Cyrus
Chapter three
Bluestone City
Today’s damn near perfect, all things considered: eighty-two degrees and sunny.
Fresh mountain air rolls through the open windows of my truck, the wind slapping against my arm as I rest it on the door.
Glancing in the side mirror, I check that the U-Haul I’m towing isn’t holding up traffic, but it’s nothing but an empty road behind me and a whole lot of lush, rolling green.
The illusion of being swallowed up by trees, a completely different environment from the city. My chest contracts as I inhale. Clocking the beginning shades of a farmer’s tan on my forearm, perhaps something close to optimism flickers briefly. This could be good for us.
D.C. is behind me now. That life, that mess—it’s over.
This is a new beginning—a clean slate. In the passenger seat, my seven-year-old son, Liam, is cross-legged; his entire attention focused on drowning fries in enough ketchup for his bites to be considered inhaling straight tomato paste with a side of grease.
I cringe. He’s been a champ through all of this, bouncing with excitement the entire six-hour drive in anticipation.
The closer we get to Bluestone, the closer he is to his Grammy. Who is arguably his favorite human.
Momentary shame darkens my face. I should have brought him home sooner.
Jackson wasn’t lying when he said he’d handle the move.
I woke up at sunrise to a team of movers on my doorstep, flanked by my former boss and the handful of friends who hadn’t written me off after my epic implosion of self-sabotaging behavior these last few months.
All of them grinning for my redemption arc- every one of them happy Liam and I were heading back to my mom.
My mother is the town’s celebrity. Never met a sane person who didn’t love her. Biased? A little. Delusional about how much everyone loves my mother? Not even close. She gives Mother Theresa a run for her money in a popularity contest.
Boxes packed. Hugs exchanged. Hands shaken. And then we pulled away with everything we own in tow, along with a bunch of well-meaning promises to ‘visit soon.’
“Will Grammy live with us?” Liam asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Or near us? If there’s a bunch of rivers, should I learn to swim better?
Could a fish eat me? Would you be sad? You’d be sad, right?
‘Cause I’m your favorite person. It’d be a bummer to get eaten.
But then again, I wouldn’t have to go to school. Could be worth it.”
I smother a laugh, glancing at him. He’s seven and somehow resembles both a stand-up comedian and a philosopher on a sugar high. The whole ride has been intense—one question after another, a nonstop stream of curiosity and imagination.
I love him more than anything, but damn, the kid could use an off switch. My grip tightens slightly on the leather steering wheel, not from irritation; I have a need to do something with my hands. Rubbing the worn fabric of the wheel cover is oddly satisfying.
“Whoa there, buddy. Take a breath,” I say. “Grammy’s meeting us at the new house, but she’s not living with us. Jackson and I found a pretty awesome place. And yes, you should keep learning how to swim, but no fish will eat you. They might nibble your toes if you’re tasty, though.”
His eyes go wide as he wiggles his toes, visibly reconsidering his anti-shoe stance.
I smirk, turning my attention back to the road as we pass the ‘Welcome to Bluestone City’ sign.
One bridge down, three to go before we hit the town center, nestled between the hills of the mountains. It’s going to be a good change.
Open windows. Wind on my skin. The scent of wild honeysuckle permeates the air. My kid is beside me. And the familiar, entwining branches of wild green swallow the road from both directions.
We’re home.
“That hole over there,” I nod toward a shadowy bend in the lake, “is where I used to fish with my dad.”
Liam leans forward, pressing his ketchup-smeared fingers against the glass. “Looks scary.”
We wind down the curving road that leads into the heart of Bluestone. The first glimpse of the dam peeks through the trees, massive and gray, stretching across the narrowing ends of the lake.
It rises out of the earth, a fortress- rigid, immovable, a manufactured titan holding the water back behind it.
Liam stops mid-sentence about frogs or lightning bugs, or who knows what.
His conversation has become increasingly one-sided.
The closer to town we’ve gotten, his entire body lunges toward the window.
“Whoa,” he breathes, eyes wide, ketchup mustache untouched. “Is that a wall? A for-real giant wall?”
“Kind of,” I say, chuckling at his expression. “That’s the Bluestone Dam. It holds back the lake and controls the water level running through town.”
