A View of the Overlook

           Mommywasworried.

           Shewasafraidthebugwouldn’tmakeitupanddownallthesemountainsandthattheywouldgetstrandedbythesideoftheroadwheresomebodymightcomerippingalongandhitthem.Dannyhimselfwasmoresanguine;ifDaddythoughtthebugwouldmakethisonelasttrip,thenprobablyitwould.

           "We’rejustaboutthere,"Jacksaid.

           Wendybrushedherhairbackfromhertemples."ThankGod."

           Shewassittingintheright-handbucket,aVictoriaHoltpaperbackopenbutfacedowninherlap.Shewaswearingherbluedress,theoneDannythoughtwasherprettiest.Ithadasailorcollarandmadeherlookveryyoung,likeagirljustgettingreadytograduatefromhighschool.Daddykeptputtinghishandhighuponherlegandshekeptlaughingandbrushingitoff,sayingGetaway,fly.

           Dannywasimpressedwiththemountains.OnedayDaddyhadtakenthemupintheonesnearBoulder,theonestheycalledtheFlatirons,buttheseweremuchbigger,andonthetallestofthemyoucouldseeafinedustingofsnow,whichDaddysaidwasoftenthereyear-round.

           Andtheywereactuallyinthemountains,nogoofingaround.Sheerrockfacesroseallaroundthem,sohighyoucouldbarelyseetheirtopsevenbycraningyourneckoutthewindow.WhentheyleftBoulder,thetemperaturehadbeeninthehighseventies.