She stops for a moment, looks at our hands, and then starts again.
“The lookout was close,” she says.
“It wasn’t the same, though,” I say.
Before Clementine can answer, the door swings open and a column of light falls into the room.
It’s followed by my mother.
The moment she sees me and Clementine on the bed, she stops short.Her mouth comes open and for a second, she juststares.
Then she clears her throat.
“Clementine,” she says, her tone almost aggressively neutral.
Clementine’s frozen, my arms still around her, but when my mom says her name she pushes me off her and sits up.
“Hi, Mrs.Casden,” she says, and stands.
She’s still not wearing a bra.I get out of the bed behind her and put one hand on her lower back.
“I didn’t know you’d reconnected,” my mom says, giving me alook.
“My ranger division hosted Hunter’s hotshot crew in Lodgepole between assignments,” Clementine says, and grabs her jacket off the chair, shrugging it on.
“I see,” my mom says.She’s still standing just inside the entryway, wearing jeans, a turquoise belt, and a button-down white shirt, the picture of Western no-nonsense.
“She presented us with a plaque for containing the Elkhorn fire,” I say, fingertips rubbing a small circle on Clementine’s back.“We got dinner later, and...”
I shrug.
My mom nods once, brusquely.She’s being polite, but she’s never liked Clementine.Eight years ago, she was certain that Clementine was ruining me, a perfectly good, church-going, all-American teenager.Andthenwe broke up while I was overseas, and I don’t think my mom’s forgiven her for making me go back to Afghanistan.
I get it.If someone broke my kid’s heart as hard as she broke mine, I’d have trouble welcoming them back.
“It’s nice to see you,” Clementine says, a forced smile on her face.“I should get going, though.”
“Lovely to see you again as well,” my mom says, and even though her tone is perfectly polite, not one person in this room thinks she’s telling the truth.
Clementine turns toward me, my hand still on her back.
“Call me?”
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” I say, because I want to say goodbye to herwithoutmy mom watching.
We leave the room silently, and we’re a good fifty feet away, out of earshot, before Clementine just starts giggling.
“Thatfelt familiar,” she says.
“I might get to their house to find all my stuff in the front yard,” I say.“That, or every single twenty-something from their church is gonna be in my living room.”
“It’s almost like there aredownsidesto living with your parents in your mid-twenties,” Clementine says as I push open the double door out of my wing.
I hold it for her, then grab her ass as she walks through.A guy on the other side gives me a very judgy look.
“I don’tlive with my parents,” I say.“I work on their dude ranch for six months of the year, and like everyone else who works there, room and board is provided.”
“And you’re not allowed to have guests.”
