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“Thanks, I guess,” I said.

“And I wanted you to see that I’m happy here, Chris. For the first time in my life I’m really happy. I work hard, earn my keep and a little more. Food’s awesome …”

“Still sleep out here?” I asked.

He laughed. “No, they gave me his room.”

I nodded.

“And they need me, Chris. I’m good for them.”

“People need you there, too,” I said.

He shook his head. “Dad needs me to carry on the family traditions of success and exploitation. Mom—well, Mom doesn’t need much but a gold card. She’ll be fine. Dartmouth probably has plenty of kids whose parents pulled strings to get them in.”

He paused.

“That just leaves you, Chris. What about it? Do you need me? Anymore, I mean?”

The next morning I still hadn’t caught Win. Somewhere in the afternoon of the previous day I’d been chasing him, I admitted that he’d ditched me.

I was so close to the coast that I could have made it the day Win and I got separated with little effort. But I took a number of side routes and back spurs off the main highway looking for my friend. At least, I told myself I was looking for him. But I knew then I’d never find him. Strangely enough, this realization didn’t shock me as much as the real reason I made those detours.

I liked riding alone.

With the exception of the tent—which Win had still been carrying when we separated—I had pretty much everything I
needed, including the stove and most of the food. The self-containment felt good, made me feel bigger, stronger.

I camped the first night on my own under a picnic shelter at a state park campground, my pad and bag on top of one of the tables. As I fell asleep, I decided to stop looking for Win. I decided not to go to Seattle.

And I decided not to call his parents. The last thing I wanted to do was get into it with Win’s dad and listen to him tell me we should never have done this trip on our own. They probably would have insisted I stay put, wait for whomever they could hire or some local law enforcement to show up and help me look for Win. Or sent me to Seattle to meet him. And I wanted to see Win right now even less than I wanted to talk to his dad. I’d deal with all of that when I got back. Win might even beat me home.

Instead, I decided to enjoy my last few days of the ride. I would not stop. I’d come this far and still had time to make it to the Pacific.

I was content to ride the back roads and wander a little longer around the area. It was without a doubt the most beautiful stretch of road we’d yet seen on our journey. As barren as it had been east of the pass, it was that green and wet on this side. According to the locals, it never rained in the summer. All the same, the rivers I crossed were clean and wide, hemmed by lush evergreens, rhododendron, and laurel. And as I made it farther west—the foothills fading to soft mounds of green behind me, snowcapped mountains rising silently to the north and east—the scenery changed. The valley opened up into wide fields swaying with
alfalfa and old Dutch barns standing sentinel over small herds of dairy cattle.

The morning after I camped at the state park, I reached the city limits of Sedro-Woolley. I veered off Highway 20 and followed a directional sign to the town center. Even though I was by myself—maybe because I was by myself—I wanted to stretch this out as long as I could. It was like a really good movie that I didn’t want to end. I coasted slowly down the streets, past dozens of carvings of animals, pioneers, and totems, and hit a couple of small thrift stores before rejoining the highway.

When I reached the next town, Burlington, I was only twenty miles from the end of the highway in Anacortes. But I stopped here, too. I ate a giant burrito from an old Airstream trailer that had been converted into a restaurant. I found the bus station and learned that the next bus wasn’t until midnight. I could catch local transit from Anacortes back to the main terminal and wouldn’t have to backtrack. I bought both tickets and realized I had eleven hours to kill, more than enough time to finish my ride. The map showed a scenic drive that headed just north out of town.

It was about fifteen miles of two-lane blacktop hugging Chuckanut Mountain to the east and dropping right down into the ocean on the west. Vast teal water with no beach to speak of. I felt like a stunt driver on one of those car commercials. Glorious.

Then I caught a back road from Chuckanut to the highway spur leading to Anacortes. That road snaked through more farmland and tidal flats, past casinos and oil refineries. It turned out Anacortes was actually on an island—separated from the
mainland by only a narrow channel. The map showed a city park as the westernmost point, so I followed signs to a small, rocky beach.

