Page 10 of The Love Bus

WHY WE CLIMB MOUNTAINS

“L una? Wake up, dear. We’re almost at the first stop.”

Dear?

Someone was shaking my arm. “I didn’t want to wake you, but the view is just so beautiful. You don’t want to miss this.”

I opened my eyes, blinking and staring into my seatmate’s surprisingly bright green eyes.

Babs. The tour. And the bus.

The massive vehicle was moving incredibly slowly, winding around… Hoo boy. That was one hell of a hairpin turn. Was this tube of metal even built to handle this kind of terrain?

I held my breath, watching the edge of the road creep closer and closer until it disappeared from view entirely, as if we were hanging off the side of the mountain.

Babs, completely unfazed, was holding up her iPad, squinting at the screen as she tried to snap a picture.

She fumbled around the screen, accidentally flipping to selfie mode, then to some weird filter that turned everything sepia.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, jabbing and poking.

Finally, the shutter clicked, and she let out a satisfied hah!

When something brushed my arm, I jerked—just slightly. Then I turned and saw Just Noah.

He was holding out his hand, palm open.

My scrunchie ?

The faded navy one with the little embroidered lemons. I must’ve pulled it out during the flight to adjust my head against the seat. I hadn’t even realized it was missing.

“You left it on the plane,” he said.

I nodded slowly, caught off guard.

“It’s…” I stopped. Just a strip of elastic and cloth. Nothing important. But also… “I mean…”

He gave a small shrug, like it was no big deal. “You disappeared before I could catch you.”

“Oh.” I reached out and took it, my fingers brushing his. “Wow.” I mean, he could have just tossed it. I was…what had called me earlier? Grumpy Girl.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Just then, his mom leaned forward, pointing out the window. “Look up there, Noah!”

Without another word, he turned away. Like it really hadn’t meant anything.

I slid the scrunchie onto my wrist and plucked at it thoughtfully.

Leo never would’ve done something like that. He wouldn’t have thought it mattered.

And it didn’t.

Not really.

It was nothing.

A few minutes later, the bus eased into a small parking area. As everyone stirred and began filing off, the whole scene reminded me of an elementary school field trip—if all the students had gray hair, orthopedic shoes, and wore fanny packs and colorful track suits.

But then I stepped outside.

The first thing I noticed was the air—crisp and startlingly clean. It was lighter, somehow. Then there was the sun, high and brilliant, and this Colorado sky, honestly, it was the perfect hue of blue.

Taking it in, I pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

It had military-style patch pockets and rolled sleeves, a rugged touch to my otherwise boho look. Functional, cute…and way too light for the curling wind rolling up the side of the mountain.

Still, I took a few steps away from the group, letting the cool air burn through the last of my sleepiness.

Catching sight of the chapel, I immediately understood how it got its name.

It had been built atop a massive rock, and the stone exterior fit the setting as naturally as the rugged peaks rising behind it.

“This way, folks!” I was vaguely aware of Tay trying to herd everyone together.

A stronger gust of wind ruffled my skirt, but I didn’t move back toward the others. Instead, I crept closer to the edge of the parking lot. And as my sandals crunched softly on the gravel, I let my gaze wander over the play of light and shadow across the valley.

The majesty, the vastness, made me feel small. It made my troubles seem even smaller.

The weight I’d been carrying eased up just a little.

“This way to the chapel!”

I shifted my weight, hugging myself a little tighter, but still, I didn’t go back. The bus and the others were behind me, their voices distant now, blending with the ruffling leaves in the trees all around me.

So much blue, not just the sky, but reflected in the meandering stream below. Tall grass, every shade of green, bent to the will of the wind. I’d never seen anything like this.

Something rose in me, a pressure, and my heart leapt a little as I had the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

Babs was standing just behind me, her purple and mint nylon jacket whooshing a little from the breeze. She was still wearing her hat—the kind gentlemen wore in movies from the 1940s, black with a stiff brim—and had to use one hand to keep it from blowing away.

“Feel what?” I asked.

“The mountains,” she said, stepping up beside me. “My Morty always said that people climbed mountains not to see the world but to see themselves.” She smiled wistfully, her other hand coming up to touch a pendant she wore on a silver chain around her neck.

