“I don’t know.” Christian moved around the truck and opened the back door without another word. Tika didn’t hesitate. He hopped up onto the seat and turned in a tight circle before settling, his tongue lolling.
Ace watched them both. “I guess I’m taking you and your dog somewhere?”
“Yeah.” Christian slid into the passenger seat and shut the door.
“All right.” Ace walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. The interior of the truck smelled faintly of oil, pine needles, and last winter’s snow gear that still lived behind the seat. He started the engine. It rumbled low and steady, dependable in a way flying no longer felt. He eased the truck away from what could generously be called Smitty’s drive and turned onto the narrow forest road. “You want to talk about it?” Ace asked.
Christian stared out the window, elbow resting on the door, jaw tight. “It’s Amka.”
Ace adjusted the rearview mirror. “What about her?”
“There’s something off.” Christian kept his eyes on the passing trees.
“Huh.” Ace shifted around a pothole and let the truck climb the brief incline toward the main road. “Amka’s a pretty open book. What do you think is going on?”
Christian exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
Christian dragged a hand through his hair. “Maybe she doesn’t want me to go to training. I’ll be gone for three months. Off and on. I plan to come back during weekends and stuff.” He finally looked over at Ace. “I’m hoping you’ll be flying by then.”
Ace gave a humorless huff. “By next week?”
Christian didn’t smile. The forest opened briefly to a view of the valley below, green and wide under the blue sky. “You talked to Smitty for three hours.”
“Yeah.” Ace kept his eyes on the road. “I’m not fixed, C. After a session with Smitty, I kind of want to crawl in a hole with a bottle of Jack.”
Christian’s wide shoulders shifted as he faced forward again. “I think that’s part of what they call the process.”
Ace didn’t answer. The truck started descending, engine working harder as the trees thinned. Above them, the sky stretched endless and clear. He used to crave that view.
He glanced at his brother, whose shoulders were as wide as Ace’s. They definitely couldn’t fit three of them across the front seat of a truck, not without having to twist their torsos somehow. The morning light sifted through towering spruce and birch, burnishing the dust on the dashboard and lighting up every nick in the faded paint. The truck ride was quiet except for the occasional twitter of a distant bird and the soft thrum of engine over old gravel.
“Have you talked to her?” Ace asked.
Christian glanced sideways. “I’ve asked her what’s wrong and she said everything is fine.”
Ace grimaced at that. “Fine? Even I know that’s a bad thing.”
“That’s what I thought,” Christian said, looking behind him where Tika was already snoring, belly rising and falling like a soft drum against the worn canvas of the seat.
“Wish I could sleep like that.” Ace let his eyes drift over the dog’s plush coat.
“Ditto,” Christian said. The words came quiet and thoughtful. “I won’t sleep until I figure out what’s up with Amka. Maybe she’s not enjoying sleeping outside like she used to. Or maybe she’s fed up with my idiosyncrasies.”
Ace considered that, taking in the patchy sunlight flickering across the dashboard, the forest breathing green and alive outside. “Amka loves camping and has slept outside since we were all kids. That’s not it.”
“Well, then what is it?” Christian growled.
“How the hell should I know?” Ace let out a dry laugh. “I’m seeing an ancient drunk to fix my head right now. You think I have any answers?”
Christian sighed. “That’s a good point.”
“Thanks,” Ace said, steering around a fallen limb that had been dragged partway into the road.
“Why are you finally seeing Smitty?” Christian asked. He had been threatening to drag Ace to the old guy for months.
“May,” Ace said, blunt as a river rock.