Land’s end. On the long, boring stretches or grueling climbs I’d mentally rehearsed the moment I’d haul my bike across a sandy beach to dip my front wheel in the Pacific. But the shore was strewn with rocks and driftwood bleached white by sun and salt. I could see ferryboats crossing the water to distant islands. Things never turn out like expected. Sometimes they’re better.

I caught myself thinking that Win would have liked this place. But I didn’t miss him. Out on the road I’d realized something about us. As important as he was to me, and as strangely connected as we were, our friendship had almost gotten too tight.

I had this long-sleeved T-shirt in fourth grade that I wore all the time. There was nothing really special about it, but it was soft, had a picture of a guy surfing, and had been sent to me from Hawaii by my uncle. I loved it so much that I wore it for school pictures. I kept wearing it all year, through a five-inch growth spurt and my mom’s protests that it was getting ragged at the edges. I was still hanging on to it when fall rolled back around. By then it was too snug and the sleeves hit just in the middle of my forearms. But it wasn’t until I got that year’s school pictures back and realized I’d worn the shirt again that I noticed how it was pinching at my neck and the outline of the surfer had faded into nothing.

I knew now that I had outgrown Win and my need for him, just like I’d outgrown that T-shirt. I’d hated giving up that shirt. I wasn’t sure about giving up Win.

But it felt right to be there alone. The end of one journey and the beginning of another. One I had to make without that person who’d been the other half of me for the last ten years.

The sun was setting by the time I had removed my panniers from the front fork and extracted the front wheel. With it in hand, I picked my way over the boulders and logs to the shore. The water was clear, revealing pebbles, grit, and weeds swaying in the halfhearted tug of the waves. I crouched next to the edge, my toes inches from the waterline. I held the wheel in my right hand, extended out, the tire resting on the stones just beside me. Then I let it roll forward in my hand till the bottom edge made contact with the water, submerging the rim. It gleamed in the clear salt water.

“We made it,” I said to no one. I stared at the water, at the sun dipping into the sea beyond the islands. “I made it.”

The tide edged up and over my shoes and soaked into my socks. The water was colder than any Win and I had jumped into all the way across the country.

“It is water, after all,” I said, this time to Win, wherever he was. Then I tossed my wheel onto the rocks behind me, sprinted forward into the water until it reached my hips, and let myself fall.

It was so cold that it burned. But I let myself stay under for a moment, the salt seeping into my eyes and nose. By the time I resurfaced and took my first real breath since the cold had splashed my ankles, I felt brand-new.

Now my journey had ended.

“Well?” Win said. “Answer the question. Do you need me anymore?”

I struggled. Wondered if I said yes, if he’d go back with me. “No, Win. I don’t guess I do.”

I didn’t feel ashamed or sad to admit this fact. Win was ready to hear it because he’d stopped needing me. All the same, he was silent, almost reverent for a full minute.

“I’ll be back someday,” he said.

“If this Agent Ward or Jacketman has anything to say about it, it won’t be long.”

“Jacketman?” he asked.

“Another guy looking for you,” I said.

“If they show up, I’ll leave again. But I’ll come home eventually. When I know I can be this version of me anywhere.”

I nodded. “I don’t think I’d be in a hurry to leave this place either.”

He looked around the barn. “There’s enough room to sort yourself out around here.”

“That … and you’ve got a girlfriend,” I said.

He smiled. “There is that.”

“The Leaf Ball, though? Come on, Win. I thought we swore we’d never go to school dances. You’re breaking a perfect record,” I joked.

He looked at me. “
We
did say that.”

I nodded, catching his emphasis. “She is hot,” I admitted.

“Smart, too.”

“She totally would have picked me, though,” I said.

“All the more reason this town isn’t big enough for the both of us,” he said, laughing.

I nodded.

“What are you going to do, Chris?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Catch a bus home. Go back to my life, back to school.”

“You happy there?” he asked.

I studied my hands. I thought about my classes. Vanti. “I can be,” I said, adding, “Now.”

“Take the money, Chris,” he said, nodding toward the envelope lying at my feet. “Please.”

I stared at it. I couldn’t afford to be righteous here. And for some reason I didn’t want to be anymore. “Yeah. Okay.”

