“But—”
“Look, flare-ups rarely punch through this treatment, Mom. For once, I’d appreciate it if you could just be happy about that and stop stressing me the fuck out with your what-ifs.”
The line was silent for a beat. My eyes burned.
Keith cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ll be out there all on your own, then, so we don’t have to worry about someone getting you sick,” he said gently. “Keep your mother and me updated, please. Now, I smell something really great happening for dinner.”
Mom couldn’t hide the wobble in her voice. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Yes, we’ll let you go, Reese’s Pieces. We love you so much.Be safe.”
Every bit of the anger and bitterness that’d built up melted away, swiftly replaced with guilt that I’d felt it at all. “I will, Mom,” I said gruffly. “Love you guys, too. Bye.”
I sat in the ensuing silence with the truck turned off and listened to the early summer song of the forest come alive. Insects hummed. Nightjars called to find their mates. The trees felt closer all the way out here, like they leaned in. I wouldn’t be surprised to turn and find one had crept up behind me when I wasn’t looking to peer over my shoulder.
Judging me.
You’re the worst sort of son,the Thing said from the passenger seat.
“I know,” I whispered back, staring straight ahead.
All of my mom’s grating worry and questions were just love, expressed in the only way she knew how right now. Maybe if I were more forthcoming, more honest, more present, I wouldn’tfeel so exhausted and angry all the time by putting on a brave face.
Well, not brave. More like anI’ve got this under controlface.
That’s a fucking joke, it quipped.
My nostrils flared. “Go away.”
It did.
With a deep breath and a quick swipe at my eyes, I stepped out and shouldered my backpack. The rest of my gear and belongings were packed tightly into the backseat and truck bed, awaiting the drive up to the lookout.
Dad lived in an A-frame cabin that comfortably housed one person. He’d built it himself from rough-hewn Western redcedar—naturally insect and decay-resistant, lightweight—after the divorce, and we’d used it as a weekend retreat growing up. He’d sold our house in Ponderosa and moved in permanently when I went off to college.
A true loner at heart, Dad thrived in the solitude of the forest. I was lucky he was forced to have a cell phone for work; otherwise, I’d probably go weeks at a time without hearing from him.
He’d started his career as a helicopter pilot for the U.S. Forest Service, making supply runs for lookouts, scouting smoke plumes, and dropping firefighters into the middle ofNowhereto contain the flames.
He’d needed a more predictable schedule after Mom moved, though, so he transferred and became an EMS helicopter pilot. Even though his shifts were more manageable, he could still be on call for several days at a time, so I’d spent many nights sleeping over at my friend Bobby’s house.
I strode up the porch steps and tried the handle, but it was locked.
Huh.He should’ve heard me pull up.
Peering through the large front window, I tapped on the glass. “It’s me!”
No answer.
Probably working around back.
I left my bag by the door and circled behind the house. “Hey, Dad?” I called.
Still, nothing.
The lights weren’t on in the detached shed, but I thought I’d check anyway, just in case. “You in there?” I called again, a little louder. Grabbing the handle of the manual garage door, I yanked up, but it wouldn’t budge.
Was it stuck? I heaved again, but it stubbornly remained shut.
I frowned. Why would he lock this? He didn’t have a neighbor for miles.
