Had he forgotten about me? Or realized I wasn’t needed, after all?
I didn’t have a house to go back to in Missoula. I’d sold off quite a few things—whatever was left after Josh gutted the place of his belongings—and put the rest into storage. My realtor had hired landscapers to add a little curb appeal before I put it on the market later this summer. I depended on the next few months to figure out my future living situation.
There was nowhere else to go.
“You’re in a different lookout than we first discussed,” Leonard said, grimacing.
“Oh,” I said, relieved. “But there’s still somewhere for me to stay, yeah?”
“Yes,” he said emphatically. “We’ve hired a few new people who weren’t comfortable with such a remote posting, so I’ve assigned them to the drive-up towers. Yours is a hike-in only. I should’ve told you sooner.”
“Wait, how’s he getting all of his stuff out there, then?” Bobby asked through another mouthful of mozzarella.
I joined him, first dipping the breaded cheese into the marinara sauce before taking a bite.
Fucking delightful.
“You’ll need to drop everything off tomorrow at the ranger station—all of your belongings and supplies. The Forest Service still provides your water and firewood, like usual, but you’ve gotta do your own grocery shopping. It’ll all be helicoptered in on Sunday afternoon. You should plan to be out there in time to meet them at the landing pad. The crew will help you carry everything up to the tower.”
“Is there power?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I’d prepared to be physically alone for most of the summer, aside from the days I’d drive into town to restock my groceries, fuel, and water, but I hadn’t prepared to be completely inaccessible from June through October.
Mom is going to freak out.
Honestly, I might, too. So much of this trip was about proving to myself that I could still handle all of the time outdoors my research required—that I could confidently enjoy camping and hiking again without the fear that a flare-up would interfere with my ability to survive in the wilderness.
Also, I wanted to do these things while I still could. Just in case.
“Propane fuels a refrigerator and freezer in a shelter attached to the outhouse, plus a couple of outlets up in the lookout,” Leonard said. “You’ll have to hike out every few weeks to restock your food, and a helicopter will bring it all up along with your water again.”
“Can’t I just ride in the helicopter, then? How far is the hike to the lookout, anyway?” It’d been nearly five months since I did any serious physical activity—I didn’t relish the idea of a spontaneous trek in.
Leonard shook his head. “No. They’ll be fully loaded with supplies and are on a tight schedule to service several towers at a time. They can’t take additional passengers. You’ll be able to drive out to the trailhead using the park service access road, and from there it’s about a four-hour hike up to the lookout.”
I blew out a deep breath. In my prime, easy. Now… doable. Maybe. I’d have to set out early and keep an eye on how I handled the elevation.
The image of my old, empty house flashed through my mind. I pictured myself wandering aimlessly from room to room, a ghost of who I was, who I wanted to be.
I shuddered. No. I couldn’t go back to that. “I mean, it’s a change of plans for sure, but it’ll be fine. It’ll be good,” I said, mostly to convince myself.
“Which tower is he assigned to now?” Dad asked, a sharp edge hidden somewhere in the question.
Leonard stared into his already half-empty pint glass. “We got it all fixed up last month. Cleaned out the inside real good, installed new windows and shutters. Cleared out the chimney, made sure the frame’s structurally sound. Got the propane and power all hooked up. Hell, we even replaced the shitter. He’ll be better off in that tower than anything closer to town.”
“Which tower?” Dad repeated, emphasizing each word.
Leonard grimaced. “Seven.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Wait,” Bobby said. “Tower Seven? You mean Dead Man’s Lookout? Thehauntedone? I thought no one had stayed there since, well,you know, way back in the eighties.”
Leonard scoffed. “Careful, you almost called us old. And it’s not haunted, we just haven’t needed it until now.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
“No,” Dad said.
“Mike—”
