Page 63 of Famous for a Living

“Zaiah!” I call, just before he takes a turn around the hillside.

The current is loud, though, and the distance between us is growing by the moment.

“Zaiah!” But there he goes, around the corner.

I pause.

Check over my shoulder.

The beach ball bobs above the mist. People look small against the backdrop of mountains and sky. All of it is reminiscent of a scene from a movie. Watching the lackadaisical afternoon pass by.

I move toward the hillside. He can’t have gone that far.

I turn the corner, and the river narrows.

I can see why the river is a local favorite. A wide river, opening up to a wide sky. Just enough boulders to hold drinks and phones like bar tables at a restaurant, all without overcrowding. An easy bank on both sides for getting in and out of the water.

Here, though, is different.

The river tightens.

Trees huddle close on either side, casting shadows over the crystal waters that, I can’t help it, make a lot more snakelike illusions. I wince as I inch along, the arches of my feet repeatedly stabbed by the jagged rocks. There is no more commotion of people; the world around me is nothing but solemn stillness but for the gurgling waters when I first rounded the bend.

Mist still rises, though. The water is still unbelievably hot and refreshing against the nip on my nose and tingle of cold breeze against my shoulders.

It’s still stunning here, just in an entirely different, more solitary way.

Where is Zaiah?

I begin to consider turning back. My anxiety starts to rise, not just because of the sudden isolation but because I’m not sure I want to run into Zaiah after all.

What if he’s trying to find some silence on purpose?

What if . . . he snuck out here to use the bathroom?

I swallow the thought as I turn one more corner. If he’s not there (or heaven forbid, if he’s doing something worse), then that’s it. I’m heading back.

I peek around a boulder, preparing myself for the worst, and then I see it.

The quintessential moment.

The quintessential shot.

A moose stands in the middle of the river just a stone’s throw away, tall and majestic, a sight to be seen. Its dark-brown fur glistens as it hovers over the turquoise water, mist rising over his enormous nose as he leans toward it. Dark evergreens topped with snow shiver in the breeze, causing flurries to dance and swirl like powdered sugar around him. He gazes down with no awareness of the person who has just stumbled into his world.

My fingers tingle, activating, and of course, of course, I pull my phone up.

Quietly I begin to snap.

The pictures are unbelievable. They could rival a National Geographic photo.

Then I pause.

Consider the moose and the moment.

Flip the camera to self-facing.

As I snap, I angle my chin up to capture myself with the gorgeous creature behind.