Page 68 of Total Jane Wreck

Marigold’s eyes grow wide. “Have you come to any conclusions?”

“Only sort of,” I say. “Funny thing—once I actually chose something for myself by moving out here, I stopped thinking about fate. But now, while I still believe that I can make my own choices, it’s become crystal clear that other people make their own choices too. Which results in . . .” I sigh “. . . chaos.”

“True.” Marigold regards me. “Does that mean you’re heading back to Kentucky, or . . . ?”

“Not sure.” I hesitate. “I’m figuring out next steps. Problem is, I’ve run out of options.”

Marigold reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’ve been there, and I know how hard it is, feeling that way. But you haven’t run out of options. And you never will.” She leans in closer. “Sorry, is this weird? I’ve never been good at pep talks.”

I shake my head. “It’s not weird. You’re doing great. I just feel so . . . adrift.”

Marigold holds my gaze, her eyes full of empathy. “You know,” she starts, “I had never even been west of Ohio when I first drove out here. I was twenty-four. James and I were newlyweds, and my only job experience was as an assistant manager at B. Dalton.” She checks my face for understanding. “They were this bookstore chain that was in, like, every mall, back in the ’80s.” Her hand strays to the back of her head, fingers fiddling with her ponytail. “James was a journalist in DC, but he heard about this bookstore that was for sale in this great Colorado small town, and wouldn’t it be wonderful, him and me running the business together while he wrote the next great American novel?”

I lean in. Marigold is obviously a great storyteller. Already, I need to know what happened next.

“But then, after he disappeared, I just . . . stayed,” she says, offering a helpless half shrug. “Everyone assumed I’d leave. But I couldn’t let go. Isn’t that funny?” She grins, all teeth. “Even when the man you thought you’d anchor yourself to is gone, somehow you still find ways to tether yourself to something solid.”

I stare into my mug, the last quarter-inch of coffee swirling slowly at the bottom. “Yeah,” I say, “it’s funny.” My voice sounds dull, so I clear my throat. “So why did you stay? If it was so painful?”

She shrugs, but it’s a loaded gesture. “I figured I could be sad anywhere. Why not be sad in one of the most beautiful small mountain towns in the US?” She tips her head toward the window, which reveals what looks to be another gorgeous day in Sugar Pine. “And then, Rose—I mean Axel Rose, who’d been my best friend since middle school—she came for a visit. It was serendipity, because that’s when she met Rob, the man who became her husband. And suddenly, I had another reason to stay. Not to mention, the town became the inspiration for my writing career.” She tilts her head to the side, meeting my gaze. “A lot of things fell into place. But that’s often how life works.”

“Is it?” I ask. “Because I haven’t yet experienced that—things falling into place.”

“Well . . .” Marigold looks up toward the ceiling, chest rising and falling. “I suppose I’ve only ever experienced it when I stop trying to make all of life’s pieces fit together.” Her gaze returns to me. “Like, when I wrote Escape from the Springs. I never got the closure of a funeral, or even a chance to say goodbye. That book was my way of saying goodbye to the man I loved, and maybe also to the life I thought I was going to have.” She’s not crying, but there’s something a little naked about the way she says it. “That’s how I know you’ll be okay, Jane. You’ve got enough strength to get yourself through. And sooner or later, your next chapter will start. Just open yourself up to the possibilities.”

I try to envision my “next chapter.” There’s a sharp pain behind my ribs, somewhere between hope and dread. “What if I can’t? Maybe I’m one of those people who’s doomed to make the same mistake over and over.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Marigold pushes her empty cup aside and folds her hands. “That’s everyone. But then again, we’re all the masters of our own chaotic fate. At least that’s what I believe.”

She stands, stretches, and pulls out her phone. The gesture is so normal, so un-writerly, I almost laugh.

“I should get going,” she says. “Need to get some writing done before the morning slips away.” Marigold reaches into her purse and grabs a Sharpie. “I always carry one of these. They’re perfect for signing books.” Then she grabs my copy of Escape from the Springs. “Hope you don’t mind,” she says, her Sharpie poised over the book’s first page.

“I’d be honored,” I reply.

Marigold smiles, scribbles what I assume is her name, hands the book back to me, and is on her way.

Once she’s gone, I open the book and read what she wrote:

Jane, if you ever need help discovering your next chaos-filled chapter, please let me know. —Marigold

Underneath, she wrote her phone number.

My eyes tear up again. Such kindness.

Then I start leafing through the book. My eyes land on the quote: Hiking is a bit like life—summits and peaks, valleys and dips in the trail—all of which require putting one foot in front of the other. Through perseverance, we embrace chaos. By embracing chaos, we might discover our true selves. And self-discovery might lead to happiness, might lead to joy, might lead to peace.

My eyes stray from the page to the window, at the store directly across the street. Alpine Adventures. They sell clothes, shoes, backpacks, and equipment for hiking and mountaineering. Then I look at the clock on the wall.

The store won’t be open for several more hours. To kill time, I flip to the first page of Escape from the Springs. After all, what better way to prepare for my next, chaos-filled chapter than by reading this book?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.

As soon as Alpine Adventures opens, I go into the store and tell the sales clerk (his name tag says Dan) that I’m going to hike the Colorado Trail. Starting north of Durango. Starting today. “But I need you to tell me what equipment I should pack, and I need a guidebook with trail maps.”

Dan nods and rubs his chin. “Well, this one here is pretty good.” He points to a book titled The Colorado Trail. Its cover has a photo of clouds rolling over mountains. “The author divides the hike up into five segments, starting at the Waterton Canyon Trailhead, close to Denver.” Dan gives me a hard look. “That’s where most hikers begin. Gives you a chance to train for hiking up into the steeper altitudes. Plus, otherwise, you’ll be following the book’s instructions backward. Makes it more confusing than you might think.”