I chew my thumbnail as I drive off, willing my car to make it to the nearest gas station. I go over my work schedule for the coming days in my head, factoring in the next time I can hike again. Despite the interruption of Mr. Ranger, I’d found a great spot to write, and next time …
I’ll yank the monsters from my head and splatter them on paper.
Chapter 2
Noah
Max slops up his water in the back seat as I merge onto the main highway to Pinebrook. It’s a small town, about twenty-five minutes from Yosemite where many of the park’s visitors stop to eat, shop, and stay overnight in one of the few motels or inns.
It’s charming I guess, playing on the preserved Gold Rush setting to attract tourists. Many existing structures along Main Street date from the late 1850s, making much of the downtown area historically significant for California. Most are in use today as museums or restaurants catering to those in town visiting.
I grew up here, so I guess the novelty of it all has worn off despite the location outside the foothills of Yosemite and the towering pines that surround us. While I live within Yosemite itself, in a modest, standard-issue cabin provided by the National Park Service, I make the drive out to my mother’s three to four times a week. I have to in her condition.
She lives in the single-story house we moved into when I was in seventh grade, set on two acres just outside downtown. The house sits on a hill, with about thirty concrete steps climbing from the carport up to the front door. I’ve climbed them moretimes than I can count, and every time, they feel steeper—it’s hard to face what’s at the top.
Traffic is sparse today, making my weekly trip to the local grocery store easier. As I do every week, I pull into the pickup spot and give Morgan a text that I’m here. There’s only a single reserved spot, and I swear I’m the only one who uses it.
Morgan sends me a wink face, and I smile, glancing toward the double glass doors leading into the small store. When they automatically open, her blonde hair piled into a messy bun pokes out. She’s dressed in pale blue skinny jeans and a hot pink long sleeve, and behind her she hauls the cart stacked full of groceries.
I roll down my window, grateful for her willingness to see to my mother’s grocery order herself each week. When she looks up, I meet her eyes, and they sparkle as a grin breaks out over her face. She’s always been beautiful.
I’ve known her since I can remember. Always hanging out with our friends throughout high school. There was a handful of us in our class that stuck around Pinebrook after graduation, and she’s one of them.
“A diamond in the rough,” Brent used to say. He had a major crush on her in school, and I always knew he was a little jealous when Morgan and I dated our sophomore year. For seven months we were inseparable, and it worked out great that we all shared the same friends. Morgan could roll with the guys like the best of them.
Unfortunately, something was missing, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what. We were compatible in almost every way, and I guess I realized our relationship was a bit too predictable. Too easy.
She must’ve been feeling the same and ended up at a party with another guy. While nothing happened between them, like the jerk I was, I used that to justify breaking up with her. It tookanother six months, but with time, we started hanging out again as friends. But while I dated throughout high school and college, she never did.
“Hey, you!” Morgan says, pulling the cart to a stop by the back doors. She gnaws on her lip, her gaze inspecting my face like she does each week I’m here.
Morgan is the owner of Pete’s Market, the local grocery store her great-grandparents founded. After her parents divorced a few years ago, she took over the management and, after a while, bought the place.
“Hey. How is everything going this week?” I ask.
“Oh, you know, the usual. We had a bad shipment of produce that set us back, but everything you ordered for your mom was in stock, so no substitutions.” Her laugh is airy and light, a direct correlation to her overall personality. I’m not sure there’s a mean bone in her body—the girl has the attitude of a saint.
The exact opposite of that girl on the trail today.
I’m not sure why my brain scrolls through my interaction with her, or why it’s comparing her to the sunshiny disposition of Morgan, but it does. Annoyingly.
I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but Max had a long day of tracking work, and I picked a path I knew would be somewhat unoccupied this time of year. Max all but led me to her, and when I first glimpsed the woman hovering over the edge of the canyon, my heart jumped into my throat.
Don’t do it, I’d thought.
When she turned to look at Max, the brightness of her eyes blew me away. Hazel for sure, but they weren’t your average green-blue color. No. Her eyes were like starlight, and I was so taken aback I barely noticed the vape smoke seeping from the corner of her mouth.
High cheekbones accented her sharp features, including her nose, poked through with a pointed gold stud. Her hair, darkbrown with strips of reddish-purple, was tied into a wavy ponytail and she was dressed in average hiking gear. Nothing fancy. I couldn’t help but think she was stunning in an ethereal way, although her attitude was the devilish picture of pure insolence, and I’m not sure I can trust someone who “doesn’t do dogs.”
I would normally write a ticket toanyonevaping in Yosemite, especially when I think about my mom. I wanted to. I did, but there was something in her eyes haunting her—perhaps even consuming her on that ledge. If there was any moment to let it slide, it was then, despite my unease.
Morgan tilts her head in my direction while my arm is propped in my open truck window. “In the back?” She smiles at me with her extended lashes batting over her earthy eyes.
I nod, chuckling out a “yeah” as I get out of the truck to help her.
When she opens the back door, Max whines at the same time his tail whips the leather seat in a rhythmic thump. He makes to jump toward her.
“Bleib,”I command, issuing the stay order.
