Chapter 1 #2
Most of all, though, I resented that I’d become a resentful person.
So yeah, I was doing more than crossing my fingers these infusions were effective in preventing another flare-up any time soon.
The only way I could sleep at night was by knowing I was doing something to prevent my eyesight from going wonky again.
Sometimes I couldn’t breathe from the overwhelming hope that I’d be one of the lucky ones—or the luckiest of the unlucky—who made it to sixty or seventy without major hindrances to my health and mobility.
Saying all of that out loud made people uncomfortable, though.
Me, especially.
“That’s just fantastic,” Keith said with genuine enthusiasm. “I’m so glad to hear it. Isn’t that good news, Pop?”
My mom’s real name was Paula, but she’d been Pop since she was a girl. “Of course it is. How will you know it’s working, though? More blood tests?” she asked, her worried tone grating on my last nerve.
I could see the warm light pouring from Dad’s cabin windows up ahead, just visible through the dusk-darkened trees.
I pulled around the circular drive in front of the house and parked my truck behind his.
“I won’t know if the infusions are working until my next MRI, but she said as long as I don’t get too sick from my suppressed immune system, all should be well. ”
“Your next MRI isn’t for another year, though! That’s too long. You should call your doctor. I’m sure she can get you in sooner if you ask.”
I gritted my teeth. “Insurance doesn’t work like that.”
“But—”
“Look, flare-ups rarely punch through this treatment, Mom. For once, I’d appreciate it if you could just be happy about that and stop stressing me the fuck out with your what-ifs.”
The line was silent for a beat. My eyes burned.
Keith cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ll be out there all on your own, then, so we don’t have to worry about someone getting you sick,” he said gently. “Keep your mother and me updated, please. Now, I smell something really great happening for dinner.”
Mom couldn’t hide the wobble in her voice. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Yes, we’ll let you go, Reese’s Pieces. We love you so much. Be safe.”
Every bit of the anger and bitterness that’d built up melted away, swiftly replaced with guilt that I’d felt it at all. “I will, Mom,” I said gruffly. “Love you guys, too. Bye.”
I sat in the ensuing silence with the truck turned off and listened to the early summer song of the forest come alive.
Insects hummed. Nightjars called to find their mates.
The trees felt closer all the way out here, like they leaned in.
I wouldn’t be surprised to turn and find one had crept up behind me when I wasn’t looking to peer over my shoulder.
Judging me.
You’re the worst sort of son, the Thing said from the passenger seat.
“I know,” I whispered back, staring straight ahead.
All of my mom’s grating worry and questions were just love, expressed in the only way she knew how right now. Maybe if I were more forthcoming, more honest, more present, I wouldn’t feel so exhausted and angry all the time by putting on a brave face.
Well, not brave. More like an I’ve got this under control face.
That’s a fucking joke, it quipped.
My nostrils flared. “Go away.”
It did.
With a deep breath and a quick swipe at my eyes, I stepped out and shouldered my backpack. The rest of my gear and belongings were packed tightly into the backseat and truck bed, awaiting the drive up to the lookout.
Dad lived in an A-frame cabin that comfortably housed one person.
He’d built it himself from rough-hewn Western redcedar—naturally insect and decay-resistant, lightweight—after the divorce, and we’d used it as a weekend retreat growing up.
He’d sold our house in Ponderosa and moved in permanently when I went off to college.
A true loner at heart, Dad thrived in the solitude of the forest. I was lucky he was forced to have a cell phone for work; otherwise, I’d probably go weeks at a time without hearing from him.
He’d started his career as a helicopter pilot for the U.S. Forest Service, making supply runs for lookouts, scouting smoke plumes, and dropping firefighters into the middle of Nowhere to contain the flames.
He’d needed a more predictable schedule after Mom moved, though, so he transferred and became an EMS helicopter pilot. Even though his shifts were more manageable, he could still be on call for several days at a time, so I’d spent many nights sleeping over at my friend Bobby’s house.
I strode up the porch steps and tried the handle, but it was locked.
Huh. He should’ve heard me pull up.
Peering through the large front window, I tapped on the glass. “It’s me!”
No answer.
Probably working around back.
I left my bag by the door and circled behind the house. “Hey, Dad?” I called.
Still, nothing.
The lights weren’t on in the detached shed, but I thought I’d check anyway, just in case. “You in there?” I called again, a little louder. Grabbing the handle of the manual garage door, I yanked up, but it wouldn’t budge.
Was it stuck? I heaved again, but it stubbornly remained shut.
I frowned. Why would he lock this? He didn’t have a neighbor for miles.
“Dad? Where are you?” I called again, glancing back toward the house. The only windows on the backside of the cabin were up high, positioned over the loft where he slept.
Snap.
I whipped around at the sound of a broken twig somewhere off in the woods, eyes tracking the tall, thin, tree-shaped shadows.
I squinted. Had something just moved, there, to the right? Or was the rapidly dimming evening light playing tricks on me?
The insects quieted, and the birds hushed.
Everything stilled.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, like slow, creeping fingers trailing up my spine. I’d spent enough time in the wild to recognize the feeling—being a few pegs down on the food chain, I’d be dead if I didn’t.
A predator was near.
I froze, breath caught shallow in my chest. My entire body tensed, poised, listening, ready to run.
Idaho grizzlies had been over-hunted in the last century, but there were rumors of a few far-ranging bears wandering down through the Snake, Clearwater, and Salmon River drainage basins in the last ten or twenty years, reclaiming what was theirs.
Black bears were common, and so were mountain lions—but I probably wouldn’t ever see one of the latter up close unless it was already ripping out my throat.
Well, that’s a nice thought to have right now.
My pulse pounded. Again, not the way I wanted to go.
Snap.
Another twig, this time closer. I took a slow step backwards, afraid to turn away from the trees pressing in, even though I couldn’t discern anything in the near dark.
I tried to make sense of the shapes.
It’s probably nothing, I thought. The trees can’t actually move or whisper to each other; nothing waited for me to drop my guard, ready to pounce…
A firm hand gripped my shoulder from behind. “Reece.”