We pull into the overlook, a gravel turnout that gives the best view of the water cascading through the dam’s spillway. The sound is thunderous but rhythmic—nature and engineering in sync. Liam unbuckles before I cut the engine, scrambling to his feet and bouncing in place.
“Holy moly! Look at that water!”
I round the truck and open his door. He jumps out. I note he did put his shoes back on. He takes in everything at once: the dam, the frothing rivers below, the dense trees hugging the cliffs, and the buzz of cicadas screaming from the canopy.
“This place is awesome. You didn’t tell me we were moving to a power plant. That’s what this is, right?”
I nod. “Yep. The dam generates electricity for most of the town. It was built a long time ago.”
He shoots me a side-eye. “How long ago? 1980?” The laugh that comes from me isn’t a forced one. He thinks 1980 was a long time ago? Wait until he finds out I was born in the eighties. His dark blonde hair pokes out from the brim of his ball cap as he waits for me to answer.
“No, pal. Try the 1940s.”
His whole face crumples into exaggerated horror. “Dang! That’s…nineteen hundreds! Were people even alive back then? That’s old as dirt!”
I bark out a laugh, reaching down to snatch his Dodgers cap and ruffle his hair. “Yeah, buddy. People were alive. Hell, my grandpa was already out here fishing by then.”
“Then your grandpa is officially the oldest human ever to exist. He probably rode dinosaurs and used candles for eyeballs.”
I grin. “Something like that. Come on, we have to get going,” I tell him. Hopping back into the truck, buckling before we pull out. Liam is still awestruck by our new surroundings. It gives me hope.
“Is that one of the rivers Grammy always talks about?”
“Nope,” I say. “That’s the lake. The town’s named after it.”
He pauses. “Did the lake name the town?”
The laugh comes out on its own, unplanned and unfiltered. His logic is flawless in its own way.
“No, goofball. The people who lived here named the town after the lake.”
He frowns, clearly still trying to untangle the contradiction I created. I glanced at him again, shoulders tensed, face scrunched up in confusion.
“You’re right,” I admit. “That was confusing. I meant that the townspeople named the city because of the lake, not that the lake named itself. Lakes are bodies of water, not actual thinking humans, so they can’t name anything.”
He relaxes. “Oh. That’s cool.”
We cross the second bridge, the water shimmering. He smiles, and a calm settles through me, the kind that comes from knowing exactly who I’m doing this for.
“Though Bluestone’s small,” I continue, “it’s built around two rivers and the lake. On my days off, we can go hiking, camping, swimming—do all the stuff we’ve missed out on. Gotta promise me something, though.”
“No running off,” he says automatically.
“No talking to strangers. And if some random weirdo in New Balance sneakers approaches, offering me a puppy, kick him in the balls and run as fast as I can while screaming fire. Because people will pay attention to a fire before they will a kid yelling for help.”
“That’s my guy.” He points out the window again. “You said the town was remote. Like a TV remote?”
I stifle another laugh. “Same word. Different meanings. When I say remote, I mean it’s far away from other cities. Not a lot of people. Quiet.”
“Oh.”
I nod. “But there’s still plenty of tourists and locals here, which means safety matters.
Even when we believe that nothing could ever go wrong.
You have to respect the wild around us, or it will claim you.
There is danger in every place on Earth.
We can be realistic and tell you that major crime very rarely happens here, but it does still happen.
I want you to practice our city precautions here as well. ”
He nods again, eyes scanning the scenery with that wonder kids always have before the world teaches them to be afraid. One day, this world will disappoint him. I hope he copes with it better than I have.
Silence settles between us, bringing a momentary sense of peace. Briefly holding still as the world moves around me.
I think about the past few months. The constant grind. The mind-numbing zombie routines. Wake up. Get dressed. Daycare. Work. Dinner. Bath. Bed. Repeat.
When’s the last time I took Liam to a playground? The movies? Did something for him? I can’t remember. My hands tense on the wheel. That’s not who I’m meant to be. It’s not who he deserves. Caleb would’ve called me out on that shit, and he’d be right.
I glance over again. Liam’s still staring out the window, humming softly through a mouthful of fries.
God, I miss Caleb. But grief can’t be my compass anymore.
Liam is. I may not be thrilled to be back in the town I ran from, but I’m here now with a kid who’s still whole and happy and mine.
It may not be what others perceive as a perfect life, but for me, it’s enough. Perhaps it’s the exact thing I need.