For a long time, Rebecca had only her thoughts and the road. At first, she had driven like a woman possessed, stopping only when she absolutely had to, when she couldn't take sitting any longer. The only thing that mattered was putting as many miles between her and the clinic as she possibly could. There had been a gas station somewhere, just before the New Mexico border, another up in Utah, but it was only after she had crossed into Idaho, sometime in the early afternoon of the first day, that she pulled over and stopped, her mouth hanging open like a sleepwalker that had just been jolted awake to find themselves in front of a pile of gold.

The plains ran off in all directions around her, and way off in the distance the mountains rose, white capped, massive and silent. Back in Albuquerque they had their own mountains of course, but here everything around her was so green, so alive it made her tired eyes hurt. She'd never really been outside of Albuquerque for more than a few hours, and a part of her now was wondering what it was she had been doing all those years since she had fought the Battle of the Big C? Had she even lived any of her life? Any of it at all?

She stepped out of the car, and just leaned against it, her hand on the roof, watching the wind thrill through the fields, the slow thrum of cars on their way to anywhere north and anyplace south. In her head, she thumbed through her memories of the last ten years, and was shocked and a little sad to find that while they had certainly been full - full of teaching gawky, rambling teenagers the ins and outs of social studies, of the small victories and losses of the classroom, and full of long nights grading, or working as a waitress during the summertime between treatments, they seemed incomplete. She would never have said there was something grey and drab and missing at the time, but now it seemed like her life had been just motions, just driving to work and home, traffic lights and student papers, but none of this. Of this here in front of her.

She stopped in at a diner an hour later along the I-15, and now, instead of eating only enough to get back on the road, she sat and watched the rain she had seen coming in for miles. At first, it was just a patter, but then turned into continuous sheets beating against the large windows looking out over the highway. The waitress, when she came, said she loved Rebecca's hair, and it was the first time Rebecca had actually heard a kindness in a long time. She blushed and thanked her and sat up, trying not to preen.

When she got back on the road, she took her time. She put on music and sang to herself, and for herself, to all the songs she knew, tapping her fingers on the wheel to the ones she didn't.

‘Was this just a breakdown?’ she thought to herself as she got gas just on the other side of Helena. The rain had come and gone and come again, and she had caught her reflection in the passenger side window to see she was actually smiling. Did you smile during a breakdown? She had no idea. All she knew was that she was on an adventure with a destination in mind, and if only for a few hours, the gut-wrenching throb of what was soon to come had been a lot less.

By the time she made the last round up the mountains and into St. Mary, even though she had been on the road for days, she felt like she could walk on air if the need came. The late summer sun was bright, but it was so clear up here, she thought, as she pulled into The Lodge parking lot. It felt like spring back home in New Mexico. Spring, and promise, and hope. She definitely could use all of those things, and then some.

The Lodge was a huge wood and stone affair, like a Holiday Inn built by pioneers. She'd reserved a room almost completely at random, and now, standing in the lobby, she was glad she had. The blonde bare wood shone and everything about it seemed so perfect and comfortable, and so completely different from her little two and a half back in Albuquerque, that she knew it was just what she needed. Like a butterfly free of its cocoon, she wanted nothing to remind her what was waiting for her back home.

 She brought her luggage up to her room and stepped out onto the back balcony to see a small, brilliant blue mountain stream gabbling over stones as it meandered down to the lake. She ordered up a sandwich from the Grill. She thought about leaping over the railing and sailing out into the summer sky for one exhilarating moment before plummeting to the rocks below. But then she laughed at herself for the thought. With a day as gorgeous and new as this, what need did she have for dying?

The shower was hot and perfect, and she spent almost a half hour in it, scrubbing the road from her face, scraping the pain from where it seeped into her skin. In the steam and the heat, she lost herself for a while, thinking of nothing but laying back and closing her eyes and knowing that when she woke, she could go anywhere, anywhere at all. St. Mary was her first stop, but where else could she go? What else could she do if nothing mattered, if nothing needed to matter ever again?

The kayaking trip she'd booked wasn't until the next afternoon, and there was so much about the mountains she wanted to see. Maybe later, before it got too late, she’d drive out to Glacier Park and watch the sun set over the mountains. Marcy's Instagrams of her trip had caught the mountainsides like they were gilded in gold and scarlet, and Rebecca could barely believe such a thing was real. She had to see it for herself, tonight, as if to prove that this place actually existed.

She yawned as she slipped one of the complimentary bathrobes over her shoulders, nearly moaning out loud at the comforting, homey pleasure of soft terry cloth against her skin. She'd just have a little nap, lay down on top of the red wool blanket, and watch the fireplace for a moment, let herself drowse for an hour, and then she'd get dressed and go out to find adventure.

She was fast asleep in seconds, hollowed out, scrubbed of worry and fear, and smiling in her sleep, one hand against the pillow by her head, brushing and caressing it with light, languid tugs.