“That’s because she cares. Mae’s not the only one. People in town miss you.”
The truck drives over a pothole, and my organs rearrange inside of me, despite my seatbelt.
“Evelyn told you that?” He tries to sound nonchalant, but his voice catches.
“Mason Hale.”
Jace glances my way. “You know Hale?”
“I met him today. He’s going to pass out flyers for Evelyn.”
“Oh.” The one sound speaks volumes.
I wait for Jace to say more. He only stares out the windshield.
I tick off Mason’s words: Timberline Tavern every Friday, shelves on Main Street, mountain rescue. Then I point to Mae’s bag. “Mae sent cinnamon rolls and coffee. Says you’re too stubborn to buy the good kind.”
“I didn’t think they noticed I was gone.” His voice is rough with something that sounds like disbelief.
I reach around Spool and touch Jace’s arm. “Everyone noticed, and they miss you.”
His jaw tightens, and he adjusts his hands on the steering wheel.
“They’d love to see you around town. Not just when you fill up the truck or grab something you need from the hardware store or market.”
I expect a quick no. Jace says nothing. It’s a win, small but mine. Now for the pass.
twelve
. . .
Jace
Rosalind isquiet for half a mile. Then she says, “I need to tell you something.”
My eyes stay on the road. The logging trail is rutted from the storm, soft in places where the runoff cut new channels. Spool lies with his head on her thigh.
“Go on,” I say.
“Sheriff Granger told Evelyn that the pass will be open in two days.”
My right foot presses the accelerator. My hands don’t move on the wheel. The road keeps going in front of us. A knot grows in my gut.
“Jace?” she asks.
“Heard you.” Nothing more comes. I focus on getting us to the cabin in one piece.
She watches me, waiting for me to speak. I don’t.
I count switchbacks, notice that the aspens on the left are new-leafed, and estimate the drop on the right where the creek has run brown all week.
I have driven this road for six years. I know each curve, which roots the front tire will catch on, and where to slow for the deer crossing in the fall.
Right now, I’m driving it like a stranger. My hands grip the wheel, but my mind pulls away.
Fuck.
She’s leaving me.