“They make you feel smaller,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“Why didn’t Morty come with you on this trip?”

Her hand stilled over her heart. “Oh, he’s here,” she said, tapping the pendant beneath her fingertips.

Understanding hit me all at once, and I felt a pang of guilt for not having considered it sooner. “In your heart,” I said softly.

“Well, yes, but also.” She tapped the pendant again, firmly this time.

“Right here. When I picked him up from the funeral home, I knew he’d hate being stuck in some urn on a shelf.

“There’s this woman a few towns over who makes trinkets out of remains—mostly pets, mind you, but I figured, why not a person? ”

I didn’t have an answer for that, or any sort of response really. My gaze flicked to the pendant again, taking it in with this new information in mind. It mostly just looked like a smooth tiger’s eye stone, its golden-brown swirls catching the light, set in silver.

“I spent forty-three years with Mortimer Milton,” she said, carrying on with a smile I didn’t really understand. “And hardly a day passed when he didn’t make me laugh. Not just a chuckle, either—laugh so hard I cried. So, why wouldn’t I want to bring him along with me now?”

I looked at her, standing there with her shoulders straight and her face looking older and younger at the same time. And although I was a little taken aback that this woman wore a pendant made out of her dead husband’s ashes, I also felt a strange little ache in my chest.

My dad died right before my parents’ thirty-second anniversary. But my mom would never…

“I think that’s lovely,” I said.

Her green eyes glistened as she turned to me. “Well, thank you, sweetheart. You know, I still miss him more than I can say. It’s hard, but I wouldn’t trade a moment of it. Not one. I was the luckiest woman alive, and I know it.”

The wind swirled around us again, and she gave a small shiver. “It’s too cold to be standing out here. Should we go into the chapel?”

I nodded, glancing one last time at the view before falling into step beside her, and Babs, well, she tucked her arm into mine, as though we were long-lost friends.

“When… How long…?” I asked.

“Nineteen months, two weeks, and three days since I lost him,” she said, her voice quiet. “He passed in his sleep, right beside me. Somehow, I knew he was gone before I even opened my eyes.” She sighed.

“My dad died two years ago.” Three words… My. Dad. Died . I still couldn’t say them without feeling my throat thicken a little. “How do you get over that?” A rhetorical question, really.

“You never get over it, Luna. You just find a new way to carry on. Morty wouldn’t want me to stop living just because he’s gone. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t want you, or your mom, to stop either.”

A gust of wind swept up the valley, and she had to reach up to keep from losing her hat.

“Nice hat, by the way,” I said.

She winked. “Morty wore it every day.”

I shook my head.

My mom never , not in a thousand years, would have worn my dad’s old clothes, let alone have his remains made into a pendant. It was all too sentimental for her, a little too much like something my grandmother would have done—if, that was, my grandfather had stuck around.

“Oh, it’s even colder in the shade,” Babs said with a shudder, letting go of my arm as we reached the heavy wooden door.

I stepped ahead to open it for her, and she gave me a grateful smile as we moved into the chapel.

Oddly enough, the stillness I’d felt outside seemed to follow us in here. It wasn’t the same—without the wind, it was definitely warmer—but there was a quiet, timeless peace in this space that I hadn’t expected.

Light streamed through narrow stained-glass windows, casting patches of color over the stone walls and wooden pews. The scent of candles and earth lingered in the air, grounding and strangely comforting.

Near the altar, Tay stood just off to the side at a simple wooden podium. Her voice was low, measured, and as she told the story about the chapel, she seemed mindful that it was a sacred place for many visitors.

“…actual name is Saint Catherine of Siena Chapel, but most people just call it by its nickname. It was built in 1936, designed to look like it was growing right out of the mountain. And I think they succeeded, don’t you?”

The members of our group nodded and murmured softly in agreement. I found myself walking a little slower as I followed Babs.

“This place is a testament to resilience,” Tay continued. “In 2013, the main buildings of the retreat center nearby were destroyed by a devastating flood. But the chapel…the chapel stayed standing. Even as the water rushed through the valley, it held its ground.”

I sank into a wooden pew, feeling the cold, smooth surface through my skirts as I listened. My eyes flicked up to the vaulted ceiling, over the long beams and the simple hanging chandeliers, and then back to the stone walls that seemed…timeless.