12. Ash #3
“No.” He shoves me out from under the blanket, and cold air smacks me in the face. “I’d just like to talk about something besides money spreadsheets.”
My phone’s glow does nothing for the temperature, but I wrap one hand around it anyway and stuff the other into my pocket, planning to swap them in and out while we walk.
“Sounds like you’ve met Ash’s first love,” Jenny says.
Kael snatches my phone, handing me his to use as a flashlight. “It’s borderline unhealthy, right?” He’s already climbing over the low wooden fence that rings the cemetery.
“Jenny is my podcast co-host,” I shout after him. “And what are you doing?”
“You want to walk more than we have to?” he calls back. “Just don’t step on anyone.”
“Guilty of being a fellow FIRE follower,” Jenny admits. “And please be careful.”
Kael groans.
“I was trying to retreat with my spreadsheets in peace,” I say.
“Ash says I’m the scared one. He—” Kael yelps and lurches backward, a loose rock tumbling from the unmarked grave he’s just stepped on. “Oh, no.”
“Bad juju right there,” I say, laughing at his petrified stance on the little hump of rocks. “Well, get off it.”
He jumps and kicks another rock loose.
“Ghosts of Inskip Cemetery,” I call out, grabbing both stones.
“Don’t.” He gives me a death stare.
“It was Kael Wright’s foot,” I tell the mound, and toss the rocks back. “Haunt him.”
“You can’t invite that stuff in,” he mutters.
“When I say ‘be careful,’” Jenny adds from the phone on speaker in Kael’s hand, “that includes not disturbing ancient graves, okay?”
“It was an accident!” Kael fishes something from his pocket and crosses himself. “Rocky, tell your friends it was an accident.”
“What are you doing?” I ask, pretty sure it’s the same thing I caught him talking to in the fieldhouse kitchen.
“Nothing.” He tucks it away. “You want to talk about that ninety-two-year-old indebted man?”
“He told you about Pawpaw?” Jenny sounds surprised.
Off-road, the terrain roughens and the underbrush thickens. Kael threads through it with surprising ease, chatting with Jenny while my feet start to drag.
“No. I didn’t.” I squeeze between two clawing bushes. “But I’ll drop the fact that you talk to an imaginary friend if you drop this.”
My toe catches a jagged rock, and the weight on my back pitches me forward.
“Shit!”
Kael’s phone flies from my hand as I crash through dead brush. I catch myself on my palms just before face-planting, then stay there a second, breathing hard while Jenny’s voice comes tinny and panicked from somewhere up the trail.
“Need a hand?”
Kael asks, softer now. He has both phones in one hand and the other held out to me.
He hauls me up in one steady pull. His fingers are rough, probably from painting, but warm from his pocket, and catching the scent of him again makes me realize I’d need a lot more cardio to put the kind of distance between us that suddenly feels necessary.
I don’t let go. It feels like he’s pulling me closer, until I realize it’s me, still gripping his hand like I need it for something more than getting off the ground.
“Thanks,” I mumble, finally letting go and looking away.
A faint smile quirks his mouth. “Rocky Balboa’s my pet rock. Helps keep me grounded. Now, tell me about Pawpaw.”
“Pawpaw is Ash’s muse,” Jenny says. “You mind?”
“Not really an icebreaker anecdote,” I say, though I’ve told the story on the podcast already.
“Pretty sure the ice is broken,” Kael says. “You outrun a lot of wildfires with other guys?”
“That’s a point. Not a good one. But fine. You can tell him.”
Jenny takes over while we pick our way through the trees. “Poor man worked into his mid-nineties. Nice house, new cars, sharp dresser. All the trappings of success. He told Ash’s parents not to save for retirement because they’d be getting a hefty inheritance.”
“He gave them some money along the way too,” I add. “It’s not like they believed him for nothing.”
“But when he died, it turned out that’s exactly how much he had,” Jenny says.
“Less than nothing,” I say. “He talked about moving to the beach. Kept making travel itineraries for trips he was never going to take. We thought it was a hobby. Really, he was drowning in bills. The whole future he talked about was fake.”
“Ash’s parents were livid,” Jenny says.
“They made their own mistakes,” I admit. “But he lied to them. Let them build around something that was never there. He died working at ninety-two, too ashamed to tell his son the truth, and now my parents are bitter and behind.”
“So that’s how we get to spreadsheets,” Kael says quietly.
“It’s not about spreadsheets,” Jenny corrects. “I want more time with my kid. Ash wants to break his family’s cycle.”
Kael nods slowly, whatever snark he had queued up getting lost somewhere on the way to his mouth.
I clear my throat. “So. Back to this pet rock thing.”
“Oh, look,” Kael says quickly, flicking his light ahead. I don’t see anything but darker shadow inside the dark as he adds, “We’re getting close.”
“Don’t piss off any more ghosts,” Jenny says. “Because I just found a listing for the Inskip Inn… and it’s on Ghosttowns dot com.”