Chapter 18 - The Summit at Bridger BowlThe snow on the slopes of Bridger Bowl was fresh, crisp, and deep.
Diego was bundled up in a brand-new red ski jacket, his blue backpack zipped tightly over his layers, and the brass compass jingling softly against his zipper every time he took a step.
We rode the chairlift up to the mid-mountain lodge, the cold wind whipping across our faces as the valley spread out beneath us like a vast white canvas.
"Are you cold, buddy?" I asked, shouting over the roar of the wind.
"Never!" Diego yelled back, grinning from ear to ear as he pointed toward the northern peaks. "Look, Grandpa! You can see all the way to Canada!"
We stepped off the lift and walked out onto the wooden observation deck. The sun was breaking through the afternoon clouds, turning the snow into a field of glittering diamonds.
Diego reached down, touched his brass compass, and looked up at me with absolute certainty in his eyes.
"We always know where home is, right?" he asked.
May you like
I pulled him close against my side, looking out over the endless expanse of the Montana mountains where our new life had finally taken root.
"Always, buddy," I whispered. "Always."
