No matter how many times we try, the radios refuse to work. We can't get work back to the shop and the storm doesn't let up.

So it's just him and me in a cabin built for one. Or, realistically, built for less than one. There is a pull out couch in the little living room and no bed at all.

The whole thing is so small if you lined up Damiens end to end, it would only take about two and a half of him to traverse the entire distance from the front door to the back wall. The grounds on which it sits are expansive, and the places one can get from here are almost all of the ones we service. Usually, this cabin is a day spot for workers to relax in between working trips. And storms roll in all the time, hence, the pull out couch.

But there's only one.

And the couch is the bed, so there's no 'Oh, I'll take the couch.'

No.

There's just the two of us-him in his sweater and jeans, me in my bandaged up shoulder and workout gear-staring at the couch like if we think hard enough a solution will appear.

"Well, it's all together too cold outside," I say finally. "The storm is still raging. So one of us is going to have to stay awake for the fire. Why don't we just take turns sleeping in the bed and the fire-tender can sit in this exceptionally hard wooden chair and entertain themselves... somehow."

"Exceptionally hard wooden chairs are very good at keeping me awake. But I fear even that won't be enough. I'm exhausted and the longer I sit still, the more sore I get. Is that normal?" He stretches, probably to make a point.

"It's pretty normal for newbies," I answer. "Especially those who jump into way more than they're ready for."

"Sometimes too much money is a curse."

"Oh, yes. How truly awful it must be to be you." I can't help the eye roll as I imagine what I could do with just one day of his earnings.

"That isn't what I meant, Amelia, and you know it. I just mean it's really easy to make silly mistakes when you have impulse money."

"You tried to buy a helicopter."

"I already own the helicopter. What I did was try to get your boss to let me land it up here somewhere."

"He doesn't get a say in that," I reply, choosing to ignore the fact that this man owns a helicopter. "The parks division decides those types of things. If we were ever to violate the policies, we'd lose our license to operate in the park. And one hundred percent of our business takes place in this park, so that would be... well, I don't need to tell you, do I?"

"It would mean there is no more business," he says, miming placing flowers beside a headstone. "Rest in Peace."

"Exactly. So we are really careful to stick to approved locations and times. We abide by absolutely everything even though some of it isn't so much for conservation as it is for politics. But we believe in the value of this place and what we do in it, so we don't want to jeapordize that just to stick it to the man."

"I'm very good at sticking it to the man," he says with a laugh.

"Maybe we could learn a thing or two from each other. I'll help you learn to follow the damn rules, and you can teach me how to stick it to the man."

"Given our relative positions in society I find myself very wary of teaching you that skill."

"Why? Got something I should be mad at you for, Man?"

"Many things, I'm sure. I'm not the best at what I do by any means. I inherited when my grandfather died because he was very into continuing his name on the business. My father would have been a fine choice but he has a career. He didn't want to turn into his dad. I don't know why I thought I could escape his fate."

He sighs and plunks himself down in the chair. "My father begged me not to accept. Told me all the reasons he'd avoided that life all of his working years. Explained every little thing that would happen. And I laughed at him, Amelia. I laughed in his face thinking I was strong enough to withstand the whole thing."

"You weren't?"

"I wasn't. I'm still not." He shakes his head and reaches over to pull back the covers we'd haphazardly applied to the pull out couch. "Get in and then I'll tell you."

"Fine, but I'm setting an alarm. I'm not letting you stay up all night out of some misguided chivalry. I wanted equality and I'm still gonna fight for it."

"I don't know why you'd fight me and hurt yourself, but I'm not going to have this argument right now. We'll see what happens later."

He doesn't say anything else until I slip under the covers, a stray coil from the old couch poking my back. I roll onto my good side and stare at him still standing beside the bed.

"I'm ready for my bedtime story," I say when he doesn't immediately pick up where he left off. His eyes glance back to me and he sits down on the hard wooden chair beside my makeshift bed.

"Well, like I said, I became everything my father warned me about. I kept telling myself it would only be for a little while, right? I'd just have to get my feet under me and then it would be okay. I'd just have to figure out the financial inaccuracies and then I'd take some time for me. I'd just have to work through the manufacturing difficulties and then I'd make time for a family. You know? It was always just around the corner. Except it wasn't."

"How long?"

"What? How long have I been working myself to the bone for 'just a little while'?" He blows out a gust of air. "It's going to be ten years in February, I think. And looking back, I can't believe I was so naive to think that a young thing fresh out of college was going to just be able to step right into grandpa's shoes and take over a business he'd been running for decades. And to do it better than him. God the arrogance rolling off of me must have been aggressive."

"Proud to report that hasn't changed much. Did you see yourself this morning at the shop?"

