34
The highway looks strippedbare this morning—no traffic, no dust trails, no birds cutting across the washed-out sky. There are just miles of gray asphalt stretching toward a horizon that feels farther away than usual. Winter light flattens everything into pale shades of nothing, like the world lost its color overnight.
The elevation is high up here. Winter settles over the vehicle with every mile I climb. The drive doesn’t crescendo into a gorgeous viewpoint, but rather dips back downward, as if heading into a crater.
I pull into the assigned spot, easing the cruiser down into the shallow verge between two tufts of dried sagebrush.It hides the SUV well enough from drivers barreling down the straightaway. Normally, I appreciate the cover. Today it feels like sinking into a pocket of quiet that was already too silent to begin with.
The heater fights the morning cold, blowing soft waves of warmth over my hands. I hold them there a moment longer than necessary, knowing it’s the last comfortable air I’ll feel for hours. My toes warm against the vents, and I soak it in before I have to kill the engine and let the desert take it back.
I can’t idle forever and waste gas.
I reach for the scarf beside me, wrap it around my neck, and tug my gloves into place.
“Alright, baby girl,” I murmur to my belly because, apparently, I’m developing a habit of talking to her now. “Let’s do this.”
I turn off the engine.
The hum of the heater cuts off mid-note. The slight rumble under my feet dies. A hollow emptiness swallows the space inside my SUV. It’s unnerving but I tell myself it’s the silence to expect deep in mountain country.
But I’m a city girl, so I clear my throat just to hear something.
The cold moves in fast. It creeps through the glass, slides under my clothes, settles along my spine. I rub my arms but can’t shake the feeling that the temperature isn’t the real problem.
I look out the windshield.
The landscape is motionless. Not a single sagebrush shifting. Even the sunlight is hesitant as if it doesn’t want to fully touch the ground.
I’m nowhere out here.
Andnowherefeels like it’s waiting.
I pull out my phone to text Anton. He’ll appreciate the reassurance and hopefully it will work on me, too.
Me
Boring morning so far.
I hit send.
The message fails.
I hold the phone higher. No bars. Not even a flicker. It’s as if the mountain swallowed the cell tower whole.
“Great,” I mutter. “Now I can’t even amuse myself with sexting.”
The baby flutters beneath my ribs. It might just be me digesting my breakfast, but I take anything as kicking these days.
I rest my hand on my belly, smoothing my palm over the firm curve. “Hey…Gabrielle…”
Does that sound right?
I like the name.
“Hey, Kiara…”
I practice the name I shortlisted, but my voice sounds too big in the cabin. Even the fog of my breath is loud in this empty space.
I check the road again, scanning the horizon for movement. Nothing. Not even a bird. Anything with wings knew better than to fly over this stretch today.
