Avery shifted her bag, which housed the signed, customized excursion contract for the Senior X-Tream Team, farther up on her shoulder and waited for the thrill of landing a big client to come.
It didn’t. Odd, since once upon a time, say just a few months ago, coming out on top would have had her flushed with excitement, and okay, for a small moment in there, when all twelve sets of eyes had been riveted on her, the adrenaline of a job well done had made a brief appearance. Fooling her into actually believing she was one step closer to her own adventure.
But that was just it. Avery had been Sequoia Lake Lodge’s acting senior adventure coordinator for most of the summer, yet the closest she’d come to a real adventure was waking up to a band of raccoons partying in her cabin. They’d torn through the screen door and made off with a box of Oreos, peanut butter, and two pairs of her favorite underwear—which told her they were male raccoons.
Avery hoped her job would entail more than senior center visits, working the farmers’ markets booth, and helping lost guests at the lodge find the restroom. So far, she spent more time talking about all the different trails the Sequoia National Park offered than actually taking one. In fact, adventure coordinating wasn’t all that different from managing retirement funds, except her desk was outside and travel insurance covered more than lost suitcases.
Even the bright sun and gentle breeze couldn’t distract from the feeling that she was once again sitting idle, waiting for life to find her. Instead of waiting for the net to appear, she was going to leap.
Determined to talk to Irene and Nelson about running this trek on her own, she headed toward the yellow Victorian with violet trim at the end of the street that had HOOT & HAMMER and an owl painted on its leaded windows. It wasn’t a hardware store, but she’d seen enough sawdust and heavy woodworking machinery to bet the owner possessed a screwdriver and set of hands strong enough to pry open the carabiner. Convincing Nelson she was ready to take clients into the great outdoors while she was stuck in a harness wouldn’t make the kind of impression she was going for.
Only, before she reached the shop, she noticed the Closed sign hanging in the window. She also noticed a big, shiny, black ego-trip with mud tires, a lift kit, and a mountain bike secured to its top.
The truck was parked directly under the town’s flapping banner—which read COME FOR THE ADVENTURE, STAY FOR THE PEOPLE—and practically on top of her Mazda’s bumper. Not only did it have a toolbox in it’s bed, the box appeared to be unlocked—and it’s owner nowhere in sight.
A private person by nature, Avery would normally ask for permission to rifle through someone’s personal affects, but since no one was around to grant nor deny her access, Avery reminded herself that living loud required no permission. So she pulled her journal from her purse. It was made of a buttery leather and had a vintage map of the world burnt into the cover.
Avery lightly traced a finger over the branded message on the bottom edge.
“Don’t go where life leads, lead your life in the direction you want to go,” she whispered, her voice thickening with emotion.
Brie Hart, a friend from Living for Love, a local bereavement group Avery belonged to, had given it to her the day Avery started dialysis. She was still in shock over the news that at twenty-six she needed a new kidney when she’d met Brie, a two-time transplant survivor, and the two became immediate friends.
Brie had given Avery the courage to hope and the strength to fight, even when Avery felt as if she were losing every battle. More importantly, Brie had given her something to fight for and someone to fight with.
When times got rough, and treatments got longer, they scoured travel magazines at the hospital together, clipping out pictures of all of the places they’d go and the things they’d do when treatment was over. It had all started with an article on an amazing island in the Pacific that had endless beaches, bottomless daiquiris, and a surplus of suntanned men, but as time went on the clippings grew, and little mottos for life and affirmations about enjoying the journey were added to the pile, until Brie had pasted them all in the journal.
Avery carefully thumbed through the pages, her eyes burning as she flipped past the map of Disneyland showing all of the hidden Mickey ears in the park, the island off New Zealand where Tasmanian devils lived, skipping over the article about the jellybean factory in California that gave out free samples, and stopping when she found what she was looking for. Brie’s favorite saying.
LIVE LOUD, WITHOUT FEAR AND WITHOUT APOLOGY
Brie was the strongest person Avery had ever met, yet in the end she’d somehow lost the war—and Avery had lost her biggest alley and her closest friend. So after the funeral, she’d taken that journal and made a list of things she’d do if she weren’t afraid. Some were hers, some Brie’s, and others were in honor of the women she’d met at Living for Love, who would never get the chance.