His sharp glare is visible even in the darkness. "You don't know anything about me," he snaps. "I just didn't know what I was doing and didn't want to ask for your help. It just seemed so simple. Like I should have been able to do it. And I didn't want to be mocked."

"Oh, you will be," I tell him. "But not for that. Only person I've ever made fun of for asking questions was doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me. Took me forever to figure it out, though. Thought he was just genuinely curious about mouse poop."

"Mouse poop?"

"And moose poop and bear poop and... well, you get the idea. Eventually I caught him making one of those little internet videos calling me ridiculous so I got even."

"Oh, I'd like to see that."

"One day, grasshopper. One day."

"Anyway," he brings the topic back onto him, which I appreciate because I didn't want to have to do it, but I desperately want to know.

"Work was always something. Putting out fires here, hiring people there, opening new departments and closing old manufacturing plants. There was never any down time and slowly it became my whole life. I don't really know who I am without it anymore. Which, I guess, might be why I'm really here. I left my phone at home and I'm pretty sure everything is on fire right now, metaphorically, but I finally did it. I went somewhere no one can bother me about the fax machines or whose turn it is to bring the coffee for the staff morale events. And when I got here, instead of feeling adventurous and capable, I just felt..."

"Lonely?" I stare at him until he gives a small nod, eyes diverting to the small window near the sink. "I get that. I was pretty lonely when I first started up here, too. The magnificence of the mountain is majestic and awe-inspiring, yes, but at first, it just makes you feel so small. Like you're so insignificant compared to it, you know?"

"Mmmhmm," he hums, nodding.

"But, you live here long enough and walk enough of its paths, the mountain isn't scary anymore. And now I like to think of all the people I've shepherded through these paths, up the snow and rocks to stand on top of peaks and look down into valleys. And from up there they don't feel small anymore, they feel on top of the world. And in a way, I guess, they are."

I wait until he turns his eyes to mine before I continue. "I don't feel either of those things. Not quite. Sure, I'm reminded of just how small I am, but it no longer brings me sadness. Now it brings me joy. I am a part of this mountain. And it will outlast me or any of the people I ever take up. And when I first started that was crippling. I'm not important. But now it's liberating. No matter how much I mess up, the mountain is still there in the morning. Nothing I do will really end the world, will it? It's so freeing."

"Don't you think it's a little depressing to think nothing you do has any impact? Don't you want to do something? Be remembered?"

"I didn't say I don't have an impact. I have an impact every day. I'm here with you, aren't I? Helping you through an adventure you'll tell your friends about until the day you die. I can absolutely have an impact. But I'm also free to make mistakes. Little things are little, Damien. I'm careful and precise when it comes to keeping people alive because I have to be. But when it comes to which shirt I put on or what I give my niece for breakfast, or trying to knit a blanket or learning to snowboard, I can mess up as much as I want. I can be as messy as I please. And still I can wake up tomorrow a part of the life of this mountain. I'm a small part, but that's what's so beautiful about it. Together, we kind of make the mountain, don't we? We all shape it, somehow. And that mark remains long after we've left it."

"I guess so," he muses. It's clear he's still not seeing my point of view.

"I don't think I'm explaining myself very well," I sigh.

"Let's blame it on the painkillers." The fire flickers across his stern face in the darkness and I think I see the hint of a smile when he turns out the lamp.

"Yeah, okay. That's okay." I sink down into the warmth of the itchy wool blanket.

"I think I get it though," he whispers, gruff against the low howl of the wind beating against the trees. "You think we're just a small part of the world. Small, but integral. You think you have potential to change the world for someone but also the liberty to not be perfect. It is a kind of freeing philosophy, I suppose."

"Hmm," I hum. "You don't agree?"

"I don't think I do. Any mistake I make would be the end of the world. At least to the thousands of people-hundreds of thousands of people-who rely on me every day to keep their food on the table. Every little decision feels like a big one."

"Doesn't that ever weigh on you?" I ask.

"Every day."

"Do you ever think about giving it up?" I force my eyes open and stare over at him.

"Give it up for what? What else would I do? What good would having them all lose their jobs do? A little more free time? Doesn't feel fair. I already have so much."

"I'm pretty sure you're allowed to sell companies or hire people to do work for companies you own. I seem to recall it involved going to an interview and signing a contract but it's all kind of fuzzy right now."

"Go to sleep," he bites out.

"I need to set an alarm first," I protest, eyes falling closed despite my best efforts.

"I'll do it for you," he says, pulling the phone that refuses to make phone calls out of my hand. "Now sleep."

I don't need to be told twice, drifting off to sleep in the warm crackle of the wood stove and the low hum of Damien's voice singing a tune I find vaguely familiar but can't place, like I heard it in another life.