says with a grin.
“So what’s the story with the tree?” I ask.
“It’s good to go.” Elliott pulls his water bottle from his side pocket. “Oh, and I radioed Rachael and let her know I cleared the path and she said she was looking for you. I told her you were up here with me and she screamed at me for a few minutes for bringing you, so be prepared to hear about that later.”
“Well, no hurry to get back down then.” I sit next to Elliott. “I feel . . . lighter up here. Thank you for bringing me.”
“Technically, you are lighter, a little bit. Weight actually decreases directly with—”
“Gravitational pull,” I finish. “Right.”
“You took physics in high school?”
“Yeah. It was one of my favorite classes. You too?”
“I’m not sure I would go that far, but I have to take a lot of science classes as a pre-vet student.” Elliott pulls an apple out of his backpack and polishes it on his shirt. He bites into it with a loud crunching sound.
“Wow,” I say. “Noise pollution alert.”
“Crisp,” he agrees. He holds the apple out in my direction. “Want a bite?”
I start to decline, but then my stomach growls audibly. “I guess I do.” I bite into the other side of the apple and hand it back to Elliott. We pass it back and forth for a few minutes. “I’ve never shared an apple with anyone before,” I say.
“Me neither. It’s rather biblical, huh?” He gestures around. “It’s not like we’ll get much closer to the Garden of Eden.”
“I think this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to believing in God.”
“You don’t believe in God?” he asks. “I figured that’s who you were talking to.”
“I was, I guess, but it was just a weird, random impulse,” I say. “Both my parents are atheists. I was raised to believe that religion is a psychological coping mechanism.”
Elliott nods. “I don’t belong to an organized religion, because so many of them seem to have rules and regulations that serve to ostracize or separate, and I think religion should be about bringing people together. But I believe in something.” He points at the majestic view. “I mean, how can all this just be random?”
“Yeah.” I try to regain the feeling I had before Elliott arrived, the sense that maybe a higher power was guiding me. But it’s gone now, and I’m starting to wonder if I imagined the whole thing. I don’t think you can just choose to believe in God. You either do or you don’t, and no matter what camp you’re in, it would take something life-changing to truly lead you into the other one. I think of my dad’s glance heavenward, the mini-prayer he said in my hospital room. I like the idea that my accident might have helped him find faith.
Elliott finishes off the apple while I walk along the edge of the clearing, taking photos with my phone. I discover a trio of curious chipmunks at the far end of the summit.
“How did these little guys get up here?” I ask.
“They live up here.” Elliott watches the chipmunks scamper around for a few seconds.
“I wish I had another granola bar,” I say. “They look hungry.”
“You can actually get fined for feeding the park wildlife,” he says. “I know they’re cute, but the more they get fed, the less afraid they become of humans. And then some idiot decides to try to pet them and gets bitten and . . .” He turns to me. “Not that you’re an idiot. Just that I’ve seen a lot of wildlife incidents that could’ve been prevented if people followed the rules.”
I like the way Elliott just sort of says what he’s thinking and then clarifies and softens afterward if it comes out wrong. I’m the exact opposite these days. I feel the need to mentally rehearse every line three times before I say it to make sure I’m not giving away too much information, and then half the time I decide not to say anything after all.
“I never thought about it like that.” I snap a picture of the chipmunks, thinking of the countless times I’ve fed wild animals. “I’m glad I got to see them up close, anyway. This day has been just what I needed. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Elliott reddens slightly at the praise. “We should head down soon so Rachael can stop worrying about you.”
“Can I have another minute?” I ask.
“Sure. I should probably take another minute too. This is one of the most popular trails in the park. It’s not very often I get to be up here without a crowd.” Elliott turns away from me and walks to the other side of the summit.
I stand looking out at the scenery again. I close my eyes and once again try to find that sense of something more. But all I feel is the hot sun and the sweat starting to bead up on my lip. Still, I remember that moment of lightness when I admitted the truth, that temporary buoyancy when I resolved to do the right thing.
I want to do the right thing. I want to tell the truth.