To get there‑‑but never mind: imagine you are already here. The light heaviness of summer has settled on the mountains for a fitful sleep. The laurels shake their leafy heads and star-shaped miniature white flowers flicker in the gloom of a wood. Rocks jut dangerously close to falling onto the parkway (or so the signs proclaim). The lazy darting of a dragonfly stitches the air metallic green and a velvety iridescent blue, while butterflies eavesdrop on heavy‑topped lilies before moving on, weaving a chain of secrets around the mountainside.

It is hot and the crush of tourists has lifted somewhat for the afternoon. They come, drawn to mountains placed just so: a collage of undulating blues pasted onto a receding gray that mates with the horizon’s sky. There are also waterfalls, but you have to walk to see them. First down gravelly paths then across wooden bridges over cold creek water. The accustomed ear can hear the falls from above, a steady noise that winds around bird sounds and the uncertain sigh of wind in the treetops. It grows furiouser as you approach, its true strength hidden for a time.

The girl had a lank‑haired braid down the length of her back the brown of leaves gone to lace in late fall. Her face, as though pulled down by the weight of hair, was thin and pale. When her boyfriend wasn’t looking she would pinch nervously at her cheeks and bite her lips for color. He would see the marks on her cheeks and white bites on her lips before they flushed to red. It disgusted him, this imperfect transformation, her mauling at herself to gain an ounce of color in her pallid head. She had used to be pretty. Now her eyes hunted him out with their dog-tired grayness and stood from her head in hope of a question he would never ask. They stood on a bridge and the girl pointed at flecks of gold in the silty creekbed. “It’s like your beard,” she said, admiring the red gold gristle of it in the sun.

“Fool’s gold,” he answered, pinching her flat behind that was sure to bruise.

They started down the path gone to rich soil and left noise of gravel behind. The man, who despite the heat was wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled back, walked ahead purposefully while the girl moved slowly behind him. He had almost forgotten her presence when he heard her cry “oh!” He turned to see her with a hand on her stomach, gasping like a landed fish for breath.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Just a stitch in my side.”

The man, he was older than the girl, but was yet young, rolled his eyes away from her. She hadn’t yet told him about her condition and didn’t think that he knew, but he wasn’t as inexperienced as all that.

The two continued walking deeper into the mountainside. A crow skimmed the treetops, fussing as he went; the blue‑black of his wings, like gasoline on pavement, flashed in the sun. A snake sensed the vibrations of their approach and slid under a rock as the trees closed over them in a dense canopy. The sound of the falls was louder now, a constant rushing that ended in a sustained boil. The girl moved to the guard rail where she leaned out over brambles and rocks until she could glimpse the water.

“It’s better down here,” her boyfriend called.

She said it was far enough‑-that she was tired and besides, they could see from where they were, but the plaid of his shirt disappeared around a bend, willing her to follow.

They met a couple on their way back from seeing the falls. “Them’s something,” the paunchy man in a sweat‑ringed shirt offered amiably. “Going all the way, are you?” his fat wife panted. “We just come from there,” she called as the younger couple passed by. The young man didn’t speak, but the girl smiled and nodded pleasantly.

The man got there first and surveyed the scene quickly with mud‑brown eyes. He would coax her to that table‑like rock veneered with water and slime of algae. Two ledges down the water began to roughen, twisting white. One playful push and down she’d go, legs thrashing on a mountain water slide. He had had some misgiving about the plan at first, but once he had habituated himself to the idea it seemed as natural as any other course. People died every day and who was to say if every accident was really an accident? Even if it didn’t kill her it would probably do the desired damage. He had liked her well enough at first, but now he was tired of her and he wasn’t about to marry her even though he knew that’s what she had in mind. Just then something winked at him from the edge of the trail. He knelt and recovered a pair of sunglasses. He pocketed them easily, for good luck.

The girl stopped again before reaching the mouth of the falls and rested the slight protuberance of her abdomen against the ever‑present guard rail, which wound lazily like a giant snake to the origin of the falls. She was unused to physical exertion and under her ribs her heart jumped recklessly. The whoosh of the water was louder now and down below her she could see the falls white with rapidity. She chose a spot on the water and tried to follow its descent. Impossible. She rested the point of an elbow on the rail and leaned her right temple into her hand and fell promptly into a slack‑mouthed reverie. She imagined how she would tell him her news and how romantic it would be what with the waterfall splashing and the coolness of the woods all around. She was sure he would kiss her and ask her to be his wife. He had always said they would get married someday. Before long they would be a family. It was he, after all, who had suggested this outing, a rarity for him to plan any activity together. That must mean he wanted to be with her.

