“Those aren’t the only options,” I say, mixing a new color.
“You’re really good, you know? Those are going to be the chains, right?”
“They will be,” I say. “And thanks. I’d rather take my time, spend weeks on a piece, but I’ve done a little speed painting. Maybe… thirty more minutes?”
Ash checks his phone again, but there’s still no service. “We may have to run back once you finish.”
“You’re the one with the backpack.”
His eyes glaze over, lost in the glow of his screen. I sigh, resigned to exasperation and painting, while watching his body take every shape imaginable to sit, lie, hunch, and squat in front of a laptop. Ten minutes later, he’s on his feet, laptop still glued to his hands.
I finish the basic outline of a figure breaking free from chains, trying to ignore how problematically on-the-nose it is.
“Hey,” Ash says.
“Hmm?” I don’t look up.
“Kael, look at this.”
Something I can’t put my finger on has me smiling when he says my name, but it’s the urgency in his voice that makes me follow his gaze across the lake.
“What?”
“Something’s going on. Look at the parking lot. See that haze? That’s not normal.”
I set down my brush and stand to squint across the water. It’s a long distance, but the far shore looks… wrong. The air above the trees is smudged, a gray-brown smear instead of clean blue.
“It was like that when I got here,” I say automatically.
“But onlyoneperson missed registration.”
I reach into my pocket, fingers finding Rocky’s familiar weight. “What do you think it is?”
“Maybe nothing?” he says, but worry has already sharpened all his features.
It would be cute if it wasn’t so distressed.
“You want to…?”
“We can head back,” I say. “Just in case.”
Ash bends down to grab my paints, and my arms shrink into my sides. His rushed help looks more like time-saving than kindness.
He starts down the path ahead of me, all my stuff in tow.
“What do you think it is?” I press, hurrying after him. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”
“Probably nothing,” he repeats, voice strained. “But if we kicked up all that dust coming in, maybe everyone’s… leaving.”
“What?” A knot tightens in my stomach.
“Probably not,” he says without conviction.
“Why would everyone leave? We just got here.”
The same chilling realization hits us both.
We live in the Bay Area. We know about fire season.
