The next morning, Bernard hopped out of bed before the alarm even sounded. He wasn’t sure he’d slept much at all, and he’d fallen asleep looking at Opal’s pictures of what he was positive were bear cubs.

He couldn’t wait to get out on the knoll again to confirm. He’d packed the backpack the night before, so all he had to do after he got dressed was fill a thermos with coffee, and he was off.

He knocked quietly on Opal’s door, and she opened it immediately, her eyes gleaming.

“I can’t believe it. I hardly slept a wink,” she said as she followed him along the path to the knoll.

“Neither could I.”

He glanced behind him several times, and smiled as Opal trudged along after him. The night had only gotten better after they saw the pictures of the bear cubs—they’d won at trivia, and everyone had agreed to use the gift card the following week. He was surprised at how exciting that sounded to him. He was even looking forward to watching the medal round of curling with Opal’s dad the following day. Things had really changed in his world, and he liked it.

Bernard groaned as his phone rang with that familiar ring tone, just after they reached the knoll and they’d started on their customary coffee and croissants.

He quickly hit the red button and dropped his phone back in his pocket. “She just doesn’t ever give up.”

“What do you mean? Who was that?”

Bernard swallowed the last of his croissant as he looked out over the valley.

“My mother.”

Opal raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to talk to her?”

Bernard laughed wryly and put the trash back into his backpack for them to carry out. He screwed the top on the thermos before he said, “No.”

Opal was silent for a moment, and when he looked over at her, she looked shocked.

“How...why...how is that possible?”

He laughed again and said, “If you knew my mother, you’d know how and why.”

“I..I can’t even imagine that,” Opal said softly. “My mother passed away when I was younger, and I miss her every day.”

Bernard ran his hands through his hair. How could he possibly explain to Opal what his mother was like? She wasn’t normal, wasn’t caring, wasn’t anything like what he imagined Opal’s mother had been like.

He glanced at Opal from the corner of his eye. She’d finished her croissant and was looking through her camera’s viewfinder at the glen across the valley, halfway up the mountain. He knew he should say something, but couldn’t find the words. Not that it surprised him—talking about his mother was something he’d never done. Ever. Not even to his grandparents.

And now wasn’t the time to start. All he could think of to say to Opal was, “I’m sorry,” and he meant it. He was certain that the loss of Opal’s mom had hurt her deeply, as well as Allen and Olivia. He just didn’t happen to feel the same way about his own mother.

He set his jaw and picked up his camera, pointing it in the same direction as Opal had.

“I don’t see anything. Do you?” Opal asked

“Here, take my camera with the better lens. I’ll grab the binoculars.”

She reached for the camera, and it took a second for him to realize he’d never let anyone borrow it, not even touch it. He’d kept it close to his heart—either this one or one like it since he was a little boy—and it felt a little strange to see it in her hands.

He shook his head and grabbed the binoculars, pointing them at the glen.

At exactly the same moment, they both drew in a sharp breath.

“Did you see that?” Opal whispered, even though what they were looking at was miles away, across the valley.

“I think so,” he said slowly, dropping the binoculars to his chest and squinting in that direction, as if his eyes could discern better than the magnifying lenses.

He lifted the binoculars again and watched as two baby bear cubs peeked out of the clearing, into the sunlight that was just peeking out from over the mountains. They tussled a bit, one bear cub tumbling over another as they slid down a patch of snow into a clearing.

“Oh, my goodness,” Opal said slowly as the shutter of her camera clicked as fast as she could make it go. “They’re darling.”

He watched through the binoculars as they battled at each other and played, and he smiled as he watched. They couldn’t be very old, maybe just out of their den. He realized he didn’t really know how old that would be, as he knew zilch about bears.

He set down the binoculars and grabbed his phone, intending to look it up on Google. What time of year were bear cubs born? How long were they in the den before they came out and played? Where was the mother, and did she look after her cubs? For how long?

Just as he was searching, Opal gasped.

“Bernard, look,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement.

He dropped his phone in his pocket and looked through the binoculars. He blinked several times before he believed what he was seeing.

The cubs had rolled down a small hill, and right behind them was a huge mother bear who grabbed them by the scruff of the neck—two at a time!—and carried them back into the darkness behind the stand of trees.

As they disappeared, he let out a whoosh of breath. He’d been so engrossed with what he was doing, he hadn’t noticed if the shutter of Opal’s camera—his camera—had been clicking.

“Did you get all that?” he asked as he dropped the binoculars and looked out over the valley.

When she didn’t answer, he scooted further up the boulder and glanced in her direction. She sat stock still, the camera on her lap as she gazed across the valley.

He moved closer to her and rested his hand over hers. She seemed to be mesmerized, and he waited as she looked down and closed her eyes.

“What is it, Opal? Are you okay?”

He sat silently as she brushed at her cheek with the back of her hand. She smiled and looked at him, and he was surprised to see tears sparkling on her eyelashes in the morning sunlight.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

He’d never actually seen a woman cry before, and he didn’t quite know what to do. He wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad, and didn’t even know if he should ask.

He finally asked, “Why are you crying, then?”

She smiled at him and lifted her hand to his cheek, her glove soft against his skin.

“Can you imagine how very few people have been fortunate enough to see something like that in the wild? Brand new baby bear cubs, tumbling down a knoll, and brought back to safety by their mother? There was no way she was going to let anything bad happen to them.”

It had been a magnificent scene, surely, but he hadn’t thought about it quite in those terms. Since he’d been sent to boarding school when he was ten years old, he’d just done whatever was right in front of him, and hadn’t had anyone to talk to about things like this. So he’d never really noticed. Beyond that, he’d never thought of anyone’s mother—especially his—as having anyone’s best interest at heart besides their own.

But looking at it through Opal’s eyes—Opal’s lens on the world—he could see that there was more than his own view. More than what he could see through his own eyes.

She reached over and squeezed his hand, and he felt as if the entire valley belonged to them, to the bears, to the sunlight.

He had no choice but to pull her close to him, let her rest her head on his shoulder. His heart craved the feel of her next to him, and when she stilled, he pulled back, lifted her chin and kissed her.

Her tears tasted sweet on his lips, and he closed his eyes, etching this moment in his memory.