The man, having established his plan, was anxious now and yelled for her to hurry, trying to sound pleasant, trying not to sound impatient. He thought he had heard voices further off.

“I’m trying.” she called. “It’s hard in my condition,” she added with calculated coyness.

“You mean being a woman, don’t you?” he called above the water, so pleased with himself he turned his face to the deep green leaves and laughed.

She resumed walking. She could see the tread‑prints his boots had left in the moist trail and it made her feel like she was tracking a wild animal, one she must cage and tame. When she turned the last bend she sucked in her breath. Near below, the water left the mountain in a sheet of dimpled glass. “Look!” she pointed. “It starts out so smooth and gets rough almost right away.” He pulled her beside him to the rail. They both, she with wonder, he with cunning, fixed their eyes on the source that was hardly more than a trickle coming from a cleft of rock wedged in the mountain’s side. They walked their eyes down the steep water‑carpeted steps that were as regular as if built by hand. The girl was suddenly suspicious, ready to feel cheated. “This ain’t manmade is it?” He assured her it was a natural occurrence of nature. She nuzzled her face against his shoulder gratefully.

The man felt the moment for action gather force within him. “Watch this.” In an instant he had ducked under the rail and scooted onto the rock where he stood secure in his treaded boots. The water made way for the shape of his ungraceful feet then coursed on, darkening the hide of the boots as it went. He motioned for her to follow, but she gasped and shook her head vigorously, causing her braid to flop between her shoulder blades. Her cheeks for once held the true color of a blush. “Come on,” he coaxed, “don’t be a baby. Reach me your hand.”

The girl, even while she continued to hesitate, knew she would obey. He had used to be like this, playful and fun, and though she was fearful of falling she was eager to take advantage of his mood. She had trusted him before in doing something new and scary and that had turned out alright so now she stooped and pushed her torso through the rail. Laughing, she held out her hand and he grasped it firmly while she lifted her right leg gingerly and placed her foot on the rock where her flat slipper was instantly soaked through. She pulled her other leg over with uneasy grace and then they were standing pressed together, secure in their precariousness. The leaves’ shadows danced jaggedly on their arms and faces. The girl’s thin slippers offered no tread of resistance to the rock’s slick surface and she gripped her partner’s forearms for balance. “I feel like I’ve got on ice skates!” She turned her face up to his like a snowdrop. “You know what?”

With ostensible playfulness he covered her mouth with his hand to silence her. Just then there was a noise on the path above them and the man they had passed earlier came into view. He approached and hoisted his girth over the rail at them. “Damn wife lost her glasses,” he confided, man to man, ignoring the couple’s transgression. His wife spluttered up beside him, waxy red like a pepper in the face. “Oh,” she exhaled noisily, “y’all had better be careful.”

“She’s right,” her husband joined. “You’re liable to fall. Let me help you back.”

The girl paled. What had she been thinking? “They’re right,” she submitted, turning to take the plump hand which, though moist, she accepted gratefully. The man in blue flannel looked down into the spume of water and sent a stream of spit through his teeth to join it. He watched the water passing under his feet and down over the rocks and it seemed to him that the water was carrying away with it the only chance he would ever have to make his life right again.

“Come on, mister, you too,” the man commanded in fatherly good humor, but his offered hand went untaken so that, embarrassed, he withdrew it. The hell with it, the man on the rock thought, the hell with it all. He walked unwaveringly back across the rock while the fat woman exclaimed, “One false step and . . . who knows?” She shuddered, setting her flesh to quivering violently. But once the man was on firm earth she began worrying over her lost sunglasses, prescription.

Her husband took up her complaint. “Don’t reckon you folks seen any sunglasses laying around here did you?” He was certain they were lost. They would argue over it all the way back home, he renewing his claim as to his wife’s carelessness with a well­-stocked arsenal of examples, a string of petty grievances that were the lifeblood of their marriage.

The man in plaid reached roughly into his deep shirt pocket. What the hell did he want with a pair of fat lady’s glasses? “Here.” He thrust them out to the woman who stared back at him with flesh‑sunken eyes. “I was going to take them to the Lost and Found,” he lied, ransoming his intentions.

The husband and wife blundered away back up the mountain. The girl followed, subdued, but not unhappy. The fourth was busy listening to the water falling off in sound behind.