We didn’t lose her today.
We got her.
That’s enough for me. It’s more than I could’ve asked for.
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
EMMETT
The silence on the drive toward Bramble from the memory care facility settles over the Jeep differently than on the way in. It’s the kind of quiet that follows something too big to process all at once. Or at least, that’s how it feels for me.
Aspen and my grandmother in the same room . . . How do I even begin to wrap my head around what that means?
Wind whips Aspens’s hair across her face where she sits with her elbow against the open window, my hoodie swallowing her whole. She’s got her head tilted back, basking in the sunset that cuts across the sky.
I want to capture the entire day—imprint this feeling on my memory. From her to the ranch land stretching out in front of us, wide and open.
All of it is too perfect. Too unbelievable. None of it feels real.
I keep replaying one thing my grandmother said.
You make him lighter.
But I’m not sure that’s right, because I don’t feel lighter.
I feel anchored.
For the first time in two decades, I’m tethered instead of drifting.
Aspen shifts in her seat. Her fingers tap absently against her thigh, keeping time with the country song humming through the speakers.
“How are you doing over there?” I ask.
She hits me with the warmest smile. “I should be asking you that.”
“I think I’m just . . . processing.”
Her head bobs like that makes perfect sense.
Despite her calm, the air seemed to buzz.
“Good news is, you don’t need to figure it all out right now.”
“I guess I don’t.”
But maybe I want to.
I slow as the asphalt drops off and turns to gravel beneath the tires. We pass through the battered ranch gate hanging permanently open—rusted too badly to close anymore. A faded No Trespassing sign hangs crooked from one of the posts, split nearly in half from weather and time. The Jeep’s wheels find the hollowed ruts that lead to the part of Perdition Ranch I occupy.
After a few minutes and a bumpy ride, the camper comes into view as the sun drops another inch. Pink fades to a bruising purple sky streaked with copper near the horizon.
My old camper van isn’t much, but it’s just enough for me. The paint carries a thin layer of dust from sitting empty. The only thing that shines about it is the stunning views.
Pines and mountains rise behind the camper while Perdition Ranch stretches wide and endless in front of it.
I turn off the engine and step out.
