November 15, Saturday
expansion and contraction the movement of bourbon into and out of wood due to temperature shifts
JETT PULLED the bus into the campground parking area as the last rays of daylight faded behind the bare trees. I gathered my jacket and clipboard, already mentally preparing for another evening alone in my van.
"Hey." Jett caught my arm before I could descend the steps. "You up for an adventure tonight?"
I turned, surprised. "What kind of adventure?"
"The kind that gets you out of your head for a few hours." His smile was encouraging. "Change into warm, rugged clothes—layers, sturdy shoes. I'll pick you up in an hour."
"Jett, I don't know if—"
"One hour," he repeated firmly. "Trust me."
I found myself nodding. Maybe a distraction was exactly what I needed after spending the entire day in a fog of anxiety and uncertainty.
Back in my van, I changed into jeans, hiking boots, a thermal shirt layered under a fleece pullover. When Jett's pickup truck pulled up exactly an hour later, he was dressed similarly. A backpack sat in the truck bed beside a cooler.
"Where are we going?" I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.
"Carter Caves. There's an Owl Prowl Night Hike tonight." His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
We stopped at a drive-through for burgers and fries, eating as Jett navigated the darkening roads toward the park.
The food was greasy and satisfying, and the casual conversation about nothing important felt surprisingly normal.
For the first time in days, I wasn't thinking about Boyd Biggs or DNA tests.
Carter Caves appeared in the headlights—a rustic park entrance with wooden signs and a small gathering area where about a dozen other people stood bundled against the November cold. A woman in ranger uniform and a heavy coat held a clipboard and a powerful flashlight.
"Welcome to the Owl Prowl," she announced as we joined the group. "I'm Ranger Susan, and tonight we'll be hiking the Box Canyon Trail to experience our resident owl population. We have barred owls, great horned owls, and if we're lucky, maybe an eastern screech owl."
She distributed small flashlights to those who needed them, instructing us to use red-filtered light to preserve our night vision. Then we set off single file along a narrow trail that wound between limestone formations and through dense forest.
The darkness was absolute beyond our small circles of red light. Tree branches created skeletal silhouettes against the star-scattered sky. Our footsteps crunched on fallen leaves, and our breath created small clouds in the cold air.
"Barred owls are most vocal in late fall," Ranger Susan explained in a hushed voice as we walked. "They're territorial and call to establish dominance. Their vision is specially adapted—they can see in light levels we would consider complete darkness."
As if on cue, a deep call echoed through the trees. Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?
The group stopped, listening. Another owl answered from a different direction, the calls overlapping in an eerie duet. Goosebumps rose on my arms despite my layers.
The trail narrowed, forcing us to walk closer together. Jett's shoulder brushed against mine as we navigated around a fallen log. His hand appeared at my elbow, steadying me.
"Careful," he murmured. "Root system ahead."
We climbed over the obstruction together, his hand warm through my sleeve. When we continued walking, he stayed close, our arms occasionally touching as we moved through the darkness.
Ranger Susan pointed out owl pellets on the ground—compact masses of undigested fur and bones—and explained hunting techniques.
She described how owls' asymmetrical ear placement allows them to pinpoint prey with extraordinary accuracy.
But I found my attention divided, hyperaware of Jett's presence beside me.
Another call rang out, closer this time. A great horned owl, Ranger Susan whispered. We stood motionless, waiting. The massive bird swooped overhead, silent as a ghost despite its size. Several people gasped.
Jett's hand found mine in the darkness, squeezing briefly before releasing. The gesture sent warmth flooding through my chest.
Stop it, I told myself firmly. He has Naomi. This was just a friendly outing, a distraction from my chaos. I was reading romance into darkness and proximity because my situation with Dylan had imploded so spectacularly.
Besides, nighttime made everything seem more intense, more meaningful. Things would look clearer tomorrow morning.
We rounded a bend where the trail opened into a small clearing surrounded by towering rock walls. The canyon walls amplified the owl calls, creating an acoustic chamber of wild sound. The group stood in reverent silence, absorbing the experience.
"Thank you for this," I whispered to Jett.
"You needed it," he whispered back. "We both did."
The hike concluded an hour later, the group filtering back to the parking area with reluctant goodbyes and murmured appreciation for the experience. Jett and I walked to his truck in comfortable silence, the spell of the night slowly breaking.
On the drive back, we chatted about his honey business and the tour business. He asked if I'd gotten the results of the DNA photo test and I said I was still waiting. Reality crept in with the appearance of streetlights and traffic signs. Too soon we pulled into the campground.
"Doesn't it get cold in the van this time of year?"
I shrugged. "I have a thermal sleeping bag. It's pretty cozy."
"If you say so."
"I do," I said as I gathered my things. "Thanks again."
"Anytime." His smile was warm in the dashboard light. "See you tomorrow?"
"You betcha."
I watched his taillights disappear down the campground road, then climbed into my van. I locked the doors and shivered until I zipped myself into my sleeping bag. It wasn't exactly cozy, but it was tolerable.
I only had to sleep in my van for a few more weeks anyway.