Travis's lower lip dips in astonishment. "I can learn to drive using an HCC truck?"
Wyatt nods, nearly as excited as Travis. "Sure."
"I remember when your brother used to pick up Peyton from school in a massive truck. It was lifted and had huge tires, and I think it was a Power Stroke, and it had…" He keeps going, and I'm lost almost immediately. I'd completely forgotten Travis's old obsession with cars, the way he would study car magazines and memorize facts, pointing out vehicles and chattering endlessly every time we went anywhere.
"If you like cars, just wait until you see Tenley's old Bronco. Fully restored, it's gorgeous. She named her Pearl and it has—" Wyatt cuts off, his attention grabbed by the TV in the upper corner of the wall closest to us. "Jo," he says, pointing at the screen.
Across the bottom are the wordsBREAKING NEWSfollowed by a man with too-perfect hair holding a microphone and gesturing with his free hand. In smaller writing that's harder to see, just below the headline,Four Dead in Shooting at Teen Therapy Camp.
My heart sinks at the same time my stomach lurches, and they meet in a way neither ever should. I feel sick but also empty.
My first thought is of the people who died, closely followed by a far less charitable thought.
What does this mean for me?
My teeth dig into my knuckles as I watch the man continue to speak. Without sound, I can only guess he's reporting details of the shooting.
Ugh. The shooting.Such awful words.
Wyatt has already pulled his phone out, and now he pushes it over to me. The image used in the article is a split screen. One half is an aerial picture of woods and a lake and several small buildings. The second image is of first responders surrounding a stretcher, a white sheet covering the person lying on it.
I whimper at the sight, and Wyatt quickly reaches over, scrolling down to the details. I skim them quickly, unable to absorb too much right now.
"It was a camper," I whisper. I cup my hand over my mouth to stifle my urge to sob. "In Tucson. He shot another camper and two staff members."
"Jo?" Travis's hands snake across the booth. "It's going to be okay. This isn't going to happen to you. To Wildflower."
I try to smile at him. To accept his comfort. "Thanks, Trav."
Cherilyn arrives with steaming plates. "These are hot," she warns, sliding the plates in front of us.
"Thank you," I murmur, glancing up at the screen.
"Damn shame, isn't it?" Cherilyn says, tucking her oven mitt into the front pocket of her apron. "So young. Took his own life, too." She shakes her head and looks over the table. "I'll be right back with that green chile sauce you love, Wyatt."
"Thank you, ma'am." Wyatt nods at Cherilyn when she comes back. She leaves again, and the sounds of forks scraping plates are the only interruption to our quiet little corner.
"You need to eat," Wyatt reminds me gently when my food remains untouched. Nothing smells good. Not the bacon, the eggs, or even the gooey cinnamon roll Travis ordered.
"People are dead. At a teen therapy camp. Because of a camper." My head shakes slowly as my brain tries to make sense of a senseless situation. "What if it were my camp?"
"It's not," Wyatt says, grabbing the fork from my hand and preparing a bite for me. He hands it to me and I take it, mechanically placing the food in my mouth.
"Right, but—"
Wyatt shakes his head and points at my plate. "Take care of yourself, Jo. Eat. Everything else can happen second."
He's right. I do what he suggests, forcing myself to eat food I barely taste when normally I love it. Travis isn't sure what to say or do, so he stays quiet.
We pay, and I overhear Cherilyn tell Wyatt how thrilled she is to see him so content. She even goes so far as to tell him that she's been waiting a long time to see him this happy and that he deserves it just as much as his big brothers.
We stop at the grocery store, then spend the rest of the day at Wildflower. I wander around the main house, cleaning and putting things away in places that will inevitably change once everything is up and running and I refine my processes. I do my best not to pay too much attention to the buildings where the campers will eventually sleep.
Wyatt spends the entire afternoon teaching Travis how to drive. He even grabs two big empty cardboard boxes and sets them up to teach him how to parallel park, which is a feat because I don't think I could parallel park that beast of a truck.
Travis is thrilled at the chance to spend time with Wyatt, and even more excited that he feels like he knows how to drive. "You'll just have to study the manual and learn all the rules, and then you can take your test to get your permit."
On his way back to his bedroom, Travis says, "I don't know how you guys met, but I'm glad you did."