I leaned over and scooped it up. The envelope felt thicker than it should have. “Win, I don’t think you owe me this much—”

“Forget it, okay?” he said.

“You’ve had this ready for me, haven’t you?” I asked, waving the envelope at him.

He smiled. “Since I sent the first postcard. I actually thought you’d come sooner. Then I realized you’d have no way of knowing if I was in the same place.”

“So you sent the others.”

“Yeah. Figured you’d get here eventually.”

I nodded. I was tired of talking about this. Tired of all of it.

“Got any food?” I asked.

Win smiled. “Best pies on Route Two.”

Morgan and Effie were gone when we reached the house.

“Effie?” Win called.

“They went to the bank,” I said. “I saw Morgan on my way to the barn.”

He nodded and opened the fridge. “Apple or cherry?”

“Both,” I said.

“Good man.” He smiled as he backed away with a pie in each hand. He put a generous slice of each on two plates, poured two cups of coffee, and we sat. We talked as we ate, about nothing in particular, but I had the distinct feeling that I was not just catching up with an old friend, but also getting acquainted with a new one. I remembered how much I liked this guy. I saw again the things that had made him my best friend in the first place. Somehow those qualities were sort of all that were left.

We were still there at the table, the coffee long since cold, when
Morgan and Effie returned a couple of hours later. They came into the kitchen together. She gasped when she saw me sitting at her table again.

“Why, that’s Chris!” Effie exclaimed, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Morgan, look! It’s Chris, Win’s friend!”

I stood and hugged her. “Hi, Effie.”

She felt around my waist. “Still too thin, I see. I’ll have to do something about that.”

“The pie helped,” I said, gesturing toward our dirty plates. Morgan took a seat at the table next to Win.

“But what are you doing all the way out here? Win said you were in school!”

Morgan shot me a look that warned me to choose my words carefully. Effie clearly had no idea what all this was about. Good for her.

“I was just in the neighborhood. Long weekend … thought I’d visit. But I’m running short of time.”

“Well, you have to stay the night at least,” she said. “You can’t come all this way and not let me feed you,” she insisted.

“Actually, I’ve got to catch a bus back today. I should get up to town and figure out when it leaves,” I said.

She smiled. “But there’s no bus east until late this evening,” she said. “I know because I used to take it to visit my mother in Helena when Morgan couldn’t drive me. Right?” She looked to her husband.

He nodded. “No bus until nine. I’d be happy to drive you into town tonight to catch it.”

“But he can take the one tomorrow,” Effie began.

“Chris said he needs to leave today, Effie,” Morgan said quietly. “Don’t bother him about it.”

She looked hurt. “But—”

“The man knows his mind, Effie,” Morgan said quietly. “Let it be.”

I wanted to stay. It was easy to see what had drawn Win back here. But as tempted as I was, I knew it wouldn’t be good for anybody.

“Well then, you’ll just have to come back and visit some other time, won’t you?” Effie said, looking near tears.

“Absolutely,” I said. “I still dream about your cobbler.”

This appeased her. “Then, I’d better get another one in the oven if it’s going to have time to set up right before supper,” she said, releasing me and reaching for a tea towel and tucking it into her waistband.

I smiled. “Please don’t go to any trouble,” I said.

“She lives for this kind of trouble, Chris,” Morgan said.

Win nodded. They looked like they belonged together there at that table. Win looked far more at ease with Morgan than he ever had with his own father.

“Gate finished?” Morgan asked.

Win shook his head. “Almost.”

“You want the truck? I could go finish that up if you and Chris want to get out of here for a while,” he said.

Win looked at me and shrugged.

“Actually,” I said, “I’d rather work on that gate. You can’t trust important stuff like that to Win.”

Morgan’s shoulders convulsed in a bark of laughter. Win smiled.

“Well, when the gate’s done, we’ve got a dead tree on the side of the little barn up in the woods. Needs to come down before it falls and does any damage.”

“Sure,” Win said. “You want us to split it for firewood, too?”

Morgan shook his head. “Not yet. Getting it down will take you up to supper. We’ll split it later,” he said, rising from the table. “I’m going to turn up the south fields with the disc plow.”